Curse of the Moonflower

Chapter 1

VESSA

Cold water flushes smeared blood droplets as I spread the pleats of my white sundress under the bathroom faucet. The brightness dilutes, but the splotches fan out like watercolor on a canvas. Shit, was I supposed to dab this?

If I had just let him peel it off, it wouldn’t be ruined. My first time with Jared wasn’t supposed to be like that. Rushed. Uncoordinated. Passionless. And now I’m going to have to explain to Mom tomorrow morning why her favorite dress is in the trash bin.

Pounding against the doorframe resumes. A nasally whine pierces the barrier. “C’mon, you’ve been in there for thirty minutes!”

Thirty minutes?

With a groan, I slide off the sink and look over my shoulder in the mirror.

There’s no post-sex glow on my cheeks like I’d thought there would be.

Only a tender throb between my thighs as I slip the garment back on.

When I walk out of here, no one will be able to tell that I’m no longer a virgin.

But I’m going to need to improvise a damned good story about how blood got on this fabric.

Lucky for me, my improvisational skills were good enough to convince the prestigious judging panel of the Iseman Institute to fund the entirety of my theater studies.

I yank open the bathroom door and shoulder past the queue of tipsy girls.

Rounding the pool table and the dark living room where a couple has passed out on the sofa, I make for the front door and plop down on the brick porch step with a wince.

A light rain starts to fall and the sweetness in the summer air dissipates.

The ambient song of crickets echoes in the night, almost drowned out by the uproar of laughter and the heavy thumping of a dubstep bass rattling the walls.

I check my phone's lock screen again. Two A.M.

Punctual to a fault, Mom’s sleek blue sedan pulls into the circle drive, slowing as she approaches the walkway.

Drawing a breath, I rise to my feet and walk towards the parked car. She leans over to prop the door open. "How long are you going to keep doing this, Mom? I'm almost nineteen. Seriously, I can just catch a ride in the morning. This is embarrassing."

"I gave you an extra hour past what we agreed on,” she counters. “Get in the car and I'll tell your father that I didn't smell coconut rum on your breath."

"But everyone else is staying over. There's plenty of—"

“They will until one of the neighbors calls enforcers with a noise complaint. Which, given the loudness of this garbage you kids call music, is bound to be any minute. Unlike most of those drunkies back there, Vespera, you have a fellowship on the line. You’re not risking it for one sleepover with Jared. ”

My face goes red hot. Putting it lightly, she’s never had a single kind word to say for my on-and-off again boyfriend. The curfew abuser, as my dad begrudgingly refers to him.

“Let’s get going before this storm hits,” she urges.

Right on cue, thunder ripples across the clouds, announcing my defeat.

With an exasperated sigh, I plop down into the seat beside my mother, discreetly tucking the stained pleats under my thigh.

Though exhaustion tints her features, her heart-shaped face is as lovely as it's always been.

The crinkles at the edges of her dark eyes deepen as she regards me with an endearing smile.

The suburban neighborhood gives way to dimly lit back roads, growing slicker with each passing minute.

For miles, the black tar is lined with brittle fields of wheat and corn, parched for rainfall.

Sometimes I imagine those grasses sprouting palm trees that stretch towards a clear blue horizon.

Skyscrapers instead of lonely streetlights.

Montrose. For the last four years, uprooting my mundane life to the city where stars are made is all I’ve been dreaming about.

In just three months, it will finally be reality.

When the storm clouds finally open, the downpour is merciless.

Mom keeps her eyes trained forward as her wipers work overtime to maintain a pocket of visibility.

Breathing shallowly, I white-knuckle the passenger door handle.

In my periphery, a blurry figure darts out of the cornstalks.

I straighten my legs and peer out the back windshield.

Lightning flickers, briefly illuminating the empty stretch of road behind us.

My seatbelt jerks me back as thunder cracks in response.

Mom gasps. Above us, metal is groaning. Crunching.

The car swerves wildly, tires surrendering to the onslaught of rushing water.

Along the roof, an ear-rupturing scrape drags against metal.

Only for four blades to punch right through. No—not blades. Claws.

Mom slams on the breaks. Whatever is clinging to the roof, it holds steady as our tires skid. A jarring sting of terror pricks my spine.

