Moon Dragon (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-five

Fang spent the next half hour cleaning me up, and cleaning my place up, too.

He deposited what was left of the cat in a heavy trash bag, along with my clothes, which he had made me strip out of in the bathroom and pass through to him. I noted that he averted his eyes.

Rather chivalrous of him.

I also noted that I was still ravenously hungry. The cat hadn’t been nearly enough, although it had, for now, satisfied my need to kill something.

My
overwhelming
need to kill something.

And when I had killed it, when I had held its broken body in my hands and tore into it with my mouth, I knew something inside of me had died...and might stay dead forever.

My humanity.

This was, I was certain, the first time I had killed something that didn’t deserve to die, something that hadn’t done anything to me. Something that was, in fact, innocent. The cat was not only dead...but I had torn it to shreds, even going so far as breaking apart its bones to get to the good stuff inside.

“This is not like you, Moon Dance,” said Fang from my living room, where he was presently wiping up the bloody mess from the wood floor.

I was dressed in a bathrobe. The now-bloody rag he was using intrigued me. “I suppose not,” I said, and sat down on one end of the couch and watched him.

“You always had so much self-control.”

“I was weak then.”

“No,” said Fang. “You were yourself.”

“Well, this is me now. Get used to it. Did you bring the blood?”

“It’s in the refrigerator.”

He had barely finished the sentence when I was moving, flashing across the room—and probably flashing him, too. I didn’t care if I flashed him. I only cared about the blood.

Human blood.

From Fang’s own blood bank.

And there it was, in a white paper bag. Heavy bag, too, full of life, full of my sweet addiction.

I pulled out the first clear packet. Fang had used plastic medical bags to store his blood, all very official looking. I bit through the corner, spitting out the plastic, and drank deeply from it. I noted immediately—all over again—the difference between human and animal blood.

So different,
I thought.
So perfect. And so right for me. Clearly, the entity within me preferred human blood.

No,
I thought,
I preferred it.

I started on the second.

“Easy, Tiger,” said Fang.

I opened my eyes. Yeah, I think they might have rolled back into my head. Like a shark. No, like a predator. Fang was leaning a shoulder against the kitchen doorway, watching me with an expression of bewilderment, amusement and concern.

Pick an expression, asshole,
I thought.

And as I drank, I sensed myself slipping a little further away. A little further offshore, so to speak. The tide of hate and anger and hunger was pulling me further out to sea.

“Penny for your thoughts,” said Fang, which was almost funny, since the man had once read my thoughts with ease. Now, no more, being a fellow creature of the night.

I dropped the second bag on my kitchen floor, the remnants of which splattered over my bare feet and up onto the base of my refrigerator. Blood had also spilled onto my robe in my haste to suck down the packages.

I started on the third bag when it occurred to me that I’d killed my neighbor’s cat, Tinker Bell.

It hadn’t been a stray tomcat. It hadn’t been wild. In fact, I had chewed through its collar in my haste to get to its neck, even spitting out the little jingle bell it wore. Something inside me had dehumanized it, so to speak. Had rendered it into nothing but a stray, when, in fact, it had been something: a loving house pet.

But what if, instead of Tinker Bell, one of my elderly neighbors had walked past? Would I have rendered one of them into nothing as well? Would I have convinced myself they were homeless? Or meth addicts? Or something beneath me? Would they, even now, be wrapped in a trash bag, rendered into shreds?

Or what if my kids had been home? Would I have dehumanized them, too? Would they even now be as dead as Tinker Bell?

The thought scared the unholy shit out of me, and I dropped to my knees and buried my face in my hands, and as I wept, I heard a voice not very deep inside my head—my own voice, in fact—whisper: “Pathetic.”

Chapter Twenty-six

“Rough day, Moon Dance?”

“Shut up,” I said, and tried to laugh but failed miserably. It sounded halfway between a cough and a sob.

We were sitting on my bed, with the shades pulled down, and drinking ice water. I couldn’t stand the thought of more blood. I’d had my fill for tonight. For many nights.

“It’s safe to say that you just saw me at my worst.”

“Well, if that’s your worst, Moon Dance, then I think we’re going to be okay.”

“No,” I said. “You don’t understand. Well, maybe you would understand. Actually, you would understand better than most.”

“You’re rambling, Sam.”

“That’s me,” I said. “Ramblin’ Sam.”

“And what is it you think I don’t understand?”

“It might have been only a cat—oh, God, Tinker Bell—but I seriously lost
all
control of myself.”

