Ghost Moon

  The Wolfborne Saga

  Book 4- Ghost Moon

  By Cheree Alsop

  Copyright © 2019 by Cheree L. Alsop

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN

  Cover Design by Robert Emerson

  Editing by Sue Player

  www.ChereeAlsop.com

  To my husband,

  Thank you for the endless adventures;

  To my children,

  Be whatever you want as long as you are happy;

  To my readers,

  Love every moment and remember to breathe.

  Chapter One

  The sound of claws on the bricks of the school hallway followed me around the corner. My bare feet slapped the tiles. It no longer mattered if I was quiet. She would find me no matter where I hid.

  I reached the end of the hall and ducked into the open doorway of the dark classroom. The scent of formaldehyde and dry erase markers whispered past the acrid odor of the monster behind me. My heartbeat thundered in my ears as I reached for the latch on the window next Professor Shipley’s desk. I pressed against the cool metal to slide it free, but froze.

  A form moved outside. It was dark and the waning moon did little to light this side of the college grounds. I squinted, hoping to make out what had moved beyond the frosted glass. The shadowed forms separated. My breath caught in my throat. There were more of them, many more of them, and they were watching me.

  Claws slid along the glass of the classroom door in an earsplitting shriek. I was trapped.

  I turned slowly. The tile was cold beneath my feet. The faint breath of air from the air conditioner brought with it the heavy, sour scent of my opponent. The desks of the students waited around me like silent sentries ready to bear witness to what was about to happen. I took a steeling breath and lifted my gaze.

  She watched me with eyes that were black without irises. In a motion as graceful as water, she crouched and stretched out a long finger that ended in a deadly black claw. Her eyes didn’t leave my face when she dipped the claw into the dark red puddle at her feet. She brought the claw to her mouth. A smile stole across her lips, revealing her jagged teeth.

  “Werewolf.”

  The word rippled across the room between us with an electric charge. The triumph in her voice was unmistakable. The blood that trickled from the wound I held tightly across my stomach pattered to the floor.

  Her smile widened.

  “Mine.”

  She took a step forward.

  I willed my wolf form to take over.

  “Zev.”

  I glanced to my right to see someone who hadn’t been there before. The white outline gave the girl a surreal appearance. The whiteboard at the front of the classroom showed through her body as if she wasn’t quite there.

  “Run,” I said. My voice came out as a growl. The wolf was close to the surface. It was my only chance.

  The girl’s head tipped to one side and a smile lifted her lips as if we weren’t both about to be devoured by the creature.

  “Wake up, silly,” she said in a light voice.

  “Run!” I repeated.

  How did she not understand what kind of danger we were in? Why didn’t she take off screaming into the night like the claws and jagged smile of the advancing woman made me want to do?

  “Zev, wake up,” she said.

  A hand touched my arm. I jolted upright and found myself sitting in one of the desks that had surrounded me; only this time, the lights were on and Professor Shipley stood where the ghost girl had been.

  A glance revealed that the rest of the desks were empty. The clock on the wall showed that it was nearly four o’clock. Class had ended a half hour ago.

  I rubbed my face. “I’m sorry, Professor,” I began.

  “No need,” Professor Shipley replied. He leaned against a nearby desk and crossed his arms. The elbows of his black and blue stripped button-up shirt were nearly worn through. With his khakis, scuffed leather shoes, and the blue tie that was just off-color enough from his shirt to give me a headache, there was nothing to separate him as anything but just another of the teachers I had met in the last few days. Nothing about him mentioned a psychic wife or a recently survived battle with the undead. “Long night?”

  I nodded. “The paranormal dead are proving a bit reluctant to return to their graves.”

  The professor nodded. “I guessed as much. This is the second day you’ve fallen asleep in class.” A wry smile touched his lips. “Janica said you growled in your sleep.”

  I opened my mouth to apologize again, but he lifted a hand.

  “She said it was hot and asked me to give you her number when you woke up.”

  Baffled, I asked, “How is growling hot?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t ask me to interpret the mind of college girls. I only teach here.” He pointed toward the door. “I threw the number in that trash can. Feel free to dig it out if you want it.” He winked. “No pun intended.”

  I sighed and sat back in my chair. “I’m not so sure I’m cut out for this college stuff.”

  Professor Shipley gave me an understanding smile. “Give it some time, Zev. You’ve only been here a few days.”

  “And I’m already going to give myself away if I’m not careful,” I pointed out.

  He lifted a shoulder. “Hazard of being a werewolf, I suppose. That’s a hard secret to keep.”

  I gave him a straight look. “I’m here because you put your neck out for me. Are you sure you want your job on the line for a werewolf?”

  He chuckled and replied, “What, you think a little thing like the pretend nephew I vouched for turning out to be a form shifting paranormal creature is going to get me fired?” At my lack of an answering smile, he said, “Don’t worry about it. People see what they want to.” He gestured at the desk beside mine. “Apparently growling is hot, so you’ve got that going for you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “She has a cat.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Hard to miss the smell,” I replied.