“W-What is that?” My voice cracks.

Before she can answer, the next punch shatters the windshield. I shriek and raise my arm above my head to shield my eyes from the ruptured glass. Once I lower them, there isn’t time to warn her of the telephone pole in our path. We become a collision of steel and timber, of airbags and screams.

The darkness of my unconscious state is penetrated by a pair of burning white lights.

Cradling my head, the base of my neck throbs as if it has just taken a direct punch.

In front of me, steam is rising out of the cavity of glass.

A sob works its way up my throat as I try to reconcile with my surroundings.

“Mom?”

To my horror, she is folded over the steering wheel, face down. Motionless. My heart stops inside of my chest. Her throat. It's completely torn.

I eject from the vehicle, vomit rocketing out of my throat in waves.

When my stomach gives its final heave, it dawns on me that the storm has vanquished.

That it isn't rain soaking my dress. Nor is it only my blood.

With blurry eyes, I look up. Four long, shaggy legs stalk closer.

Whatever this animal is, its low rumble provokes a caliber of fear within me that could paralyze my entire body.

Gunshots ring out, plucking a gasp from my lungs.

The pale grasses part, a man clad in all black making a mad dash for the car.

Across the hood, a bushy tail flicks up, launching the animal towards the shooter.

Luckily, the man rolls out of the way, quickly regains his footing, and sprints towards me.

My mouth drops at the sight of him—ruggedly handsome and over six feet of sculpted muscle. In the grass beside me, he crouches low and reloads his pistol before thrusting it into my trembling hands.

Strange that he’s not in the customary hunter green uniform. “Are you an enforcement officer?”

His voice is gruff and twangy, not akin to what one typically hears in the upper Heartlands. “Not the time for questions. Listen, if I don’t return, you fully unload on that lycan. Do not hesitate.”

The gun is heavy in my right hand. How the hell does he even have one of these? Civilians of Agathora aren’t authorized to carry firearms. Holy gods, is this stolen?

“I don’t even know how to use this thing. W-What’s a lycan?”

He ignores me. "Stay down, you hear me?"

I can only bring myself to nod. With that, a grunt sounds from the man's throat, deep and primal.

Dark brown locks and a scruffy jaw are peppered with grey, making the green of his eyes extraordinarily vibrant.

Practically glowing. He pulls his shirt over his head and drops to all fours, tossing his head back.

A bloodcurdling scream retches out of me, yet I still make out the macabre snap of bones and ligaments.

Long grey fur rapidly spreads all over his muscled body.

Two arms are replaced with the addition of two more legs, each armed with sharp claws.

The gargantuan beast has a coarse tail and pronounced ears that frame its face—the face of a bloodthirsty wolf. A werewolf.

Launching itself right at him is another.

He tackles the umber beast, backside slamming against the crumpled hood.

The assailant snaps at his muzzle, bucking the grey male off.

Through the windshield, I can hardly believe my eyes.

Two wolves, much larger than the typical wilderness prowlers, are rolling in the grass, swiping to kill.

As they fight for dominance, I find myself completely enthralled by the two creatures I have always believed to be merely subjects of dark fables. Maybe I had a few too many drinks at the party earlier.

I can't bring myself to look at Mom again. The ache in my chest . . . gods, it’s too raw. Every fiber of my being trembles as I make a split-second decision. I start running.

Tears line my vision as I sprint through the cornfields, making for the overpass I spot a few hundred meters away.

Roars echo behind me as I clutch the pistol, blazing so fast I wonder if my lungs might combust. When I reach the clearing, I run straight into another body.

A freckled woman with long orange ringlets catches me, lowering me to the ground.

"Easy, now, honey."

I look up at her, heaving a breathless, delirious sob. She brings a finger to my lips, hushing me. Then, she hands me a bundle of clothing with a stack of jewelry. My adrenaline is pumping too wildly to refuse.

"What is this? Why is this happening?”

“Deep breaths, Vessa," she says gently. "Give me your dress. We need to cover your scent."

Does she not realize that there are two werewolves fighting to the death just on the other side of this field? Wait—

“How do you know my name?" I whisper, pulling the oversized sweatshirt over my undergarments. My nose scrunches. The fabric smells like it was washed with an entire gallon of lavender detergent.

