Luna Proxy #3 Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Other Books

  Luna Proxy #3 (Werewolf / Shifter Romance)

  MAC FLYNN

  Text copyright 2016 by Mac Flynn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission in writing from the author.

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  CHAPTER 1

  It seemed like the very world was against us. We left the life I had far behind and came into a forest of half-truths and lies. Large pine trees swelled from the ground and towered over us. We followed a path that seemingly went on forever, or could if we could see farther than five yards in front of us. The storm clouds over us were black and angry. Travel was hard for the rain pelted our heads and shoulders. Streams of water flowed down my coat and soaked into my pants. My only comfort was the cool rain soothed my sore fingers.

  "Why did I ever agree to this?" I muttered.

  Vincent glanced over his shoulder. "You say something?" he yelled above the torrential downpour.

  I shook my head. "It's nothing."

  "What?"

  "I said it's nothing!"

  "Oh. Okay. . ."

  I glared at the back of this meek man. My mind couldn't grasp that he was the monster I'd seen in the city. Without hesitation, that horrible creature had torn Pararius' throat apart. I lowered my head and shuddered. Those white-gray eyes. I couldn't get them out of my thoughts, nor even my dreams.

  I found myself staring at Vincent's back. Perhaps he didn't hold the answers I sought.

  "Look, Leila," Vincent spoke up.

  I raised my head and the downpour slapped its cold, wet children against my face. Vincent stood two yards ahead and was half-turned to me. He stretched out his arm and pointed to an open spot in the path some ten yards ahead. The fathomless darkness of a cave stood out from the rest of the night.

  "We might stay in there for a while," he suggested.

  "Anywhere is better than staying out here," I agreed.

  We hurried through the muck. My foot slipped on a partially exposed rock and I fell face-first into the mud. Strong arms wrapped around me and helped me to my feet.

  "You okay?" he asked me.

  I nodded. "Yeah, but I'll be better when we get in there."

  "Come on. I'll help you," he offered.

  We had gone two steps when he found another slippery rock. His arms around me forced me to the ground. My only saving grace was he ended up at the bottom of our little pile on his back. I found myself atop him with my legs straddled on either side of him. Those bright emerald eyes faced me. Rain ran down my neck and hair, and dripped onto him.

  Vincent sheepishly grinned at me. "Maybe I'm the one who needs help."

  "In more ways than one," I quipped.

  I climbed to my feet and helped him up. We sloshed our way carefully up the rest of the path and slipped into the dry mouth of the cave. The floor was littered with leaves, needles and bits of stick. I stepped forward and squinted my eyes at the back of the cave. The depth stretched on into oblivion. A cave without end.

  Vincent stooped and grabbed some small rocks. "I think I can make a fire out of this, and we can cook the beans."

  "Sounds good," I agreed.

  I gathered sticks and kindling as he created a round circle of small and large stones. Within half an hour we had a warm fire. The third of our six cans of beans sat on a flat rock and boiled in its own juices. Vincent and I sat on the ground, I on the old blanket and he on the ground.

  "You're not too bad at it," I commented.

  He leaned back and sheepishly smiled. "Thanks."

  "Do you remember anything else that would involve practice?" I asked him.

  He shrugged. "It's not really that I remember making fires. It's just-well, it just feels like habit. Like I've done it so often I could do it in my sleep."

  "Of course. Anything else would help. . ." I muttered. I glanced at the entrance. The rain interrupted the otherwise still darkness. "I wonder how long it'll last. . ." I thought aloud.

  "Probably a few days," Vincent commented.

  "More habit?" I asked him.

  He shook his head. "No, just a feeling."

  I stood and carefully stripped off my coat. Water dripped from the edges. A firm crack of the cloth and water sprayed everywhere. The droplets hissed on the warm rocks and fire. Vincent raised his arm to shield his face.

  "Hey, be careful with that," he whined.

  I stooped and lay the coat near the fire. "You should worry about yourself. That coat of yours doesn't look any better than mine."