  He rubbed his hands together as if warming to the conversation and said, “Alright, then, no cats. What else are you looking for in a date.”

  I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  He motioned vaguely to indicate the room. “There are plenty of eligible young ladies here, Zev. The population of Township Community College leans heavily on the female side. Those odds are in your favor.”

  I gave a snort of disbelief. “Are you suggesting I date one of them?”

  “Or a few,” he replied. “Test the waters. Enjoy yourself. You’ve been in a literal cave for most of your existence. You deserve to get out and try life as a human.” Before I could protest, he raised a hand and said, “I know you’re not human, but that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To try to fit in? Find your niche? Develop a purpose?”

  I couldn’t come up with anything to say except, “Dating isn’t a purpose.”

  He grinned. “That’s what people who don’t date say. Ask the younger crowd. Trust me. You’re closer to their age than mine. In fact, you are their age, you just need to act it. You should be out partying, falling in lust, making mistakes, making out.”

  “Making out what?” I replied.

  He laughed. “Exactly. Try it sometime.”

  I shook my head and rose from my chair. “You’re not making any sense. I don’t fit in here, and what h
appens if I fall asleep and accidentally phase to wolf form during class?”

  The professor didn’t appear nearly as concerned as I thought he should be. Instead, he said, “We’ll tell them it’s a trick.” He clapped his hands together and when he drew them apart, he held a deck of cards.

  I watched him closely. “I didn’t know you knew magic.”

  He slipped the cards from the box and fanned them out with one hand. “I don’t know real magic, but when I found out during our dating years that Kristen was a psychic, I started practicing in order to impress her.”

  “Did it work?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I can do this.”

  He closed the cards into a stack again, put both hands together, and pressed. When he opened them again, the cards were gone.

  “I’m impressed,” I said, crossing to him. “Where’d they go?”

  He shrugged with a pleased expression.

  The slight scent of the ink from the new package of cards caught my attention. Following the smell, I spotted them wedged beneath a book on the desk. I pulled them out and held them up.

  Professor Shipley shook his head and took the cards from my hand. “Last time I do magic for a werewolf,” he muttered.

  I fought back a smile. “So if I suddenly phase in the middle of one of your classes, you’re going to tell the class that you made a wolf appear with magic?”

  “Exactly,” he replied. “And if you prance around like a tame little pet, it’ll really help.”

  I bristled at the thought of being anyone’s pet.

  The professor laughed. “Lighten up, Zev. It’s a joke.”

  “Your tie’s a joke,” I muttered as my cheeks heated with embarrassment.

  Professor Shipley stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing again. “Kristen said it was the wrong color. I should have listened to her.” He slipped the tie over his head, then shot me a curious look. “I thought wolves were colorblind.”

  I felt bad for my comment. Who was I to judge someone’s clothing choice? Everything I wore was borrowed from the Willards or a second-hand store. Even the shoes were a pair Mrs. Willard had picked up to help me look like, ‘A hip young college student.’ James had thankfully saved her from selecting shoes made with purple velvet.

  “It’s more like color-dampened,” I replied. At his interested look, I decided to humor him. “When I’m in wolf form, the colors fade and it’s the blacks, whites, and grays that stand out. It makes it easier to see in the dark that way.”

  The glimpse of an overly-large human eye model on the professor’s desk reminded me that I was broaching his forte. It made me think of a question I had been pondering. “When I change to wolf form, do you think—”

  He held up a hand, cutting me off. His gaze had slipped past my shoulder to something beyond.

  “Zev, when you were dreaming, did you happen to be growling at a ghost?”

  I shook my head. “It felt like the ghost and I were friends. We were both afraid of something else.”

  A chill ran down my spine at the thought and my muscles tensed. I turned slowly.

  “Is that the ghost or the something else?” Professor Shipley asked quietly.

  My eyes landed on the ethereal form of the ghost from my dream. Her eyes looked puffy as though she had been crying. Her clothes, the way her hair was caught back in a wavy ponytail, and the small purse she carried looked current. She didn’t fit in with the paranormal dead we had been working so hard to return to their well-earned rest.

  “C-can I help you?” Professor Shipley asked.

  She didn’t appear to hear him. Instead, her gaze locked on me. “Do I know you?”

  I gave a hesitant shake of my head. “I don’t think so. But you were in a dream of mine.”

  Her lips lifted in a sad little half-smile and she said, “Is that a pickup line?”

  I shook my head quickly. “No. I fell asleep during class and dreamed that we were here and something was chasing me. Something…terrible.”

  “Is that why I’m here?” she asked.

  The professor and I exchanged glances.

  “You mean, you don’t know?” I replied. From my limited dealings with the paranormal dead, those I fought knew they were deceased and weren’t thrilled about it. Her question caught me off guard.

