Page 7 of The Red Moon

Sergei emerges into the light, pain etched on the hard lines of his slender face. The limp is more noticeable than before, like each step requires all of his strength and balance to keep from tumbling down the rest of the flight. I stagger to my feet and work my way through the crowd, feeling the weight of every disgusted glance in my direction.

He stands at the door, his back arched at an uncomfortable angle, and winces up at me. Sergei coughs into his shirt sleeve and pulls something from his pocket. Had he not been directly under the light, the darkness filling each corner of the room might’ve swallowed the object whole. The key. He has the key.

Excitement builds in my chest. Excitement and all the adrenaline I need to burst up those stairs and race the hell out of here before the Vostik pack even catches a whiff of my scent. I glance backward at Veronica, still rocking in the fetal position and desperately running her fingers through blond, malnourished hair. While a part of me would love nothing more than for her to see the monsters I have firsthand, there’s something else. Sympathy? She may be a terrible person, but I can’t imagine a more horrible death than what they have planned. Before I can whisper her name despite every inkling in my body screaming against it, Sergei coughs once more and clears his throat.

“The alpha has requested you,” he says in a thick accent, making it a point to look anywhere but at me.

I narrow my eyes. “What does Viktor want now?” Rage boils over in my stomach. I refuse to be his pawn. His way to ascend to the top of the fucking food chain. They will have to drag me out of here by my throat if Viktor thinks I’m stupid enough to let that happen.

Sergei inserts the key to the lock and a loud click shudders the room. “Viktor is not alpha,” he retorts, his small voice waning. The door swings open, screeching loud enough to unsettle every captive here. He doesn’t move to grab hold of me. Christ, he still won’t even look me in the eyes. No, Sergei simply waves me out with a shaky hand and waits.

Not Viktor. Not the animal that brought me here. The alpha. The alpha to the Vostik pack wants to meet with me. The same werewolf pulling all the strings at Club Völk from this compound. Vomit heaves up my esophagus to my throat, leaving bile to burn the back of my tongue. I am about to meet with Nikolai’s father, and if he’s anything like Nik described, I won’t have to worry about running. I won’t make it out of this meeting alive.

SIX

NIK

“You should’ve let me drive,” Dimitri says with a scoff from the passenger seat, his voice almost a whisper when at war with the roaring engine of this luxury SUV. A gift from the pack members sent to kill me. “I hate the way you drive.”

The tires squeal as I bank another corner, never letting off the gas. I agree with the big one, my wolf interjects. We can’t save your mate if we don’t survive the trip there. I don’t respond to either. No, I tighten my fists on the steering wheel and power forward. Truth is, as much as I’d love to slam this vehicle through the front gates and rip the throat out of any wolf stupid enough to get in my way, the Vostik compound isn’t our first stop.

There’s no way to know just how many additions he made to the pack in my absence. If I’m not careful, if I rush into the compound like my father expects me to, well, Natalia and I won’t survive to see the red moon. I drag my hand over the scars decorating my torso, fingertips grazing each fleshy ridge beneath the shirt I took from the wolves sent to kill me.

“Don’t worry, moy brat,” I say with a slight smirk, staring at the winding road ahead. “I’ll get us there in one piece.

We continue through the city and into the surrounding wilderness until Samara is just a small dot in the rearview. The city served as the pack hunting grounds until the Russian government caught wind that the storied beasts weren’t just some myth. It’s been decades since the agreement was made. Long enough for all of them to forget the fear they once felt during a full moon.

Trees line both sides of the single-lane road leading out of the city. Before long, the brush and decaying tree limbs filling the forest floor will be hidden beneath layers of fresh snow. The usual white palette I imagine when my mind wanders back home, not that it does often. And never when I was with her. I can still see her eyes in my head. A gorgeous brown nearly the same color as the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. Natalia. Every time I close my eyes, she taunts me. The long, silky hair I couldn’t help but run my fingers through whenever she was close enough. The way her delicate plump lips spread so perfectly into a smile I couldn’t turn away from. How when our bodies connected, it wasn’t just heat I felt anymore. No, it was an inferno incinerating me from the inside out. We will get her back, my wolf assures, and I repeat the sentiment in my head. We will get her back.

It takes nearly an hour for us to reach the place I’ve kept from my family, even redirected transports to avoid the chance of the pack stumbling across it. The height of the trees on this mountain provide camouflage even when only a few miles away from the compound outskirts. It certainly helps that the gravel road is overgrown and appears to be the path to a small, abandoned factory. What my father doesn’t know is that the Russian military set up shop here years ago to keep tabs on us. To make sure the wolves fell in line. Once they were certain we were no longer a threat to their civilians, they left, too. All except one.

“Are you sure he’s still here?” Dimitri asks.

I open the SUV door and step outside. “We’ll have to knock and find out.”

Dimitri opens his door and follows suit although his expression shifts from curious to a noticeable amount of concern. He takes careful steps behind me, each footfall not bearing his full weight. There aren’t any landmines. I would’ve smelled them the second I opened the door, even a foot beneath the soil. There is something else I do take notice of, though. The entrance creaks open, it’s hinges screaming for mercy. Then, the bolt of a rifle slides into place.

“I wouldn’t take another step if I were you.” A gruff voice echoes down the incline.

“And what would you do if you were me, Sarkov?” I ask, an edge in my tone.

Alexey Sarkov inches out from the doorway, rifle drawn and aimed in my direction. He moves forward with caution, one eye keen to the sight while the other remains shut. Each of his heartbeats rattle the dog tags dangling around his neck. Surprisingly enough, he still hasn’t taken them off, even after a discharge from the Russian army long before I left for LA.

“I would’ve stayed in the States.” He shifts the rifle safety with his thumb, and a hollow click sets it in place to fire.

There we stand. I’m too far to stop him, even with my speed. His finger glides along the trigger, almost taunting me to try something. I can’t. Not when my wounds will heal and Dimitri’s won’t. Alexey lifts his eye from the sight, staring at me long enough to gain a snarl from the wolf churning inside me. I try to block him out but it’s impossible to ignore the rage swirling in my stomach. Small cracks appear on my forearms, splitting the tattoos emerging from each sleeve. I force in a soothing breath to keep the transformation at bay. Not yet, I chant. Not yet.

A grin emerges on Alexey’s weathered face, and before I can draw another breath, the man standing a few yards away in faded military fatigues shoulders his rifle and laughs. He laughs until he’s on the verge of puking.

Dimitri sighs incredulously, and I too ease my stance. The splits on my forearms fuse together, leaving my skin intact. My heart rate steadies, and the acid in my stomach settles to its usual simmer. I don’t find our life being threatened humorous, my wolf finally huffs.

Relax, I say in my head, hoping my other half will listen. We need him.

How badly does he need both arms?

“Nice to know you haven’t changed, Sarkov. Still the sadistic prick I remember.” I smirk and move toward him. He’s aged considerably since the last time I visited. Stiff wrinkles are now displayed prominently at the corner of each eye, and even his facial hair has begun to gray. When I reach the small man and extend my palm, he grabs it without hesitation and laughs once more.

“Nikolai fucking Vostik. Werewolf prince. It is good to see you my friend.”