  Vincent glanced down at his overcoat. "Actually, it's pretty dry on the inside."

  "You've gotta be cold without a shirt," I persisted.

  He shrugged. "Yeah, a little, I guess."

  I glanced out the mouth of the cave. "So does any of this seem familiar?"

  He followed my gaze and shook his head. "No."

  My shoulders drooped. "Then how do you know this is where you should go?"

  Vincent looked into the fire and shrugged. "I just do." His eyes flickered to the can. "I hope there's a town soon, or we'll have to worry about food."

  "Let me guess. You don't know that, either?" I asked him.

  "Not a clue," he confirmed.

  The can of beans reminded us of its existence. Its juice bubbled over the top of the open can and soaked the cooking rock. Vincent grabbed the can and yanked it off the griddle.

  "Ouch!" he yelped as he hurriedly dropped the can onto the ground close by the fire.

  I leaned forward. "Are you okay?"

  He clutched his hand against himself. His teeth were gritted, but he nodded. "Yeah, just a little burn."

  "Here, let me see." I strode around the fire and knelt beside him.

  He pulled back. "It's really nothing."

  "Then let me see it," I persisted. I grasped his hand and pulled it towards me so the palm opened upward. Two fingers were red, but not blistered. "A first degree burn."

  "Is that bad?" he asked me.

  "Not really." I raised my hand and unraveled some of my bandages. "But you should wear these, just in case."

  It's really-ouch!" He winced as I wrapped one of the fingers.

  "Don't be such a baby," I scolded him. I bandaged the first finger and moved on to the second. My eyes fell on the chain of the necklace that hung his neck. The silver glistened in the weak firelight. Another mark against his being a werewolf. Silver and those legends didn't mix. I nodded at the trinket. "Why do you still wear that thing?"

  He glanced down at the necklace. "I don't know. I guess it's because it reminds me of-well-" He blushed and turned away.

  I'll never understand men.

  "All right. That should work," I told him.

  I released his fingers and leaned back. His hand shot out and grasped mine. I whipped my head up and found him staring at me. His emerald green eyes stared into mine. He compressed his lips into a thin line.

  "Leila, I-there's something I've been meaning to tell you," he admitted.

  I felt my cheeks warm. I was blushing. My voice came out in a shaky, hoarse whisper. "W-what?"

  "I. . .I'm-well, I'm really glad you came with me," he told me.
<
br />   My heart sank. I wasn't sure what I expected, but what I got was disappointing. I pulled my hand from his grip and shrugged. "I need answers. Hopefully you can provide them."

  I stood and returned to my blanket where I laid down with my back to him. "But we should get some sleep. If what you say is true than the hike tomorrow isn't going to be any easier for us."

  "All right. . ." he agreed.

  I heard shuffling. After a few minutes I rolled a little and glanced over my shoulder. Vincent's back was turned to me. He held still but for the motion of his soft, even breathing. I sat up and watched him. My mind wandered back to the three times I'd come face-to-face with the creature. A werewolf, Red had told me. I could hardly doubt his words now.

  I shifted. The occupied holster reminded me of its presence. I pulled out my gun and held it in my palm. The metal glistened in the weakening firelight. My eyes flickered between the silver bullet-filled cartridge and the man who slept in front of me. Red told me it was the only thing that could kill a werewolf. That remained to be seen, but when the time came I'd be ready.

  I put my weapon back and lay back down. Sleep came to me, but I had no dreams that long night.

  CHAPTER 2

  A soft, annoying noise woke me from my sleep. My eyes flickered open. The fire was long dead, but a few red coals still fought against their inevitable death.

  Something moved between Vincent and me. It was a short, stooped figure clothed in rags. A hood with ragged edges covered their head. The thing shifted and I heard the mumbling that had awoken me.

  I sat up and grabbed for my gun. "Vincent!" I yelled as I aimed my gun at the intruder.