  “No,” she replied. “I remember the lights flickering out.” Tears filled her eyes. “There were lots of loud noises; I felt trapped, wet, cold, then everything went dark.”

  Sorrow filled my chest with a tight pressure. “I’m sorry,” I said. The words felt paltry and thin compared to the somber expression that took over where her hopeful smile had been. “I don’t know why you’re here.”

  “I feel so lost,” she said.

  I took a step toward her. “Maybe I can help?”

  “I don’t think anybody can help me,” she replied.

  She turned away so fast she bumped into a desk, or she would have if she’d had a body that was a solid form. Instead, the edge of the desk passed cleanly through her as though she hadn’t moved. She stared at it, then her leg. Slowly, as if afraid it would bite her, the young woman lowered her hand through the top of the desk. She pulled it back and then stared at her opalescent fingers.

  She shook her head again. “This isn’t right. This can’t be right!”

  She backed away from us.

  “Wait,” I called out. “Let me help you.”

  She misjudged her retreat and ended up fading through half of the doorframe only to reappear on the other side. Her startled gaze went from the frame to me.

  “Hold on,” I said.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. “This isn’t right,” she repeated. “This isn’t right at all.”

  She turned and walked away.

  I ran to the hall to stop her, but when I reached the doorway, she was gone.

  Professor Shipley joined me.

  “Please tell me that was one of your magic tricks,” I said.

  “I wish,” he replied. He was quiet for a moment before he said, “She looked so distressed.”

  “I wish I could have helped her. I’m just glad you could see her, too,” I told him. “At least I know I’m not going crazy.”

  “To be fair, both of us seeing the same ghost might mean we’re both crazy.”

  That made me crack a smile. “You have a point.” A thought struck me. “What time is it?”

  “Four ten,” he replied.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  “Where?” he asked with a hint of surprise.

  “Work,” I told him.

  His eyebrows rose. “You started college and a job this week? You’ve been busy.”

  I gave him a wry smile before leaving the classroom. “You have no idea. Thanks, Professor. I’ll try not to fall asleep in class tomorrow.”

  “You do that,” he called after me down the hall. “You might actually learn something!”

  “That’s a terrifying thought,” I replied.

  His chuckle stayed with me when I left the building. I thought about the ghost girl on my way to the bus stop.

  I usually walked, but falling asleep had cut my leeway too close and I didn’t want to be late again. I had the sinking feeling that I was already failing at being human. Who knew responsibility would take so much work?

  I snorted at the thought and was rewarded with a sideways glance from a woman with groceries in one hand and the chubby arm of a toddler clutched in the other to keep him from reaching the road as he so insistently wanted to do.

  I took a step back to give them more space. I was a responsible individual. I had guarded the Lair successfully my entire nineteen years of life. The voice in the back of my mind noted that I had then killed my vampire Master and freed the werewolves who had been little more than gladiatorial soldiers beside me. I wasn’t exactly sure I could call that responsible, but at least it had felt like accomplishing something.

  The woman’s cellphone rang. She sighed and shifted h
er groceries to her other arm and proceeded to hold a phone up to her ear while attempting to keep her child under control.

  On her other side, two men were in a deep discussion about property values that made no sense to me, while another mother next to them argued with her teenage son. Snippets of ‘caught smoking’ and ‘getting expelled’ came through loud and clear. Two women had come up a respectful distance away on my other side and were in a debate about whether the inflation in the price of a gallon of milk compared to this same time last year meant the economy was in trouble.

  Perhaps I didn’t want to be responsible or human. Running back to the woods behind the Willards’ house was looking like a pretty tempting option if the specimens around me were any indication. None of them smiled. Everyone carried the heavy lemon scent of stress, including the child, who also smelled of jelly and a pet rabbit. I doubted the two were related.

  The hum of the bus’s engine made me turn along with a few of the others. My breath caught at the sight of another ghost lit by ethereal light walking in the middle of the road. Gasps from the humans around me told me I wasn’t the only one who saw it. The man wore an old-fashioned suitcoat with tails. He had dropped his top hat and he bent over to pick it up without any concern for the bus that was barreling toward him.

  The bus driver swerved. The vehicle careened around the ghost and plummeted straight toward us. Everyone at the bus stop ran away from the trajectory. I was nearly to the building behind us with the others when a strangled cry sounded.

  “Jeffie!”

  Somehow during the chaos, the woman had let go of her toddler’s hand. He was busy figuring out how to step down from the curb onto the street. It appeared to be an enormous task for the child. His little brow was furrowed in concentration as he dangled one leg over the gap. He set a chubby hand on the curb, unaware of the danger that was moments from running him over.

  His mother was running desperately toward him. The groceries she had been juggling lay on the sidewalk in disarray, forgotten in her haste. But there was no way she would make it in time.

  I shoved away from the building in a mad run. The looming presence of the bus hurtled closer. The child glanced up at a second cry from his mother. His blue eyes widened.