Marked by Moonlight (The Moon Chasers #1)

Prologue

P ROLOGUE

Never turn your back on an unfamiliar dog.

—Man’s Best Friend: An Essential Guide to Dogs

They were coming. The 911 operator’s voice droned steadily in his ear, urging him to stay on the line, to wait, to remain as he was, crouched in a ball at the side of his bed. But when a second howl rent the night air, the phone slipped through his fingers and thudded softly to the carpet. Gideon drifted to the bedroom door as if pulled by an invisible string.

They were coming. But not soon enough.

With a shaking hand, he grasped the doorknob, the brass cold and slick in his sweaty palm. His family was on the other side of that door. He couldn’t wait. Filling his lungs with a deep breath, he pushed open the door, the creak of oil-hungry hinges a familiar sound in an unfamiliar night.

His sister stood alone in the moon-washed hallway. Moonlight limned her blonde hair silver, giving her an unearthly aura. Her ragged bear dangled from one hand, its foot grazing the hardwood floor in rhythmic sweeps as she gazed in silence at their parents’ door.

“Kit,” he called, trying to keep his voice low.

She glanced over her shoulder at him before lifting a small, pink-nailed finger to the door in mute appeal. He hurried to her side and grabbed hold of her pointing hand while silently vowing to shield her from whatever lay within.

“Momma,” she whimpered.

His gaze skittered away, then back to that wood-paneled door. A man’s tortured cries echoed from the other side.

This had to be a dream. A horrible nightmare he would wake from at any moment. Only the bite of Kit’s nails digging into his hand told him this was real. His parents would expect him to protect his sister, to get her far away from here.

With that sole thought burning in his mind, he closed his ears to his father’s cries and swung Kit, light as a feather, into his arms and fled.

He didn’t get far. The sudden splintering of his parents’ door immobilized him. Clutching his sister close, he turned.

In that moment, he learned monsters were real. Horrifyingly real. They did exist .

This one bared its fangs in greeting. The tawny fur at its mouth and neck glistened black crimson. A glint of gold flashed in the hair of its chest, catching Gideon’s eye. But only for a moment. That wet fur surrounding its mouth recaptured his attention, its exact nature unmistakable.

Blood.

He released his sister. Her gangly legs slid the length of his body to the floor. He shoved her behind him. She clung to him, locking her arms around his waist in a death grip. Tearing her hands free, he flung her back.

“Go,” he commanded over his shoulder. “Get outta here!”

Her slight body shuddered where she stood, but she made no move to obey.

Never taking his eyes off the creature, he raised his voice and pushed her again. “Move!”

Maybe it was his sudden movement. Gideon would never know, but at that moment the monster attacked, surging forward like a spring uncoiled.

He had no chance. But his sister did. Against his every instinct, he turned his back on the beast and shoved Kit in one final attempt to save her.

A sudden, cracking pop pierced the narrow hallway, blending with Kit’s high-pitched scream. Both sounds buzzed in his ears. In a quick, jumbling assessment, he surveyed himself and found his limbs intact. The beast had not ripped him to shreds. Turning, he watched it crumple to the floor inches from his feet, groping its chest with wild, frenzied movements.

A smoking pistol cast its shadow over the wall. Gideon turned, his gaze sliding past the pistol to the young man in police blues who cast an even larger shadow than the gun.

“Silver bullet,” the officer said flatly. “Works every time.”

The distant song of sirens congested the air, growing steadily louder. The officer’s eyes, as dark and flat as his voice, drilled into him. “Don’t say anything, kid. There’s gonna be a lot of questions. Let me do the talking.”

Gideon nodded, unable to speak, and looked back at the dead beast littering his hallway.

Only it wasn’t a beast.

The beast had vanished.

In its place sprawled his mother—naked except for the familiar gold cross nestled in the indentation of her collarbone.

And through the open doorway of his parents’ room lay his father’s mutilated body—a mangled, broken toy, blood pooling around him in an ever-enlarging circle.