Page 2 of Bad Moon Rising

“Damn right we have a problem,” Jackson snaps. “You leave without saying goodbye, and we don’t hear from you for two years, then you show up at the door covered in blood.”

Orion doesn’t say a word. He stares at his shoes.

“I had to leave,” I growl. “This is my job. There are too few hunters out there for all the monsters and demons that roam this earth. If I don’t do this, innocent people get killed.”

And I don’t want you to be two of them.

The twins exchange one of their looks. They can have an entire conversation without uttering a word.

“Don’t fucking say it.” My gut twists.

“We haven’t said anything,” they protest together. Orion moves into the room and throws himself down on the farthest chair from Dad’s. He wears Mom’s amulet on a leather strap around his neck, and he nervously fiddles with it.

“No, but you’re thinking it.”

Jackson and Orion exchange another one of their twin looks. A thousand words are spoken between them without a single sound actually leaving their lips. It used to drive me insane when they did that—and to be completely honest, made me a little jealous—but now, I’m happy they have that bond with one another, especially given Orion’s anxiety.

Orion licks his upper lip and immediately diverts his attention to his black-painted nails while Jackson sits upright, a determined expression etched across his face.

“You should have taken us with you,” he says, his tone scathing. “We’re just as good at hunting as you are. You weren’t the only one who trained for this life.”

“I told you not to say it. One hunter in this family is more than enough. I’ve already had to bury Mom and Dad. I’m not burying you, too. You’re finishing high school and going to college. That’s what they would have wanted for you. End of discussion.”

I don’t want to leave them. I don’t want to do this alone. But what I do out there—the things I have to do—it’s all because of them. Because I want them to live in a world where they don’t have to be afraid of the monsters under their beds. Because I don’t want them to have to grow up too fast, like me.

I did tell a lie, though. Our parents would roll in their graves if they knew I was stopping Orion and Jackson from hunting. They would…if I hadn’t doused their bones in holy water and salt before burning everything to ash. It’s the only true way to put spirits who’ve seen so much evil at rest.

Jackson picks up the bottle of syrup and doodles a pentagram on the back of his hand. He licks it off, smacking his lips. Orion continues to stare at his shoes, that curtain of hair hiding him from my gaze. He’s always been like this around me, not wanting to reveal himself. I think that after Mom and Dad died, he didn’t trust me not to leave him, too.

And I went and proved him right.

“Why don’t you start by telling us about the blood,” Jackson says. He drops a bottle of whisky on the table next to the syrup.

“I’ve been in Oakland Heights, chasing down a werewolf that’s been doing some serious damage along the east coast.” I shove the bottle away. Jackson grins as he grabs it and takes a deep swig. Yup, my kid brother is all grown up now. “I had a couple of false starts, but I was finally certain of his identity.”

The annoying thing about werewolves is that you can’t tell one just by looking at it. Demons, revenants, ghosts, vampires—they all have subtle tells that an experienced hunter can identify. Demons usually have some sort of indication they’re a part of the primordial realm, whether that be horns sprouting from their head, pitch-black eyes, or ghastly pale skin. There’s just something otherworldly about them. Revenants barely ever actually resemble a human. Instead, they’re a mess of sinewy limbs, billowing cloaks, and pure red eyes that rest in a face constructed out of nothing but swirling, gray smoke. Ghosts are see-through and go “wooooo”, but they’re mostly harmless. Vampires are the closest things to a human you can find in the supernatural world while still holding monstrous qualities, but even they have subtle tells. Abnormally pale skin. Slightly angular bone structure and square jaws to hold their razor-sharp fangs. And red flecks in their pupils from all that blood they drink.

But most of the time, a werewolf is an ordinary human—albeit with serious strength and an uncanny ability to land on their feet if dropped from a great height. But nothing that means you can look at someone and say, “Yup, he’s a werewolf.” The only way to get a positive ID for your hunt is to wait for a werewolf to go all growly at the full moon.

So that’s what I’d done in Oakland Heights. The problem with this technique is that at the full moon, a werewolf is fucking difficult to kill. A silver bullet will do the trick, but have you ever tried to shoot an eight-foot wolf while it’s charging toward you? Nigh on impossible to get a hit straight to the heart, and if you hit a kidney, all you do is enrage the bastard. That’s why Dad taught us to fight with his all-purpose slayer weapon of choice—silver-tipped stakes.

“He’s just your garden variety fanged pup. I managed to lure him to this abandoned youth hostel on the outskirts of the town, lock him in a bathroom, and stake him through the heart. But not before he bit someone.”

“Who?” Jackson’s eyes widen.

“I don’t know. Some idiot kid who thought hanging around an abandoned youth hostel was a fun way to spend a Saturday night. They ran away as soon as they saw me coming. I think it was a girl, but I can’t even be sure of that. It was dark, and I had blood in my eyes. Anyway, she dropped this.”

I throw a small, rectangular object down on the table.

It’s a Haddenwood community library card.

“Shhiiiiiiit.” Jackson picks up the card. “So not only did you let a fresh werewolf get away, but they’re likely in our town right now.”

“I didn’t let her get away,” I growl, feeling slightly indignant. My parents’ motto is that if you didn’t make the kill the second you came face-to-face with the threat, you failed. You can’t hesitate. You can’t let the monster get away. Before you can track it down again, more innocents will be slaughtered. “I was a little preoccupied with maneuvering a stake through her alpha’s ribcage.”

Jackson dares a smirk. “This never would have happened if you had us with you.”

“It’s not under discussion. I’m home because the next full moon is twenty-seven days away. I need to figure out who owns this library card, make sure they’re the wolf, and stake them before they hurt—”

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