“It was only a cat—not to say that Tinker Bell wasn’t an awesome cat. So, try to relax. Deep breaths. You didn’t kill anyone, right?”

I nodded, perhaps with a little less conviction than he wanted.

“Right?” he asked.

“Right,” I said. “I didn’t kill anyone. I swear.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Yes, dammit. Just the cat, and I feel terrible enough as it is.”

“Terrible is good, Sam.”

“What do you mean?”

I had my down pillow laid over my lap. Fang was sitting opposite me, legs crossed as well. He was as tall as Kingsley, certainly, but not as big, not by a long shot. No one was. Perhaps ever. I doubted Kingsley could sit cross-legged on a bed to save his life. Having tree trunks for legs had that effect.

Speaking of Kingsley, I knew he would not be happy to know that Fang and I were currently sharing my bed. Of course, we were both sitting on my bed, and one of us was currently doubting her sanity, but guys tended to overlook such minor details. I had no reason to hide it from Kingsley, and I would tell him later, and he would just have to get over it. For now, Fang was the only vampire I knew, and certainly the only one I trusted.

“It’s good that you feel terrible, Sam. We need you to feel terrible. That terrible part is your humanity.”

“But it didn’t feel terrible in the moment. It felt right. Damn right.”

“I have no doubt, Sam.”

Fang rested his elbows easily on his knees. He was a good-looking guy. Straight nose. Bright eyes. His pale complexion went without saying. Earlier in his transformation, he had gone to a dark place, and had stayed there for a while. During so, my relationship with Kingsley had blossomed all over again, and Fang and I had lost touch for many months. Our rebuilding was slow. A few emails. A few texts, and then the IM-ing started again. Officially, we were the last two people on earth to still instant message.

Anyway, I was glad he had pulled himself out of it. Mostly, I was glad to have my Fang back in my life again. Our relationship seemed to have evolved into a true friendship, which was what I needed. He seemed to be mostly okay with it.

Now, he studied me long and hard, and I knew he was wishing like crazy that he could dip into my thoughts again. He was my first, so to speak. My first telepathic link. And, as with all firsts, he held a special place in my heart.

“I think, Moon Dance, that the key here is to never allow yourself to get to that place again.”

“What place?”

“That place of darkness. Hear me out. The Librarian told you that the key to defeat the thing within you—”

“And within you, too, I might add.”

He nodded. “Yes, but so far, the thing within me has stayed buried deep, as had been the case with you.”

He was right. Elizabeth had lain dormant for many years, only recently making an appearance...and making my life a living nightmare in the process.

Fang went on: “Anyway, the Librarian had told you that the key to defeating her was with love.”

“He did, yes. Maybe he’s the original hippie.”

“Or maybe he knows what he’s talking about,” said Fang. “What if the love he’s referring to you is...love for
yourself
.”

“I’m not following.”

“Exactly,” said Fang. “You have spent so long hating yourself for what you are. Hating yourself for what you have become. Hating the thing within you. Hating your predicament. Hating Danny. Hating anything that has come up against you—”

“And my nails.”

I held up my hands. “I hate my nails.”

“Right, your nails. Anyway, my point is this: your own self-hatred has awakened the beast within you. Literally. That is why, I think, she has made such a strong showing. You have created an environment within yourself for her to flourish.”

“Hating myself is kinda my thing.”

“I know, Sam. But you didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t deserve this. You deserve love. Self-love.”

His words hung in the air, and I did my best to absorb them. Truthfully, the concept of loving myself seemed...foreign. Which shouldn’t be the case. Not for me, not for anyone.

“Self-love,” I said again, and for some reason, I giggled.

“Not that kind of self-love, Samantha Moon! But surely
that
wouldn’t hurt either.”

And, yeah, we both laughed...and, yeah, I’m pretty sure I would be keeping this last exchange from Kingsley. The big oaf didn’t need to know everything, dammit. Of course, the poor guy was currently in lockdown mode at his residence. I was never, ever permitted to see him the day before the full moon or the day after. Which was fine by me. At this time of the month, he tended to be grumpy as hell anyway.

“You said something about never letting myself get to this point again. What did you mean by that?”

“You will need to be diligent in your feeding, Samantha. Get yourself on a regular schedule. Go back to the cow and pig blood, as filthy as it is.”

“Wait, why?”

