Clenching my jaw, I drove with a lead foot, ignoring the stinging rain lashing at my trusty Honda Civic.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck.
With my reflexes whip sharp and my new-and-improved twenty-twenty eyesight, the falling night was no hindrance to my hasty passage despite the inclement weather. An explorative whiff of the damp mountain air told me it was still too warm for ice to form on the road, the blustering storm would soon blow itself out.
That’s right. These days, I could smell the difference between a quick squall and the imminent blanket of snowfall. Much to my delight and dismay.
Outside the vehicle, the wind howled and the trees thrashed this way and that. Tumbling bursts of color made a brief dash through my headlights while my windshield wipers squeaked in protest.
Upon my return, the wilderness surrounding my hometown had sprung to life in a whole new way. A wonderland filled with sights, sounds—and, yes—unearthly smells which begged me to shed my human skin and roll around in all Mother Nature had to offer. I wasn’t, however, in the mood to add insult to injury. I didn’t particularly enjoy my car smelling of wet dog.
The being who’d taken residence inside my head huffed but wisely held her tongue.
My hands gripped the steering wheel for dear life, anchoring me to reality as my fractured mind ran in every direction like a fleeing rabbit. A terrible melancholy dogged my heels with each mile I put between myself and that fucking place.
Blood Manor.
It had become a blight on my already complicated existence. Thankfully, distance also brought a welcome respite from the confusing torment. That was, until a fresh wave of mortification crashed over me. Impotent rage followed soon after.
Fifteen times in ten days, I seethed. Fifteen, Luna! What the fuck is wrong with me?
The silver beauty who’d exploded into my life just when I’d needed her most didn’t answer. She had nothing new to offer on this particular topic. One I’d been stewing on for weeks. The wild wolf who’d taken over the other half of my soul didn’t give a flying fuck about meeting my childhood hero, L. H. Higgins, infamous recluse and best-selling author of Demon Hollow.
Luna had her own troubles.
In my mind’s eye, she sat slumped against the passenger seat, nose pressed up against the glass. Despite the terrible weather, she’d insisted on keeping the window slitted open just in case a glimmer of that elusive scent made it through the downpour.
Foreboding filled my limbs at the increasingly dead-eyed amber stare gazing back at me in the rearview mirror. My eyes were almost always hers these days but they had lost their initial brilliant sheen. There was an itch in my soul. A ticking bomb. Time was running out, I could feel it. My animal was begging me to solve the riddle plaguing her sanity, but it wasn’t like I had my shit together. I couldn’t even deliver one piddly invitation for fucksake, let alone solve the supernatural mystery driving my freshly-turned wolf insane.
My cheeks burned at the thought of yet another failure.
Like a numbnuts, I’d sat parked on that deserted country road watching dusk fall while my hands shook. Whatever the hell was protecting the place felt like a physical punch to the sternum from the Gods, only this force was inside my brain.
Sweat had broken out on my brow but my foot had point blank refused to press down on the accelerator. I simply couldn’t cross the property’s boundary. Instead, I’d glared balefully at the gothic iron gates with their gorgeous skull and roses motif which conjured up a sorrowful lament deep in my soul.
Something was keeping me from Blood Manor. And I knew who to shake down in order to uncover what that something was. It was time to kick the pasty-white ass of a meddling elder.