  The figure started back. Vincent sat up and looked around. "What? What's wrong?"

  "Who are you?" I asked the person.

  The figure stopped five feet from the campfire and turned to me. My weak eyes recognized the outline of a wizened old woman. She gave me a toothy smile, and when she spoke her voice was high-pitched and scratchy.

  "I must apologize for startling you so. I only wanted to look at your servant," she cooed.

  "My servant?" I glanced past her and at Vincent. "You mean him?"

  The old woman raised an eyebrow. Her eyes narrowed and flickered between us. "Perhaps I'm mistaken. Do you travel together as equals?"

  "More or less, but who are you?" I questioned her.

  She bowed her head. "My apologies. My name is Glenna Concelo, but please call me Glenna."

  "And how did you find us here?" I wondered.

  The old woman nodded at embers. "I saw your light and thought there might be someone in trouble."

  "We are in a bit of trouble with our food supply," Vincent admitted.

  I kept my gun pointed at her. "That still doesn't explain what you're doing way out here in the middle of nowhere," I pointed out.

  Glenna chuckled. "Perhaps it is I who should be asking you that question. You see, you're not far from my home." She raised her wizened hands and showed she held a basket. "I was going out to pick some herbs for breakfast when I saw your light."

  I lowered my gun. "What are you doing living all the way out here?"

  Her eyes fell on the empty can of beans and she wrinkled her nose. "City life is not for me, so I live here where no one can bother me." She glanced between Vincent and me, and her toothy grin returned. "But I wouldn't mind some company. A mistress and her servant are always welcome in my home."

  I holstered my weapon and frowned. "I'm not a mistress of anyone but myself."

  Glenna blinked at me and turned her focus to Vincent. "Then you have no bond with this man?"

  Vincent started back and cringed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about, but if we're trespassing we'll leave," I offered.

  I stood and half-turned towards the mouth of the cave. Vincent's guess about the weather proved to be correct. The rain had slowed, but not stopped, and the dark skies were without end. I checked my watch. Five o'clock in the morning.

  "No! No! I can't let you leave without offering some hospitality. It's been so long since I had company that I would at least appreciate some news of the outside," Glenna informed us.

  I turned to her. "Is your house very far?"

  Her smile widened and she shook her head. "No. Just a half mile up the path and on a side trail. It's very cozy, and I've got enough herbs for all of us to have some nice, warm soup."

  "We are running a little low on food," Vincent pointed out.

  My eyes flickered to him. "This is supposed to be your adventure," I reminded him.

  He shrugged. "I know, but we might not find another place to stop for a while."

  Glenna glanced at me. "You have the last say, my dear."

  I sighed. "All right. We'll go."

  Glenna gave us another toothy grin and bowed her head. "Please follow me."

  The old woman shuffled towards the mouth of the cave. I donned my coat, stooped and gathered our few cans and tied them in a blanket. A simple twist and the bag was tied. I grasped the knot, but hands fell on mine. I glanced to my left. Vincent knelt beside me. His eyes reflected the smile on his lips. The heat from his hand warmed mine.

  "Let me carry the bag. It's going to be slick out there and you might need your hands to catch you again instead of falling on me," he teased.

  "You fell, too," I reminded him. "You don't have much balance for a werewolf."

  His smile faltered and he averted his eyes. "I suppose I'm not much of a werewolf."

  "Will you two come or not?" Glenna questioned us. She stood at the mouth of the cave and her foot rapped the dirty floor.

  "We're coming," I replied.

  I slipped my hand from his and stood. Vincent grasped the bag and rose. He followed me to the cave entrance, and with Glenna in the lead we made our way out into the dwindling storm.

  The rain was not so cruel, but the damp sank into my bones. I clasped my coat closer around me. The early morning was dark, and a fog obscured anything beyond ten feet.

  "You hunted herbs in this weather?" Vincent shouted from the rear.

  "No better time to collect than in a rainstorm!" she chuckled.