“Hear me out. It’s filthy and disgusting, yes, but the key here is that you did not
crave
that blood. You did not hunger for it. You consumed it only to stay alive. However, you only awakened the beast within when you began consuming human blood on a regular basis.”

“
She
prefers human blood,” I said, nodding.

“Then don’t give her what she wants.”

“Don’t feed the beast, you mean?”

“Right.”

“But I need blood—”

“Of course you do. We both do. Our bodies have been forever altered by the entities within. But we don’t need
human
blood. You don’t need human blood. Cow and pig blood satisfy your cravings.”

“But I’m not as strong—”

“Perhaps not. Or perhaps that’s a false belief she’s given you.”

“I may not be able to go back—”

“You can, Sam. You have to. Or next time I come here...”

He didn’t have to finish. We both knew what he meant. The next time he came here, he might not see a dead cat...but a dead person.

He said, “The key is love.”

“And cow blood.”

“Yes, Sam.”

“So, how do you love yourself when you’ve hated yourself for so long?”

Fang reached over and took both my hands. He held my gaze for a long, long time, then finally shook his head. “Only you can answer that, Sam. But I think you might be better at it than you give yourself credit for.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Fang was gone, and I was restless.

After much pacing and running my fingers through my hair, I decided it was time that I got real answers, and it was time that I started caring that real people might be getting killed in the worst way imaginable: being eaten alive.

Jesus.

With my kids now staying over with my sister—God bless her—I grabbed my car keys and hit the road.

* * *

I was parked in front of Gunther’s house.

It was the middle of night, with dawn still hours away. The street was quiet and Gunther’s two-story home looked empty. I shouldn’t have left his house this evening. I should have stayed here, watching it, then followed him. But I had let my hunger get the best of me, and now, he was gone. I was sure of it. After all, tomorrow was the full moon, and there was a very good chance Gunther was, even now, looking for his next victim.

Up in the San Bernardino Mountains, perhaps along a hiking trail.

Or, more likely, he was setting up on a carefully chosen trail. Come morning, he would wait for the perfect victim. He was fairly indiscriminate. Men and women alike...although he leaned toward women.

No, this wasn’t a paying gig. I had no dog in this fight. And up until now, the idea of something hunting humans in the woods didn’t seem entirely horrible.

It had seemed right. Natural.

The strong shall live, and all of that.

But now that my hunger had been satiated, and now that I had begun the process of removing the hate and anger from my thoughts...something interesting was happening.

Something Fang had predicted, that smart little bugger.

I started caring. I started feeling like my old self. I started realizing that killing the innocent wasn’t right, no matter what, and if I could do something about it, then dammit, I would.

A simple shift in focus had been all that was needed.

A shift from hate to love.

“Self-love,” I whispered and laughed lightly.

I needed to do something, and that something was to find his damn cabin in the woods. A cabin that was, I suspected, off the grid or owned by someone else. Or even owned by one of his victims.

So, I closed my eyes and projected my mind out.

A neat trick and one that every investigator should be so lucky to have the ability to do. Anyway, as my consciousness expanded, I focused on the house before me, and soon, I was pushing through the front door. My projected mind now stood in his foyer. From there, I scanned the house. Empty. Lights out, except for a single lamp near the camelback couch. The view before me flickered and wavered, like a TV going on the fritz. I was stretching my mental scanning abilities to the limit. I pushed on down the hallway, scanning into each room. The downstairs was empty. Back in the living room, I noticed a camera sitting on his mantel, pointed at the front door. It was the only such camera I saw. I also saw a home security system that seemed pretty elaborate. Motion detectors in all the living room corners.

I headed upstairs and confirmed the same, then took a quick peek in the garage. The Challenger was still here.

Someone picked him up,
I realized, and returned to my body.

I stepped out of my
minivan...and slipped into the shadows around Gunther’s home, searching for a way in. I ignored the downstairs windows; most would be wired. I continued around the house, reaching over and opening a side gate. No dog, but I knew that. I scanned the upper stories.

There, high up, was a circular vent that would lead, I assumed, into the attic. I would take my chances.

I leaped up onto the stone fence separating his property from his neighbor’s. Now the neighbor might have a dog...but it turned out they didn’t. Either way, I wasn’t on the fence for long. From there, I gathered myself and sprang as high as I could. Turns out I can spring with the best of them. A moment later, I landed smoothly on the roof.

I dashed along the crest of the roof and leaped onto the second-story tiles. A moment later, using brute force, I had the attic vent off.

Once inside, I began removing my clothing.

All in a night’s work.