Moonbound (Moonfate Serial Book 1) (6 page)

I look at his hand, half-expecting some kind of trap. Shifting inside the city limits is illegal. It has been since the 1700s, before everyone thought weres were extinct. Then again, murdering people is against the law, too, and that didn’t stop the werewolf and werebear from killing my parents.

But he’s a pufferfish. What’s he going to do, wrap himself up into a sushi roll and try to poison me? A smile mutinies on my lips.

“I already know who you are,” I say.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I saw your profile on Tracker. How can you—”

“Be gay?” He smirks like the smart-ass he no doubt is.

“I was going to say, ‘Sound like a bro-y Reddit-nerd on your profile and actually be a gay werebeast,’ but sure.”

He shrugs daintily and retracts his hand. “I keep the profile up because there are certain elements that can’t know about my preferences, but being a werebeast doesn’t actually require being heterosexual.”

“Then what about me? What about all the other weremates? Can we ignore our matemark too?” Even as I ask the question, I know I’m doomed.

He only gives me a small sad shake of his head and says, “Have you ever seen an underwater crop circle?”

“What?” I shake my head at him, trying to dispel the verbal vertigo his tangent caused.

Without any kind of explanation, he plucks a salt shaker from the counter and unscrews the cap.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He stops, looks at me for a moment, and then dumps the salt onto the counter. Every single grain.

“What the hell?” I hiss.

Lola frowns at me. I mouth over Cooper’s shoulder, ”I’ll handle it.” I can’t chance Cooper telling Lola that I’m a weremate.

She turns away, and I watch as Cooper takes his pinky finger and draws a series of patterns that looks like a crude Indian mandala in the pile of salt. “Okay, let’s say that the salt is sand, and we’re all underwater.”

“Can’t you just come out and tell me what you’re doing?” I whisper.

“I am. Okay, so this”—he gestures to the salt—“is the pufferfish’s mating ground. Male pufferfish draw patterns in the sand, and their mates”—he puts two fingers together and mimes a fish—“get to survey his fabulous interior decorating skills. Then the female puffer decides if the male is worthy of getting to fertilize her eggs. If he is, she deposits her eggs and leaves while the male stays with her young. The male and female never touch. Not so much as a hello.”

“I don’t get it.”

He gives me a sardonic glance. “The point is, there’s no animal gayer than a pufferfish.”

“Is this some kind of weird stand-up routine?”

“My matebond is very different from yours. Unlike you, I’m not bonded to anyone, really. This”—he gives a fancy gesture to his mark—“may as well be a tattoo.” He cocks his head. “Well, a tattoo that allows me to transform into a fish and relax in my swimming pool when I’m in the mood. Which, despite the long winter, is actually a lot more often than you’d think.”

Holy crap is he quirky.

And holy crap, how is there so much I didn’t know about werebeasts? I didn’t even know there were werepufferfish until this morning. Not to mention the whole mate-invading-my-mind-and-dreams-from-seventy-miles-away thing.

What else am I missing?

Maybe he’s just screwing with me.

My eyes narrow. “How have I not heard about the different kinds of matemarks before?”

“We weres try to keep a lot of our biology on the down-low. And most werebeasts do have strong matemarks—especially predators. Not that your scientists would ever know the difference, when you humans are still fixated on casting us as some kind of bad guy determined to voodoo our way into your females’ pants and slaughter your children. It’s a lot more complicated than that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Hence my calling it complicated.” He rolls his eyes, but it’s a good-natured sort of annoyance. “But I’d figure even the Spark Notes version might help you avoid your mate better.”

“How do you even know I’m avoiding him?” I take the napkin and push the salt pile into my hand before dumping it in the trash.

“Your smell. It’s classic anti-were spray, homemade too. Vinegar, chili peppers? All you’re missing is a silver cross to help you ‘fight your urges’.” He puts air quotes around the last part.

I roll my eyes. “I’m not some idiot obsessed with old myths. And I don’t have any urges.”

