The Waning Moon Read online

  I gave him a little side eye, and he smirked. “Not like that. I felt tonight would be a good night for you both to have additional protection. I promise I had no sexual designs on either of you.”

  “Now I know you’re lying. You always have sexual designs on someone.”

  Isaac laughed, a little more freely this time. “She has you there, vampire. I’ve never known you to think about aught else.”

  “Careful, wolf. Your age is showing.”

  Isaac showed his teeth. “I am merely a pup in the face of your magnificent age, grandsire.”

  I left them to their manly banter and went to bed. Between the gate opening and discovering Isaac would only be mine for the next couple of months, I was physically and mentally exhausted. I knew Raj would keep Isaac busy with some manly bonding activity, and I needed some alone time to grieve. Isaac would need me to be strong. I couldn’t let him know how much this was going to hurt me, because when he walked through the gate, he would need to focus on his own survival and not be distracted by my grief.

  Our bond was still shut down on his end. I took the opportunity to live through all my worst fears. I imagined him dying in front of me while approaching the gate, feeling our bond break when he was Underhill, him realizing Emma was the wolf for him and requesting to dissolve our bond, and worst of all, him forgetting me.

  I cried again, hoping Isaac and Raj wouldn’t hear me. I wasn’t quite successful, though.

  “Do you need something?” Raj asked.

  “No,” I replied in the same way. “Working through some shit. Does Isaac know I’m crying?”

  “I don’t believe so. Would you have me keep him ignorant of that fact?”

  “Please.”

  “As you wish, my sweet.”

  I rolled my eyes, knowing he’d get the gist of it.

  I woke alone the next morning.

  “Isaac?” I called.

  “Out here,” he replied.

  I stretched, dressed, and went outside. It was chilly and a dusting of snow had fallen during the night. I shivered and went back inside to add another layer. I had a feeling cold was the enemy of the dragons. Maybe I wouldn’t be moving to Asheville after all.

  Isaac handed me my coffee and wrapped his arms around me.

  I took a sip and had a sudden burst of grief. Isaac must have reopened our bond because he took half a step back and tilted my head up until I was looking him in the eye. “What?”

  “I was thinking how much I was going to miss you making me coffee every morning.”

  “Is that all I am to you?” he asked. He was going for a teasing sound, but I knew my man well enough to hear the thread of hurt in his voice.

  “Of course not! You’re more to me than coffee. There’s the cooking.” I kissed him and smiled. After a moment, he smiled back, and we were okay.

  “I can’t wrap my mind around all the ways my life will be changed when you leave, but it’s the little things that get me. I compartmentalize.”

  “I know that, and I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, but I would like to institute a rule.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You’re leaving, right?”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “I disagree, but I will concede you feel you’re choiceless, which is exactly the effect Michelle was going for. Yes or no—you’re leaving?”

  Isaac ran his hands through his hair, and then finally looked at me. “Yes.”

  “Okay. My rules.”

  “Rules, plural? I thought you said ‘a’ rule.”

  “I’m making it up as I go along. Now shut it.”

  Isaac sat, mimed zipping his lips, and leaned forward with an exaggerated look of concentration on his face. I rolled my eyes.

  “Rule one: I will not try to talk you out of it or find a way for you to avoid this.

  “Rule two: We will not pussy foot around the subject, and will in fact include the fact you are leaving in all of our long-term plans.

  “Rule three: If someone comes up with an idea that might mitigate the situation—something that will ensure that you do walk through the gate instead of get dragged through, etc., you will listen and we will talk about it and determine how to best make that work.”

  Isaac nodded. “Are you finished?”

  I thought about it for a second.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I have a rule, too. Rule four: you will not refuse companionship and love out of misplaced loyalty to me and you will accept the help offered to you by our friends.”

  I tilted my head at him, “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “If, when I’m gone, you want to begin a romantic relationship with someone else, do it. Don’t worry about what I would think.”

  “Okay, I’ll have mad, crazy sex with every hot guy that comes by—in your honor.”

  Isaac grinned. “You’re selfless.”

  “I know.”

  He kissed me again and then let me finish my coffee.

  “Isaac? I have one more rule.”

  “What is it?”

  “Never, ever, ever forget I’m coming for you. It will take a while, and I don’t know how I’ll do it, but once the gates are opened, I’m coming for you.”

  “Raj said much the same thing.”

  “Raj said he’s coming for you? Things went further between you two than I thought,” I teased.

  Isaac laughed. “He said I shouldn’t forget you’d come for me. He did mention he’d be coming along for the ride, though. He hates Michelle almost as much as I do. There has to be more to that story than we know.”

  “There usually is. No one ever tells me the whole story. Speaking of, where is he?”

  “He took off before dawn and said he’d meet us tonight in Savannah.”

  “I suppose we should pack up and get ready to go. Florence should be here soon, and then we can go get our documents. I’m looking forward to seeing your friend Extra again. We should invite him to come along.”

  “That is an interesting idea, but no.”

  “C’mon—you’ll be leaving me soon, and I’ll need someone to cater to my sexual fantasies.”

  Isaac snorted. “Okay, I’ll ask him.”

