Moon-Burn (Lone March #3)

By Erin Irvin

"In one fast motion, he shoved me against the wall and cupped a hand over my mouth. I had been so stupid. The very thing I had feared from the start was happening—he was overpowering me and there was nothing I could do about it!"

When her pack gets taken, March Howe is forced to enlist the help of the one person she trusts least in the world—Elliot Sharp. As if running around the state alone with him isn’t bad enough, she fears they won’t make it back home in time for the Full Moon Cycle. Risking her humanity to be out in the wild is worth it to save her pack. But some things, once done, can’t be undone, and March is afraid she may have lost pieces of herself she can’t get back.

With her rage threatening to ruin her life, her new talent for athletics and the frigids trying to suck her into their group, March’s friends are noticing she’s changing in big ways. She tries harder than ever to force her life into normalcy, but Avery is the only one who can make her see that it’s okay to be different, and a bond begins to form between them that neither can fully understand. Meanwhile, the new guy, Jasper, keeps her guessing, and bouncing between anger and intrigue.

In Book Three of the Lone March Series, March Howe finds history repeating itself, as she tries to choose between Ethyn and Greyson. Heated passion and violent fury are waging a war inside her, while the wolves are waging a war across the state. Will she learn to balance her internal storm before the last of the were-wolves destroy each other?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erin Irvin
• Release date: May 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476187556

Erin Irvin

Erin Irvin is a novelist and musician who lives in Texas. She likes to draw, even if she's not very good at it, and writes songs, which she plays with her guitar, Bertram. She also wants you to know that she loves England a whole, whole lot.

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Moon-Burn

The Lone March Series

Book 3

Erin Irvin

Moon-Burn

Erin Irvin

Copyright © 2012 by Erin Irvin

Smashwords Edition

These stories are works of fiction. Names,

characters, places, and incidents are either products

of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,

living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic

or mechanical, without permission in writing from

Erin Irvin.

For the E’s and L’s in my life.

Acknowledgements:

Thanks to Al-Dana Aldana, the Starbucks guy, for supplying me with all the delicious coffee that fueled several drafts of this book, for remembering my name when I didn’t even know yours, and for always perking me up with a smile (seriously, every time—he has a gift for cheer)!

Thanks, again, to Jonathan Pruitt, for the self-defense lesson and step-by-step fighting moves (which were a lot easier for March to achieve than they were for me).

Thanks, again, to Janice Caldwell, for the real, serious-business debate information I got, both as a high school student too many years ago, and as an adult writer who very much wanted to showcase a cool but underrepresented extra-curricular school activity in a realistic way.

To Boards of Canada and Beach House, whose entire catalogues supplied great theme music throughout the writing of this book.

To the many nooks and crannies of the UNT campus, which provided me with appropriately cozy settings for writing nearly every scene in the following 300 pages.

And, always, to Travis, my beau and BFF, for Avery’s fathering skills (for a non-parent, your advice was a little uncanny), for having a bigger crush on Ruthie than even I do, and for bringing everything back around to the wolves and forever reminding me who and what they are at the core.

Moon-Burn

Chapter One

Are you sure you know where we’re going?

Of course I’m sure, Elliot snapped. Were-wolves have excellent directional sense.

I’m just sayin’, I’m pretty sure we passed that tree ten minutes ago, I said. He just glared at me in silence while I asked, Are you like one hundred percent sure?

"You know what? Forget were-wolves—men have excellent directional sense. So why don’t you let the man handle this and stop worrying about it?"

How many times am I gonna have to cock this thing today to remind you who has the gun here?

You cock it as many times as you want to, sweetheart.

CLICK! went the hammer as I pulled it back to cock the revolver.

Don’t call me sweetheart.

That was a fair representation of the last two weeks of my life. Famine, flood, hurricane, earthquake, disease—these are not ideal conditions for traipsing around the state in hiding, trying to find my pack. But they’re all better than what I actually got stuck with: Elliot.

Four empty dens. That’s how many we’ve hit so far. Two to three days of slinking through different podunk towns to get to each one and all of them deserted so far.

We’d hit a deserted motel, an abandoned strip mall, an old YMCA-type gym, and a derelict Piggly Wiggly. All in all, some pretty interesting locales for the furtive dens of poor were-wolf packs.

