Page 68 of Rejected Moons (Rejected Moons 3)

I throw myself into the squirrel’s path and catch it around the neck with my teeth. A quick shake of my head snaps its neck, and I drop it to the ground and sit back, satisfied with my kill.

Milo comes trotting up. He doesn’t look quite at home in his wolf body—he doesn’t move naturally. It’s as if this is something he learned to do, rather than something that was born in him. I guess that’s what comes of not growing up in a pack and having to learn how to shift in secret.

It really is like he’s the exact opposite of me—I have magic, but I’m a total novice at it. He has his wolf, but he hasn’t mastered how to use it.

I shift back to human form as a sign to him that it’s all right to do the same. We’ve got our prey now. There’s no need to stay animal. Ordinarily, for something like squirrel, I would just eat in my wolf form—squirrel meat doesn’t taste so good to a human tongue. But I want him to be comfortable.

“Can you make us a fire?” I ask him, digging a set of clothes for each of us out of my backpack.

He nods and catches the garments I throw at him. He tugs the pants on, then starts to collect some firewood.

“Hey! A couple of wolves!”

My head jerks up. I don’t recognize the voice, but I’m immediately moving into a combat stance—squatting slightly, my hands up, positioned back to back with Milo. I can’t see him behind me, but I can sense where he is physically, and I realize how reassuring it is to have someone at my back when we’re in danger.

Are we in danger?

Three figures drift out of the trees. They’re tall and slender, all three of them, with hair as dark and slick as oil. But the physical feature that draws my eye the most is the matching scar on each of their faces.

I recognize that right away, even though I have no idea who these men are.

The scars are in the shape of one of the sigils I saw painted in blood on the wall of the building I explored with Nate. It’s the one that looked like a stemmed glass.

I’ve obsessed over those signs since I first saw them. I would know them anywhere.

“What are you wolves doing in our forest?” one of the newcomers asks.

“You don’t own the forest,” Milo says.

“You’re Moon Casters,” I say. “Aren’t you?”

“Oh, never mind this,” one of them says. “Let’s just kill them! We’ve got them outnumbered.”

The one in front, who I take to be the leader, holds up his hand to stop the one who spoke. “If they make proper tribute,” he says, “we’ll let them go.”

“Tribute?” I repeat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’tcarewhat you’re talking about,” Milo growls. “We’re not giving them anything, Emlyn. Let’s go.”

“Emlyn,” the lead Moon Caster repeats.

I wish Milo hadn’t said my name. I hate hearing this monster say it. It feels like he has power over me, even though I know that can’t be. It’s just a name. Milo grew up with Moon Casters. He wouldn’t have given them my name if there was anything they could do with it.

“Will you make tribute?” the leader asks.

“No,” Milo says. “Come on, Emlyn. We’re leaving.”

But I can’t move. It’s as if my feet have been cemented to the ground—no, worse than that. It’s as if all my muscles have locked in place. I can’t evenblink.

And I can’t call out a warning to Milo.

“Emlyn?” he says.

I’m shrieking inside. Whatever they’re doing to me, they’re going to do it to him, and then we won’t even be able to run. We’ll just be stuck standing here while they kill us—

Milo lets out a cry and flings his hand up, palm outward.

Immediately, I can move again. But my movements are slow. It feels as if I’m underwater, as if my body is struggling against resistance.

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