  I grinned, and Isaac said, “No seriously, I’m going to ask him.”

  “Don’t you dare, Isaac Walker.”

  “Watch me.”

  Further argument was interrupted by the sound of a car coming down the road. Isaac and I hastily cleaned up the camp site and were ready when Florence backed the car up to hitch up to the camper.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  Isaac and I climbed into the car. “Let’s hit the road.”

  I’d expected to settle in for the long haul as Extra and Isaac traded stories and insults again, and really was looking forward to what Extra would say when Isaac asked him to accompany us as my companion.

  When we got out to his house, there was a box on the front steps with Isaac’s name on it. We got out and peered inside at four neatly stacked large envelopes. Isaac grabbed the envelopes and handed one to me and one to Florence. Inside were our papers. New birth certificates, social security cards, driver’s licenses and passports, as well as some utility bills in our names from the addresses listed on our licenses. “Wow,” I said. “He’s good. I never would’ve even thought of half of this stuff.”

  “He changed my shirt,” Florence said. I looked over at her stuff and she was looking between the passport and driver’s license. It did appear she had on two different shirts—and the color wasn’t the only difference—the neckline and style were different, too.

  “Impressive. My name is Libby DeWitt and I’m from Birmingham. What are your names?”

  “Margaret Hayden,” Florence said. “But it looks like you should call me Peggy. I’m from Duck Pond, Mississippi, but I was born in Pearl River. They both sound like lovely, damp places.”

  “Okay, Peggy. I hope we get a chance to visit your birth place.”

&nbs
p; “I’m Joseph DeWitt,” Isaac said. “Apparently we’re married.”

  “And apparently Extra Grady is a traditionalist who thinks the woman should take the man’s last name,” I grumbled when I looked at my birth certificate. “My maiden name is Duvall.”

  “If it makes you feel better, if you’d been the shifter and not me, I would’ve been the one to change my name. Or if we were both shifters, whichever one of us was more dominant would keep their name.”

  I was mildly mollified, “Okay then. Is the bigger envelope our plates?”

  “Yes. There are plates and registrations for both Alabama and Mississippi in here; we can switch out later if we need to. It’s our rig if we’re from Alabama, and Florence’s if we’re from Mississippi.”

  “I wonder how necessary this all is,” I wave my hand trying to encompass all of our falsified documents. “Soon enough, we won’t be trackable by computers anymore. Does it really matter if we use our real names? Will anyone even ask for ID or care what it says?”

  “I haven’t lived for the better part of three centuries by hoping everything will work out for the best. Paranoia and extreme caution are always the way to go.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, oh wise one. Maybe you should get a little hut on top of a mountain where people can hike to you for your special brand of wisdom.”

  Isaac bopped me over the head with the lighter envelope.

  “We didn’t get false documents for Raj.”

  “He won’t be traveling with us during the day, and he can glamour anyone he wants into believing whatever he wants them to believe.”

  “So handy,” I said.

  Extra had thoughtfully left a tool box for us, and we each grabbed a screwdriver and went to work. A few minutes later Libby and Joseph from Birmingham were traveling with their friend Peggy from Duck Pond, Mississippi on an extended tour of the southeastern United States.

  We got back into the car with Florence in the driver’s seat. I hopped in back and spread out the map to serve as navigator. We got on I-26 and Florence drove all the way to Savannah. We arrived in mid-afternoon and pulled into the first motel we found. Isaac went in and got us two adjacent rooms under our new names, and then we went out to stock up on supplies. I could feel the gate’s presence, but it didn’t have the same urgency I’d felt previously. The solstice was several weeks away and the gate was barely vibrating against my mind. It would be easy to find, though, and I was looking forward to locating it the next day.

  I wasn’t sure what we were going to do for the next six weeks. There would be a couple of full moons to deal with, general announcements about the coming destruction of the United States, and probably a run on the grocery stores and banks. Riots in the streets. The attempts on my life would probably continue, if not escalate.

  Now that I thought about it, it seemed likely we’d be busy for the next few weeks. In the middle of it all, I needed to get the most out of my time with Isaac, since that time was coming to an end.

  Chapter Eighteen

  SAVANNAH WAS PERFECT in November. The humidity tinged the air in the southern coastal town, but it was enough to keep me warm without making me sweat my skin off. The potential for hotter and wetter hung in the air, but waking up to temperatures in the low sixties was perfect. The longer I went around with a dragon in my skin, the harder it was to stay warm.

  We spent our first morning in Savannah perambulating around the city. People were out and about, but they were nervous and jumpy. No one actually looked at us twice, for which I was grateful, but people definitely noticed us. I wasn’t sure if it was because we were a walking diversity poster or because there were supernaturals specifically looking for us. I did my best to ignore them as much as I could. Instead, I concentrated on feeling the gate energy.

  Eventually we ended up in Bonaventure Cemetery, where I fully expected to find the gate, even if the energy was now pulsing behind me. The cemetery was as beautiful as expected, and I felt like I could spend the rest of the day there, meandering through the headstones. I’d never seen the movie set here, but I’d still had expectations based on the previews and still shots, and the cemetery did not disappoint. Everything was weeping trees, trailing moss, and creepy little statues that probably moved the moment my back was turned. It was hard to not go full Whovian and attempt to stop blinking.