I was so exhausted from the journey. We headed out from the Wycherley Plantation, which was in East Texas, then we swept around Dallas to Wichita Falls. Then, we zigzagged from Lubbock to Abilene to Odessa. Now, we’d gone as far south as Laredo and we were getting close to the fifth den. At least, Elliot kept saying we were close, but I was starting to think he was just trying to get me to shut up.

Maybe I am a complete idiot for traveling alone with the guy who tried to rape me, but I didn’t really have any other choice. For all his faults, Elliot has one thing going for him—expert knowledge of all the other packs. (This is most likely part of his plan to dominate them.) Not to mention, he’s strong as an ox. (Okay, probably just ‘wolf’ is sufficient.)

The hardest part about this whole operation has been learning to trust him enough to carry it out. How do you trust someone who tried to rape you? (Well, you don’t. See, this is where me being a complete idiot comes in.) I just have to keep in mind that, for the time being, we have a common goal. We both want the pack back (one of us for more honorable reasons than the other) and we both don’t want anyone trying to attack me.

So all in all, I get a pretty sweet deal. When we get to a pack’s den, I toss him the keys to unlock himself (he returns them promptly or gets a load of silver between his eyes) and he takes off to scope out the place and, if need be, take out any guards so we can swoop in and free the pack. Once I’m in, I take lead and he takes care of anyone who tries to attack me till we find the guys.

So far, though, this is just a theoretical plan, since every den has been empty. We’ve only got two left and if they’re deserted, we’re back to square one. But I’m trying not to think about that. I just want to find them and know they’re okay. And then, I want to go home and sleep in a real bed (i.e. not the ground) and take a real shower (i.e. not a creek-bath) and eat real food (i.e. not wild animals we’ve hunted and eaten raw in our lupine forms).

The idea of ripping apart an animal and chowing down, while at first was disgusting and starvation-inducing, has become as natural as breathing (well, when I’m in wolf form, anyway). It’s cathartic and somehow spiritual. But, hey, I’m only part wolf, which means I’m also part human girl. And human girls like pasta and chocolate. I miss pasta and chocolate.

Of course, I keep forgetting that I don’t have a home to go to anymore. I absolutely refuse to go back to the Purvises after their little locking-me-in-the-bathroom stunt. Avery said I could stay at his house, but I’m betting he’s pretty pissed at me right now for going against his wishes and leaving without him. This scene keeps playing in my head of him showing up at Wycherley Place to get me and finding out I’d run away, and getting really mad. I imagine Avery’s anger as a slow burn—it’s quiet, but deadly. So he’s all standing in the front hall of Wycherley House, after hearing the news, and he clenches his fists and his jaw, and his eyes get all slanty and dark, and he’s just seething silently.

I hate knowing I’ve put him under all this extra stress—as if dealing with Ethyn in the hospital isn’t enough. The thing is, Avery, being a were-raven and obviously not a member of my pack, is never going to care about these guys as much as I do. I had to take that into account when I made the plan to leave.

Outside the fifth den (some sort of shelled out warehouse) I sat with my back against a skinny pine, gun in hand, about a hundred meters out. I was so itchy with anticipation that I kept halfway hopping up to take off prematurely. I stared at the door Elliot had gone through (waiting to see him come back out) for so long that everything around it was blurry and grey.

He walked out slowly, his guard down, which I knew he wouldn’t do if it had been occupied. Even from that far away, I could see his face. Disappointment. He shook his head in my direction and made his way slowly back.

Another one empty.

After the fourth den, I thought it would be just my luck that the pack ended up being at the last one we checked, but now that we were getting closer to that, I was starting to worry. What if they’re not there either? What if they were taken to some wholly separate place? Or worse? What if they were—no, I couldn’t let myself think that way. I had to stay positive. (Despite every single circumstance being otherwise.) But where would we go if they weren’t at the last den?

Neither of us said anything when he walked up. I just tossed him his cuffs and he silently clicked them shut.

We walked for an hour without saying anything, but we were used to this. We only spoke to each other when necessary. So not speaking now, in the face of another let-down, didn’t feel awkward.

But eventually, I had to know, so I asked, How far away is the last den?

Not far.

How long will it take us to get there? I asked, annoyed with his vague answer.

Not long, he said shortly.

Those aren’t answers! I want a specific time!

He jerked his head around at me. I don’t have a specific time, so shut up and let me navigate!

I cocked the gun. I was in no mood for his attitude, especially today. Don’t tell me to shut up and stop being such an ASSHOLE!