“Oh, trust me, ignoring the urges just makes it harder. Which I guess brings me to my point.” He gives a bitter sigh as he steeples his fingers in front of his blunt nose. “I think my employer may have found out about my preference for guys. And I have a feeling that if he discovers Lawrence and I had relations, he might try to set us right. He’s very much against any relationship outside of the werebeast-weremate bond. Something of a traditionalist. While he knows it’s not the same for fish as it is for wolves, it doesn’t really matter. The whole maintaining-tradition thing is kind of his quest.”

The rest of his monologue blurs by me as I fixate on a phrase. “Set you right? What do you mean?” My familiar friend, anxiety, is waking up, slithering through my veins and turning them cold.

“Well…” He holds up a finger for a long moment. “He might, I don’t know, rough up us a bit.” He twirls his index finger vaguely. “Bloody nose. Broken arm. Lost limb.”

“Lost limb!”

“Don’t you wish you gave me that drink first now? And probably got one for yourself, too?”

Anger flares in my chest. All this time I had thought the danger from werebeasts would come when my mate found me. I never thought they would come after Lawrence. For what, being gay? That was so 1950s. Then again, werebeasts are practically Victorian legends.

God, I’ve run my whole life. I’ve sacrificed any hope of a normal existence, and trouble still finds the people that I care about? Enough.

I lean forward on my elbows, so close to him that my nose almost grazes his blunt one. “I want you to leave. I want to never see you and your kind again. Not near Lawrence and not near me. In fact, you’re going to do everything in your fishy little power to keep your fucking werebeast boss from following us, too.” I lean forward one more inch, my eyes boring into his. “Got it?”

He’s not impressed with my intimidation attempt; instead, he looks at me with pity. “Look at it this way, at least you’ve got a really powerful werecall, girl.”

“Only werebeasts have werecalls. And I’m not your girl.”

“No,” he says. “You’re definitely not. Not with a werecall that strong. I can’t imagine how powerful your bond must be. Or how your mate hasn’t found you already. Well, he will soon, I guess.” He fiddles with something in his pocket, clenching it then letting go.

My mouth dries, remembering Orion. As if Cooper’s weird, gay-hating boss wasn’t enough.

“Shut up.” I look down and start to clean the few stray salt granules that I didn’t catch the first time.

Cooper runs his hands through his hair, making it stand even straighter and sharper. “You know, I’m all for fighting destiny, but I’m telling you, it’s not an easy battle. And if you refuse to admit it’s even happening, you’re gonna have a hard time winning it.”

“Fuck off.” I throw it out there, not really expecting him to listen.

I keep scrubbing, waiting for him to reply. Once I’m convinced I’ve got every stray speck, I look up, and to my surprise I find that he had listened.

He’s gone.

Chapter Nine

It’s two a.m. I’ve just finished counting down the drawer and am working up how to tell Lola that I might have to duck out for a few days when she a heaves a giant sigh and walks over to me.

“How’s the drawer doing?” she asks.

I stare down at the short stacks of ones, fives, tens and twenties. There’s only one fifty-dollar bill, and it’s been there for weeks. “People must’ve used a lot of credit cards tonight.”

She taps the old PC we use to ring up customers and shows today’s total. Five hundred dollars. Barely enough to cover rent. Lola closes the window quickly, probably hoping that I won’t see. Then she opens the drawer below the screen and pulls out an envelope, which she then sets on the counter.

I stare at it, hoping it’s what I think it is. I need that check.

She gives me a watery smile and takes my hands in hers weathered ones. I start at the sudden contact, but she doesn’t let me escape. “Thank you, Artemis, for singing tonight, and for dealing with that weirdo of a customer, and most of all for understanding.” She lets my hands go and picks up the envelope and waves it so it flops around. Its little plastic window crinkles. “About this being so late.”