  We wandered the cemetery for a good hour before I gave up and admitted there was a significant lack of gate in the area. I promised myself I’d come back at least once in the next weeks, and we left. The closer we got to our lunch destination on the banks of the Savannah River, the stronger the gate energy was. Soon it pressed in on all sides like a vise tightening on my chest. I tapped Isaac on the shoulder—he was driving—and when he looked at me, motioned for him to pull over. He did, and I stumbled out of the car and looked around. After doing a full three-sixty, I headed to the cemetery across the street. A sign informed me I was entering Colonial Park cemetery, the oldest in Savannah. The entrance was full-on creepy cemetery. A big stone and wrought-iron gate topped with a bronze eagle framed more of the weeping trees. Weather-stained headstones presided over the closely shorn and browning grass. I followed the pull of the energy through the gate and stepped into a crossroads in the center of the cemetery. Energy flowed around and into me.

  I hadn’t realized how depleted I still was from the last gate opening a week ago until that moment. Whatever Finn had done had more than sapped me, it’d damaged me. The gate—even at barely a fraction of its power—restored what was missing. I instantly felt taller and stronger and more alive. The exhaustion that had been plaguing me since I’d woken up four days ago receded in the face of the pure, raw, magical energy my body took in. I threw my arms out, looked up at the sky, and laughed.

  “Eleanor,” the man next to me said softly. “You’re scaring the humans and drawing attention to yourself.”

  I laughed again. Of course they were scared. Who wouldn’t be in the face of such awesome power? The dragon queen didn’t hide in the shadows.

  “Snap out of it, Libby,” he said. He reached out and touched me. My instinctive reaction slightly outpaced my rational mind, and I sent a burst of flames towards the one who dared lay hands on me just as his name came to me. I managed to pull my magical punch enough that he only got singed and not immolated.

  I stepped out of the crossroads and under the nearest tree. I noticed that the tree itself wasn’t weeping; it was draped in a green-tinged mourning cloth. “What’s the stuff hanging from the tree?” I asked. My voice had a timbre in it that wasn’t usually there. It was almost as if I had two voices, speaking simultaneously and in stereo.

  “Spanish moss,” Florence answered.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Isaac and I stared at the almost vine-like burn patterns up his arm.

  “They’re not healing,” he said.

  “I don’t know what happened.” I felt hollow. Logically, I knew I should be freaking out. The fact that I was so calm was also freaky. I tried to push some emotion through, but it was too much work, so I went back to staring in fascination at what my magic had done.

  “Thanks for pulling your punch at the last minute.”

  “Least I could do. Is anyone still watching?” I winced at the lack of concern in my own voice.

  “Everyone is still staring,” Florence said. “Half of them are considering intervening between you two, but they can’t decide which of you needs assistance. The other half are working really hard to forget what they saw but haven’t gotten there yet. There are a couple minds, though, that aren’t merely curious, but intrigued. I can’t get a lock on their thoughts, but they’re bordering on smug. We should probably find those two and see what’s making them this happy.” Florence turned around, looking for the source of the troublesome thoughts, and then swore softly under her breath. “Dammit. They must have sensed me searching. They’ve locked themselves down. I wish Raj were here.”

  Later, after I’d eaten and the vibrati
ons of gate energy had calmed down, I made an announcement. “I found the gate.”

  Isaac and Florence burst out laughing.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Isaac said after a couple of minutes, drying his tears on a napkin.

  After lunch, we headed back to our cheap motel after making a brief stop at a drugstore. Isaac’s burn patterns were fading, but not as quickly as he usually healed from injury. I rubbed aloe into his arm, ignoring the hissing sounds he made as the cool gel touched the worst of the burns.

  “Magical injuries must not heal as quickly as mundane injuries,” I said, trying for nonchalant.

  “Guess not,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Florence sat on one of the rickety chairs, observing in silence.

  “For a second, I lost myself to the power.”

  “I figured.”

  “I didn’t think werewolves could be injured by magic.”

  “Generally we’re immune.”

  “Are you becoming less immune? Or are you not immune to Fae magic?”

  “Not sure.”

  I continued to massage the aloe into his burns, which were kind of attractive when you tilted your head and looked through squinted eyes.

  “Are you admiring them?” Isaac asked.

  “They’re pretty. Like flower vines.”

  “They’re burn scars.”

  “But decorative ones.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  I stopped to think about the question for a moment. I didn’t feel the way I’d felt when I stood at the crossroads in the cemetery, but I didn’t feel quite myself. It was if I was observing a grand drama. I knew I should feel a little more concerned about his impossible injury and my lack of concern about said injury, but I couldn’t quite muster up any more feelings.

  “It’s possible,” I conceded. “I’m missing some emotions right now.”

  Isaac pulled his arm slowly out of my grasp. I looked at him. “Are you upset?” I asked. I tried to feel his emotions through our bond, but couldn’t grab on to them.

  “Do you think I should be?”