He calmly looked from me to the gun. "You really think you’re doing any good with all that clicking? You think you’re scaring me? I glared at him. Face it, cupcake. You and I both know you’re not gonna shoot me. You need my help; you know there’s no way in hell you could do this on your own."

BANG!

Elliot flew backward and hit the ground with a thud.

He was totally right. I did need him and I couldn’t do this on my own. But reason doesn’t always factor into rage when it comes to were-wolves. He had been pissing me off from the start and this was the final straw. As time wore on, I was beginning to think I needed to shoot him just to prove I wasn’t all bark and no bite. That was ‘reason’ enough for me.

Ah! Are you crazy?! Blood spewed from his mouth as he spit out the words.

No. I’m a were-wolf.

You shot me!

Yeah, I’m pretty aware of that, being the one who did it.

You shot me with a silver bullet!

Good observation, Captain Obvious, I said, walking lazily toward him.

He closed his mouth suddenly and groaned and exhaled through his nose in fast, little spurts. I’m. I’m gonna die—I’m dying!

Yeah, I said matter-of-factly, tilting my head at him as I glanced at the wound in his chest.

You’re just gonna let me die—just stand there and watch??

Probably. Unless you promise to stop acting like a jerk.

Yeah—okay, okay—get this outta me!

That sounded a little too… I trailed off, pretending to have trouble finding the word, insincere for my liking. Try again.

His groan turned to a growl and he said, Okay. I’m sorry. I swear to treat you like a princess.

Don’t be a smartass. You’re in no position for it.

No. Not a smartass; I swear.

I started to bend down to him, but then I stopped and raised slowly back up. You mean it?

He nodded his head with his eyes shut tightly in pain, too low on energy to spare any more on words. I bent down, ripped his shirt and stuck two fingers right in the bullet hole, following the sensation of heat coming off the silver. He roared in pain with his head arched back. It took me a minute to find it, so I fished around; it was disgusting and I grimaced at the gooey feeling of his insides while he continued yelling.

Geez, stop screaming bloody murder right in my ear, you baby, I said.

I finally found the silver when its icy-hot burn reached my skin, got the bullet between my fingers, and pulled it out as painstakingly slowly as possible. Yes, his insides were disgusting and I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible, but it was also too hard to resist making him suffer a little longer. The more he yelped and groaned, the more I enjoyed myself. I liked seeing him so weak and defenseless and it really felt good to exert power over him.

Great Gaia, could you have done that any slower?! he whined.

I got it out, didn’t I? I said, lifting off the ground and shaking his nasty blood off my fingers and the bullet. As I cleaned the bullet and put it back in the cylinder, I walked away a few steps then looked back. What are you still doing down there? He didn’t answer so I said, Hello!

You SHOT me! I need a minute.

Stop acting like such a little girl and get up.

He finally did and I pushed him to keep moving the whole way, till we eventually reached the edge of the plains, and I knew we were getting close to the sixth den.

After nearly two hours, Elliot was still making grunting noises with every other step. He was really laying it on thick.

Would you cut that out? You were fully healed over an hour ago, I said.

He glared at me. No, I wasn’t. These silver cuffs are slowing me down.

I scoffed, but didn’t say anything. I hadn’t really thought about the added silver when I’d shot him. Should I feel bad? No. No, I’m not going to feel bad.

We turned down a dirt road that ran through the middle of a big field and eventually, there were trees lining either side and doming over us.

After about three miles, the road spilled out into a clearing and Elliot pointed across where the trees started up again. Greggor’s den is right through there, he said as he staggered forward.

I started sniffing the air, as I did every time we neared a den, to see if I could pick up any scents. As per usual, the air was free from any recognizable smell. This did not bode well.

When we hit the trees again, we stopped and looked at each other. I tossed him the keys and when he got the cuffs off, he rubbed his wrists before putting one hand on his hip and leaning the other against a tree.

I don’t know about this, he said, looking toward the den.

Don’t know about what?

Going in there.

What do you mean?

Well, you shot me. I’m weak; I’m not exactly equipped to knock out any guards right not.

If you expect me to have remorse, you’re sadly mistaken.

He didn’t respond, just kept looking toward the den like he hadn’t even heard me. Okay, new plan. You’re going down there with me.