“No problem.” I take it and bite my lip, resisting the urge to open it now. I’m not sure how much is in it or if it will be enough. I pick up my purse, put the check inside, and am just about to head out when Lola taps me on the shoulder.

I turn around and see in her hands the entire wad of cash from the drawer. “Lola!”

“Take it—consider it payment for your singing.”

“I can’t,” I say, even as my fingers itch toward the cash. I could run a whole extra week on that much. “You need it.”

She pushes it into my hands. “I can tell when someone’s in a rough way, Artemis.”

Reluctantly, I take the money and slip it into the envelope alongside the check. “Thank you so much, Lola. I don’t know what to say.” My cheeks burn as I realize I still haven’t asked her for time off to run. How can I do that now that she just gave me a bonus? But it’s either that or leave her without saying anything at all.

“You should take a couple days off, too, honey.” She pats me absently on the shoulder. “Peter owes me some extra hours, and you’ve never missed a day. Just sort out whatever’s going on, okay?”

My eyes widen. “Thank you.”

“And you’re going to be singing here every Friday.” Lola leans in and offers me a conspiratorial smile. “So you better learn some Elvis in your time off.”

I laugh. “Elvis? Okay.” I frown when I realize I’m saying “okay” like I know that I’ll be here next Thursday.

“Do you need a ride?” asks Lola.

Outside, the rain strengthens from a drizzle into a downpour.

I bite the inside of my mouth, puzzling. I certainly don’t want to ride in this rain, especially because it’s late and who knows what’s lurking out there waiting for me. Maybe just common criminals. Maybe Cooper’s crazy homophobic boss. Or, maybe, the most dangerous of all: Orion.

But that’s the exact reason why I can’t take Lola up on her offer. I’ve had enough people in my life hurt by werebeasts and other strange things. I don’t know why, but danger always seems to follow me. And Lola doesn’t deserve to get hurt.

“No, I’m good.”

She shrugs and pats my shoulder. “Okay, honey, but you should be extra careful and make sure to take East Avenue all the way home. The side streets aren’t safe at night.”

Chapter Ten

The moment I open the bar’s door, I’m assaulted by warm water. On my skin, in my hair, cascading in waterfalls down my arms and into my pants. I’m drenched in seconds.

To make matters worse, the street lamps’ anemic glow is losing the battle against the darkness and the oppressive rain. The visibility sucks. On my way to my bike, I almost trip into the gutter, already rushing with water.
At least the rain keeps the street from feeling too empty.

When I get to my bike, I unlock it quickly, even though my rusty lock protests. I stuff the lock my purse and am just about to get going when I catch something out of the corner of my eye. A shadow.

I turn.

It’s just a bush near a closed convenience store, rustling in the storm. My paranoia is out of control. I mount up, switch into a high gear, and speed down the slick road.

By the time I’m halfway home, the rain stops, but I’m already soaked through and my black jeans and shirt are plastered onto my every curve. I’m the perfect prey. Weak, wet, alone.

Shit!

A shadow darts across my periphery, and it’s definitely not a bush this time. My finger twitches on the brake, but I pedal faster. I don’t see it again for another block, so I turn around to check if I’m safe.

And there it is, low to the ground, four-legged, and sprinting right toward me. The darkness makes it seem even larger.

I swerve into a nearby alleyway. An automatic light over a garage door flickers on with my movement, blinding me, and I almost crash right into the door.

I can hear the thing behind me now. Water sloshing, claws scrabbling on the potholed road.

It’s closer.

Oh, God, what if it’s Orion? Or worse, what if it’s Cooper’s boss? What if he’s going to kill me like the werebeasts killed my parents?

I hit a pothole and my teeth smash together with the force of it. I don’t fall off, but I do lose time. Enough so that now the creature is running next to me and then, suddenly, in front.

I brake. My tires skid to a stop so fast I lurch off my bike and into the alley’s swelling river of runoff. My knees hit water first then the gravel. But that’s all. No teeth gnashing at my throat or velvety command warping my mind. Nothing.