Page 1 of Cold Moon

1

Dante

Ihad always liked caterpillars.

It was something to do with their metamorphoses, how they were able to change shape, fly away from where they were born, beautiful in all their delicacy. They could change, and they could escape. As a werewolf—a creature of transformation myself—I should have been able to do the same.

But I was beginning to suspect that the caterpillar I saw crawling across the dry leaves in front of me wasn’t real. For one thing, the ground pressing against my cheek was frigid in the late October air.

For another, it wasn’t alone. There were wiggling spots all across my vision, light green and yellow. Some of them were flying, entirely unattached to the sticks on the ground or anything else. They weren’t crawling, just squirming around.

Logically, these weren’t caterpillars or anything half as nice. They were my vision getting spotty, a symptom of low blood pressure as I bled out, naked on the ground in the woods, far from home.

I’d challenged Cain for leadership of our pack. It’d been the only thing I could do to put an end to the violence and madness.

And, predictably, he’d kicked my entire ass in front of our pack. Not alone, either. I’d pushed them to change, to do better, and the pack had shown me precisely how little they cared for Maxim Reid’s only son. They’d left me with my belly torn open, bleeding from my neck and shoulder, collapsed in the dirt.

We’d fought as wolves, but as my body shut down, my form shifted. When werewolves died, we did it on two legs.

There were a number of reasons I’d never have made a fit Alpha Reid. Like my mother’s, my fur was stark white. It stood out in a fight, and I didn’t have the size to make up for shining like a beacon in the dark, inviting any and every enemy to come right at me. I wasn’t a warrior. Not like my father’d been, for all the good it’d done him.

More importantly, I didn’t understand my pack—couldn’t accommodate their needs when I was so busy shoving my own down. They wanted an alpha who’d fight for them, who’d provide. Food, safety, unwilling omega mates.

I’d never been that wolf. Instinct couldn’t win out over decency.

Except it did, every day.

Hadn’t wanted to be pack alpha either, until I heard my cousin Cain, the new Alpha Reid, had led our wayward pack out to fight the Groves. He meant to tear them apart, take their omegas, repair our pack.

They’d die. As much as I hated them for blindly following my father, ignoring the suffering and misery he caused while he slowly lost his mind, I didn’t want to lose them.

The Groves didn’t deserve that violence either. Dying for protecting their own pack? For treating omegas like more than holes to fuck and bodies to claim? I couldn’t stand by and let it happen. I’d failed them once; now, I owed them better.

With one hand, I pressed into the wound on my stomach. My palm wasn’t large enough to staunch the flow of blood, and the pressure crawled up my neck in an electric jolt of pain.

I was meant to die alone in the woods while the Reids stood face-to-face with the Grove wolves. Their alpha spun beautiful words about the faith between packs, about healing. I’d heard him speaking through the trees, too weak to crawl toward the sound or even lift my head. He’d seemed far off, but his voice was clear and captivating. Far better than the growls and snarls that followed when the fighting broke out.

Bile stung the back of my throat, and I shut my eyes tight. No more violence. If I couldn’t have a few last peaceful moments, I’d just as soon die faster. Never mind that my hand lost its strength and fell empty to the ground.

But when I closed my eyes, I saw Cain leap at me, an enormous black wolf. His claws were tearing, spit dripping from his fangs., so I opened them again and watched the caterpillars wiggle their way across my field of vision instead.

In time, the sounds of fighting faded. It was just the caterpillars left and the dull ache of my wounds, the creeping cold working its way up my limbs.

All in all, if I was going to die, imaginary caterpillars weren’t the worst things to watch.

My senses were dull, my limbs so numb and tingly that I only noticed a body crash into my back when my muscles clenched and a spasm of pain curled me in half.

Gasping, I looked up into the brightest, bluest eyes I’d ever seen. The scent of omega filled my nose. There were high, strawberry-red spots in his pale cheeks, a shock of dark hair on his head. Clean-shaven face. He looked afraid, grappling to hold my cheeks and pull my head into his lap.

I smiled up at him. “Brook. Hi.”

Brook held me tight. “Dante! What—You weren’t fighting! You weren’t there!”

I scowled. He was right—I hadn’t been there. Days, my father had locked Brook away from the rest of the pack, forcibly taken him, claimed the man was his mate. I’d never smelled anything as foul as miserable, terrified omega, and for days, I’d let Brook live with that and done nothing.

“I’m sorry. Brook, I’m so sorry—”

I wanted to tell him I should have done more, should have fought my father and saved him. Instead, I’d taken the coward’s way out. While my father was distracted, standing his ground against the Groves, I’d slipped Brook out. I’d helped him escape.

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