What? I can’t take those guys…if there’re even any guys to take… I stopped. I wasn’t going to allow myself to talk that way.

Well, lucky for you, you’ve got a gun full of silver bullets, he said.

No. No, no, no—we’ve been over this. This gun is for you. And you’re supposed to go in first and take care of the guards so I can get in without being ambushed and we can have the upper hand when we find the guys. I can’t be trying to shoot multiple targets—this isn’t Time Crisis.

Circumstances are different now! I can’t do this by myself! You shot me with a silver bullet!

And then I dug it out! And then, do you know what amazing thing happened next? You HEALED!

Not fully, he said in a weary voice. If I could keep those goddamned cuffs off for awhile, I could get my full strength back.

Fine. You get a ten minute break, I said, walking over to a nearby tree and sitting against it.

He did the same against the tree he’d been leaning on. You know if they’re not here—

I don’t wanna talk about if they’re not here.

We need to discuss Plan B—

No, we don’t.

He groaned. Teenagers. You’re all the same. Stubborn, prideful punks. Greyson’s the same way.

Don’t talk about Greyson! I snapped.

Hey, I’ve known him a lot longer than you have. I’ll talk about him if I want to.

Greyson’s not a punk—you’re a punk!

Ah, the teenage wit. I cocked the gun and he threw his hands up. Alright. I’m done.

How did you get to be such an asshole? He didn’t say anything, just leaned his head against the tree and looked off toward the den. No answer, huh? So just all your life then?

He slowly shifted his eyes over to me, then his head. It’s a shame you have to be such a pain in the ass. You’d be cute if you kept your mouth shut.

BANG!

I let him yelp and holler for a minute before retrieving the bullet. Then, I cleaned it for the second time and loaded it back into the cylinder as I said, I hope you’ve learned your lesson this time.

He lay stiffly on the ground, arms splayed out and eyes shut tightly. I hope…you know…you have to…go with me…now.

You know what? I think I will go, I said, standing over him and looking down at his fresh wound. Shooting asshole were-wolves is pretty therapeutic. And thanks to you, I’ve been getting in some practice.

He just lay there, panting, and didn’t respond. I walked to the tree I’d been resting against and plopped back down, watching his uneasy breathing with pleasure.

Chapter Two

When we approached the sixth den, I saw that it was a super old, abandoned elementary school building. The brick was that unattractive tan color that most old buildings seem to have, and the windows were small and square, as opposed to the long narrow ones used at Glenbrook High.

The road that used to be was now cracked open and tufts of grass grew obstinately out all over the place. The path disappeared behind a cluster of trees, and I wondered if it still led to a main road somewhere.

There was a sign by the curb, but the lettering had faded away and the whole thing was rusted over. A sad little playground was off to the left, also rusted over, and one lone school bus was parked around the corner.

We stepped up on the sidewalk and I reached for one of the doors, but Elliot caught my hand.

Don’t touch me, I said, jerking my hand away from his.

Listen to me, Greggor’s pack is the biggest in the state. With over twenty adult members, he can afford to be more reckless than the rest of us.

Really? That’s funny, cuz you were pretty reckless yourself when you went all Dr. Frankenstein and started shouting ‘she’s alive—she’s alive!’ and got us into this mess, I deadpanned. If you hadn’t announced my existence, nothing would’ve happened to the pack in the first place.

He furrowed his brow and frowned at me, but didn’t respond to my observation. Just be ready for anything, alright?

Can I open the door now?

He half-frowned at me and threw a hand toward the door in surrender.

To my surprise, the door was locked. So far, all the dens had been completely open, and it made sense— if there was an intruder, a pack of were-wolves wouldn’t have much to worry about. And it’s not like they had anything worth stealing anyway.

That’s weird, I said aloud, mostly to myself. This was the main entrance to the building, so the lock was on the outside, but we had no way to pick it. So, what do we do? Go around?

Elliot shook his head. Gimme the key to the handcuffs.

What good is that gonna do?

Just give it to me, he said, raising his voice.

I dug in my pocket and handed it to him, watching as he put it in the lock and tried to pick it. How in the heck is that gonna work?

It could be a trap, he said, jiggling the knob as he methodically turned the misfit key.

What?

They could’ve purposefully locked all the doors but one to trap us. I’m not taking any chances at this point. If we go in this way, we know exactly where our out is.