  We turned off the main path fifty yards from the mouth and followed a less-used eastward. The new path wound through the trees for a hundred yards. Brambles brushed against our clothing and tried to trap us in their merciless thorns.

  It was halfway down this path that we first heard the noise. Vincent and I froze as a horrible, anguished howl filled the air. The sound cut through the noise of the rain and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. There was no mistaking the cry of a werewolf.

  My first thought was to Red. He might have followed our scent, and sought to seek retribution from both of us. The rain, however, eliminated that possibility. The world, and my old life, were washed away behind us.

  "What was that ?" Vincent spoke up.

  Glenna had continued for several steps. She paused at his voice and glanced over her shoulder. Rain poured down the brim of her hood.

  "What was what?" she asked us.

  "That terrible howl. It sounded like there was a wounded animal around here," Vincent explained.

  My eyes flickered to the main path some fifty yards behind us. It wasn't just from 'around here.' The sound had come from somewhere back there.

  Glenna cupped a hand to her ear and furrowed her brow. "I don't hear anything."

  "It was a terrible howl," Vincent told her.

  She dropped her hand and shrugged. "There are wolves here. Perhaps that's what you heard."

  I swept my eyes over the path at our backs. "But this. . .this sounded sad."

  Glenna wrinkled her nose and waved a hand at me. "Bah. Nothing but creatures. Come along now before I catch my death of cold."

  We continued on our way. I sidled up to Vincent. "That was no wolf. Keep your eyes open," I warned him.

  He squinted against the rough rain. "I would if I could."

  I look
ed him over. "Maybe you'll sense the danger before it hits us."

  "Maybe. . ." he half-heartedly agreed.

  At the end of the hundred yards the way opened, and we were presented with a view of our new quarters. Glenna's home was a cabin hewn from ancient logs. The aged wood was dark and cracked. There was so much chinking in the cracks and between the logs that the cabin was more faded gray than dark brown. Clumps of grass covered the roof and weeds grew thick in the dirt around the cabin. The two small, square windows on the front of the cabin were covered in grime and water stains. A few large, flat rocks created a primitive porch. Behind the cabin was a small outbuilding. Glenna opened the weathered old door that groaned in agony and stepped inside.

  I paused on the porch and looked at the stones beneath my feet. They were two feet square and I couldn't see any lip that signified the bottom. I rocked from side to side, but they held firm. The rocks must have weighed a hundred pounds each.

  "Something wrong?" Vincent asked me.

  I shook myself. "No."

  I walked inside and found myself in a dingy, one-room cabin. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling just above the height of the old woman and dust covered the myriad of dead and withering plants that covered the floor and table in the center of the room. At the rear was a large stone chimney. Ash lay thick on its floor and a few heated embers hinted at a once-roaring blaze. A cast-iron pot hung from an iron rod and its bottom hovered a half foot over the embers. A dresser of ancient lineage and ill-keep stood to the left of the chimney. To our right and in the far corner was a short box bed. Over the frame were layer upon layer of animal skins.

  I didn't have to guess where they were procured. All four walls of the cabin were covered with the heads of animals. Cougars, wolves, and even grizzly bears glared back at us. The smallest squirrel to the largest moose were represented.

  Vincent stepped further into the room and looked around at the heads. "Did you catch these yourself?" he wondered.

  Glenna stood close to the table and set her basket on top. She chuckled and turned to hold out her wizened hands towards us. "Do these hands look like they could kill such animals?"

  "It doesn't take young hands to fire a gun," I pointed out.

  She dropped her hands and shrugged her shawl-covered shoulders. "Still, I did not kill these creatures. They were-" her eyes flickered away from us, "-they were here when I moved in, and I couldn't part with them." She stepped beneath the head of a gray wolf and gestured to its eyes. Her own gaze fell on Vincent and a sly smile slid onto her lips. "Young man, don't you think this makes a particularly good addition to my collection?"