Page 87 of Dead Wolf Falling (Bad Moon Academy 2)

“I refuse to give up. There has to be something in the books that helps—” I start to say, but he growls.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he mutters. “You can’t find the answer in these stupid history books.” He picks one up and hurls it against the wall. Moving to pick up another, he growls when Carter shoves his chest.

“Don’t fucking mess with my books.” Carter pushes him back again. “You want to give up? Fine, but leave us out of it.”

Moons, he’s so hotwhen he talks about books,Joan whispers.

Oh my god, Iknow!Better go stop him before he does something he’ll regret.

Inserting myself between them, I press my hands against their chests and ease them apart. “Listen, no fighting, okay. You,” I say to the angry shifter, “go run in the woods and let it out. And you,” I turn to Carter, “no beating people up over books.”

He snarls, and I narrow my eyes.

“No. You can’t rip his head off for throwing a book, no matter how rude,” I swing my eyes to the shifter, “it was.”

“Whatever. I’m out of here.” The shifter takes off, slamming the library door open and storming away. A few other guys follow after him, making their choice clear. They’re done helping.

Shaking my head, I scrub my hands over my face and pick up a textbook. “All right, everyone else ready to work? We have one day to figure out how to vanquish the demon.”

Bea runs to the desk, picks up a book, and holds it up. “Let’s do this.”

Hours pass and people slowly begin to fall asleep where they’re sitting. It’s nearly two in the morning, but my mind is too wired to stop. I’m reading about necromancy, two short paragraphs in an eight-hundred-page book about witchcraft.

Necromancy, the art of bringing the dead to life, is not known to be a naturally occurring power of the witch gene mutation. The earliest account of necromancy traces back to Theodore Thatcher, who was shunned from his coven at age twenty-two. Thatcher practiced blood magic and his relatives suspect he attempted to summon a demon the year before he began using necromancy. It is not known if he was successful, but the necromantic power he used is not witch born.

Other cases of necromancers have been traced throughout history (see a full listing in Appendix C). All of those captured by the Supernatural Force had DNA that matched that of Theodore Thatcher’s. Thatcher is known as the Father of Necromancy and was sentenced to death in eighteen fifty-two. Necromancy is illegal and the Supernatural Force actively persecutes those reported to practice it.

I trace a finger over the black and white sketch of a man standing over a grave where a skeletal arm pops out of the dirt. The image hits close to home, since that’s exactly what Mom had done for Dad, and I chew on the inside of my cheek and read over the paragraphs again. I’m surprised there isn’t more information, but I guess if they outlawed necromancy, it stands to reason they wouldn’t want to provide in-depth details on how it works. That or they didn’t know. Either way, I am no closer to understanding my abilities. I wish Mom were here, then at least she could fill me in on what she learned over the years.

She never talked about my grandparents, and Aunt Lou hasn’t said a whole lot either. I gather there’s a story there that neither are keen on telling. Sort of like me not wanting to tell people about my family. The most people need to know about me is Aunt Lou is my aunt and she’s my guardian. At school, everyone knew because it was a small town and once one of the nosy neighbors got ahold of the obituary section of the Sunday newspaper, word spread around that Lou lost a sister. No one ever asked me outright what happened, and that was fine by me.

Telling the guys about Mom and Dad, and how Mom tried to revive him is the most trust I’ve ever placed in a person outside of Aunt Lou, let alone a group of people. Not even the girls I befriended in high school knew about it. It’s a relief none of the guys judged my parents, especially Mom, for what happened. While I’m angry at her, the protective part of me wants to keep her safe from anyone else’s scrutiny. Kind of messed up considering how much I hate her little visits, but family can make you do strange things.

“Little Red,” Brayden’s voice brushes over my ear seconds before strong arms wrap around me from behind. “You’re sending waves of gloom through the link.”

Aw crap. I’m still getting used to them being in tune with my every emotion, and I have yet to work on shielding them from my stronger reactions. I glance at Everett, who’s carefully studying my face, holding his hand against his book to keep it from falling closed. Maybe he can help me figure that out.

“Sorry,” I say, running my fingers along Brayden’s arms. His hold on me tightens, and a low growl rumbles against my skin, and his teeth nip my ear. “Hey, stop that.”

His dark chuckle makes my thighs clamp together. “Can I let you in on a little secret?” he asks, lips brushing over my ear. “I’ve never been good with authority.” He catches the lobe of my ear between his teeth again and gently bites me.

With a soft moan, I press my hand against his jaw, holding him still. “We have too much work to do for you to be messing around like this.”

“Everyone deserves a break.” Draco closes his book and smirks at me. “Isn’t that right?”

Adler clears his throat and taps his fingers on the top of the table. “I’m not finding anything useful in these books.”

Everett’s eyes darken, and he licks his lips. “I can think of something useful to do.”

We all turn to glance at Carter, who’s frowning and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The full moon is literally tomorrow and you all want to get your rocks off because reading is boring?” The slight bite to the question makes my chest deflate.

“Well.” Brayden huffs. “When you say it like that, it doesn’t sound nearly as fun.”

Draco snickers and lifts his gaze over my head, eyes locking with Brayden. The two of them together are dangerous. Maybe Brayden should have stayed a phantom, that way I wouldn’t have to deal with identical, broody, half-cocked shifters. I assumed me liking Jon Snow was a phase, and that in real life, I’d be more drawn to someone like Everett. As it turns out, I’m wildly indecisive and my type is. . . well, all of them.

Is it wrong to be smug?Joan asks.

Rolling my eyes, I sigh in my head.Go on, get it out. I know you’ve been waiting for this moment.

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