But you’re not gonna be able to get that door open with the handcuff key—

A sharp clicking cut me off. He had done it; the door was open. You were saying? He raised his eyebrows smugly and held the door open.

The inside of the building was so creepy. As per usual when it came to were-wolf dens, there were no lights except for what got in through the windows from outside, so the place was mostly dark. Luckily, my were-wolf eyes were up to the task once they adjusted, but that didn’t make it less intimidating.

There was scattered dirt and dried mud caked all over the floor. They had obviously tracked it in at some point, but God forbid men should ever clean up after themselves!

A thick musty smell hung in the air that told me this particular hall didn’t get much traffic. If it weren’t for that scent of oldness, I could almost imagine it as a current school, still in working order. There were bulletin boards on the walls, with news clippings, announcements, and ‘exemplary’ student papers and drawings still pinned there, and plaques next to the classroom doors that denoted what teacher each belonged to. I wondered if any of those teachers were still around somewhere. Maybe some were still here, in Beaumont, teaching at real schools.

I stepped up to one of the bulletin boards and searched a newspaper clipping for a date. When I found it, I gasped—1964! Holy crap! No wonder it smelled like a nursing home in here!

Hey, Elliot hissed at me, stay on task—you’re the only one with the gun, here.

I scowled at him and took my place back in front of him. The main hall drove straight through the middle of the building, all the way across, but we soon came to a crossroads, where two smaller halls branched off to the left and right. They seemed to curve around and connect back to the main hall, down the way.

As I viewed our surroundings, Elliot’s hand suddenly clapped down on my shoulder and I whirled around, cocking the gun instinctively.

Back off! I shot you twice—you think I won’t do it a third time?! I spat at him in a harsh whisper.

In one fast motion, he took one hand and pushed the gun aside so it pointed past him, and cupped the other hand over my mouth, shoving me against the wall.

I sucked in a sharp breath through his fingers and tried to pull the gun back to aim it at him, but he was too strong. The very thing I had feared from the start was happening—he was overpowering me and there was nothing I could do about it! I tried to kick him in the crotch, but he used one of his legs to block mine, then pinned my thighs with his knee, locking the position by hooking his foot around my leg. I tried to open my mouth to bite his hand, but he held me too tightly.

What could I do? I had been so stupid. Why did I ever think it was a good idea to travel across the state with the guy who had tried to rape me mere weeks before??

Cut it out! he suddenly whispered through gritted teeth. I’m not trying to hurt you—didn’t you hear that?

For a second, I didn’t respond, so stunned that he was talking at all, instead of throwing me down and trying to take my clothes off. I burbled, Hear what? through his hand.

A door opened and closed down there somewhere, he said, nodding his head toward the main drag of the hallway. I’m gonna let you go, but you have to shut up and let me take lead. And keep that thing pointed away from me—got it?

I complied with a quick nod, still shaken up by the episode and getting even more worked up at the thought of actually having to fight off a pack of were-wolves. All I could hope was that seeing the gun would be enough to scare them into submission. (Yeah, right.)

He unwrapped his hand from around my mouth and dropped his leg. Putting a finger in front of his lips, he gave me a grave look before turning and starting down the hall.

I didn’t like that grave look. And despite the fact that he hadn’t tried to hurt me just then, I couldn’t shake my newfound unease at being alone with him. If he could overpower me once, he could do it again. And next time, things could turn out differently.

I shook off my nerves, feeling there was nothing I could do but focus on the mission. The sooner we got the pack back, the sooner I’d be safe from Elliot. So I followed him, keeping my eyes and ears extra alert for more of the sounds he was talking about. There was definitely a weight to the silence and I knew it meant there were people here. While it made me nervous, I was also getting excited—it had to mean our pack was here!

When we got to the middle of the hall, Elliot stopped short and put his hand up to tell me to stop. He sniffed the air and nodded his head toward a room to the right that had windows on either side of the double doors, where faint light was shining through.

I did the same, sniffing the air, and found it was now filled with the scent of living flesh—sweaty men with oily hair and dirty clothes. Ew. Why do guys have to be this gross?

Elliot beckoned for me to follow as he backed against the wall and crept closer to the room. When we got to the end of the wall, where it met the first window, he peaked in and quickly threw his head back against the wall.

Nodding, he whispered, Yeah. They’re in there.

‘They’ who—our guys or Greggor’s?

Not ours, his.

How many? I asked.

"I don’t know. I saw at least