The woman doesn't answer until I clamp the silver bangles on each of my wrists, sliding the rings connected to a thin chain onto each middle finger. I scrunch my brows. They're beautiful. But what the hell are they good for?

"Now isn't the time to explain." She steps forward and attempts to loop her arm through mine. But I jerk away, raising the pistol.

"No—stay back. I don't know you. I don't know why any of you wolf freaks are after me, but I need to call enforcers. I need to get my mom to a hospital right now."

The two of us flinch at the sound of a large body being slammed against steel, shattering glass. The snarl is cut short by a defeated whimper.

Her lips pull back into a straight line.

"I'm afraid it's too late for that. Besides, there's another fella like him waiting to intercept you there. These lycans work in teams. They've had eyes on your family for days now. Your daddy and your brother, too. It won’t be long before he catches wind of all the blood.”

The realization threatens to buckle my knees.

“Please tell me you sent someone to protect Benjamin,” I croak. “My dad’s out of town. Oh gods, he’s home alone.”

"Leave your phone right here. Dress and shoes, too. If you want answers, follow me."

Panic mounts inside of me as the two of us make our way back to the main road where a van is parked.

There, the bare-chested shooter hauls a bloody man over his shoulder and stuffs him into the driver's seat. I gag as I note the shredded side of the stranger’s muscled torso.

In the seat next to him is another naked corpse.

A female with a spray of bullet holes down her chest.

"That's the one who got to your momma," the redhead says sullenly.

A sob barrels through my raw, burning throat.

Crippled by another wave of shock, my knees finally give out.

She strokes my back softly, carefully prying the gun out of my hands.

She hands it to her accomplice, who slings a jacket over his shoulders and tucks it in the waistband of his jeans.

A groan emits from the wooden telephone pole, sparks flickering along the wires.

The woman helps me up. Tells me her name. Maurleen. Her partner, Wyatt, approaches slowly. From his front pocket, he retrieves a small lighter, pressing it into my hand.

"This is only the beginning, Vessa. The blood that runs through you—the smell—these two were consumed by it."

“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” I choke out.

Maurleen addresses me with kind eyes. “I know you must be devastated and that this is all so impossible to accept. It’s gonna take time.

And I know that’s the last thing you wanna hear right now.

I promise that we can protect your family.

But there must be no trace of you. Your scent must end here.

Your life must end here. I'm afraid it's the only way. "

Do I truly have it in me to fake my own disappearance? Can I live with the fear of knowing these creatures will find my family again if I remain here? When the hell did everything spin out of control?

Be brave, little star, I hear the voice of my mother whisper in the confines of my mind.

My eyes narrow at Wyatt. “What is it you two think you have on me?”

Maurleen tries to smother a grin. “I’ve got about fifteen years’ worth of explaining to do. But we don’t have that kind of time, honey. That pole’s about to snap.”

Fifteen years?

With shaking hands, I walk up to the van.

Across the street, erratic electric currents sing overhead.

Anger sizzles in my veins as I look upon the faces of the two dead strangers.

The woman’s hands are deformed; hideous long fingers curl with black claws.

Claws that look as if they’ve been dipped in a can of bright red paint.

Blood. A vastly different shade of crimson than what leaks from gunshot holes in her chest. That is my mother’s blood on her hands.

I bite down hard on my lip. Flicking the lever, I summon a small flame, lowering it to the woman’s matted hair. At the first scent of the godsawful singe, I toss the lighter inside.

Wyatt ducks down, jamming the accelerator with a rock. The engine hums, sending the van flying in the direction of mom's car. This time, I bear witness to the wreckage. The pole topples over, sending sparks in every direction along the wet pavement.

“We can’t stay any longer,” Maurleen says, watching me dab my tears. She offers her hand. Do I have no other choice but to blindly trust her?

Flames implode inside of the van, engulfing the scene. In a matter of seconds, electricity and fire mingle, forming a blaze of havoc that invades the surrounding fields. If I don’t make a decision right now, I too will perish. I have to let Mom go.

Steeling myself, I slip my fingers into Maurleen’s, taking my first steps into the shadows.