Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Shadow
I’m waiting for the riders inside when they reach the clubhouse.
I get straight to the point.
“Before I answer any questions, I need to update you on my decision first.”
“And what decision is that?” Jaecar looks impatient. They all do. They want to know what happened to Tempest.
“I’m becoming Shadow again. Today. Right after this, in fact.”
They say nothing, but their shifting bodies give them away.
Rundas articulates his curiousness first. “Why? We’ve got another year or two left with our current appearance.”
Artim is on the same page as me. Scoffing, he gestures towards his thick beard. “Scruff and long hair can only hide so much, brother. Dante is right. We’ve pushed the old biker image long enough. I heard Celia telling her husband how “well preserved” we were the other day. That is no good.”
I trust Theron’s opinion. As sergeant-at-arms, he’s my right-hand man. “What say you, brother? Are you coming with me?”
Sighing, Theron nods. “Yep. You’re right. It’s time. Is that why you told us to lay low?”
“Sure. The old bikers leave Landslide and their sons return to take their place. That narrative has always worked with the locals.”
“Heh.” Jaecar chuckles. “They swallow the lie hook, line, and sinker. It’s almost as if they want to be deceived.”
“Remember when we used to ride horses instead of bikes?” Now that the decision has been made, Artim relaxes enough to reminisce. “Back when the mechanic shop was a smithy for the farrier?”
Theron is not sidetracked by any of this. He stays on point.
“We’re going to need fluids.”
Being back on Landslide without Tempest is a disaster on so many levels. The immutable essence inside me churns with vengeful ire when I think of the photographs in William Bryant’s police file.
“You all have my permission to feed tonight. Use tact and stealth. No deaths. Our return to Landslide cannot be associated with exsanguinated cattle… or women.”
Rundas storms, smashing his fists against the bar counter.
“Every woman on the island is too old to experience one of our delightful nightmares! It’s intolerable. We should cross over to Canada to do this. I’ll be damned if I use the fluids from fucking cattle!”
“You want the real thing, I understand. It’s going to be a long winter without Tempest. But my priority is for me to get her niece to stay here. And my best chance at achieving that is to be Shadow. There is a faint hope that she holds the key.”
She. I cannot say her name out loud in case I jinx it. Luna. My little sacrificial lamb.
“Tell us about Tempest.” Jaecar prompts my memory.
Instinctively, my voice lowers to a growl.
“He killed her. No doubt. She knew he was coming. The treatment did not work.”
“How do you know this?” Artim’s sorrow is tangible.
“I got a look at her file. She must have tried to fix it but failed, because the doctor was on the list of people the police interviewed after her death. The write-up said ‘a recent patient of Dr. de Doorns, but was not accepted as a viable candidate for further treatment.’”
There’s nothing left to discuss. A brief silence as we think about Tempest Aherne’s brief but brilliant life.
Banging the bottom of an old beer bottle on the bar counter to break up the meeting, I move out. We like to leave the clubhouse littered with human touches to make the place look more authentic. Not that anyone would dare come in here once they know we are back.
Rundas calls after me. “Would you accept a wager?”
The others freeze. If I make a wager, they will lay their own bets right afterwards.
“I’m listening.” I’m also smiling. This is just what we need to lighten the mood after hearing the bad news about Tempest.
“I’m betting Tempest’s niece doesn’t realize the truth until June or July next year.”
Jaecar whistles. “Whoo! That’s quick. I say it will take her at least a year.”
We all look at Artim. “She’s from the city. I doubt if she will ever understand.”
Theron debates within himself before saying, “She’s Tempest’s niece. And don’t forget she has access to the room and the distillery. I say she’ll start asking questions the moment you step through her door, Shadow. So, I bet she’s onto you within a couple of weeks.”
The other three riders shake their heads.
I have to ask. “Why so quick? She has no idea. And I was touching her and holding her.” I don’t say anything about Luna’s troublesome stubbornness after I pretended the first aid kit was in the mud room.
Theron smirks. “You’ll tell her yourself, Shadow. Because you’re going to give her the best delightful nightmares of her life.”
The other three riders roar with laughter.
Damn. It’s at moments like this when I miss the distillery so much. I could really do with a drink right about now. Drinking brings the MC closer together. Celebrations, consolations, and just plain old shooting the breeze; it all goes better with fluids.
I think about Luna before accepting the bet.
“On behalf of my beguiling new victim, I have to side with Theron on this one. But your wagers are in the laps of the gods. Luna will be the one who ultimately decides, not so?”
“What is she like?” the riders want to know.
“Luna is a lot like Tempest physically, but their temperaments are different. She’s sharp enough to make bold assumptions, but her logic is still very biased towards city life.”
“When are we going to meet her?” Artim wants to know.
“I’ll leave that up to Luna. It’s gotta be organic.”
“Here’s to the laps of the gods, brother.” Rundas gives me one last smirk before flickering into the darkness.
Using the secret passage, I enter the distillery. The craving hits me hard when I inhale. The place reeks of fluids. I can barely suppress my salivation as I strip off my clothes and creep inside my bed.
I already knew that updating my appearance is what I wanted to do when I returned to Landslide, so I drank on the mainland.
I’m ready for a change. I keep telling myself this is the right time for us to represent ourselves in a different way to the locals, but I’m lying.
I’m doing this for Luna—because I want to be with her during my most flattering outer presentation.
Feeling the moon rising outside, I make the change. The fluids I took inside me at the seedy Minneapolis motel tingle and burn as my body obeys my command.
Moments later, it is done. I can crawl out again and ride to the white painted house on the hill.
I see the light go on in Luna’s bedroom when she hears the bike revving up the incline. I hear her hasty preparations to receive her guest. The sound of teeth and hair being brushed. The rustle of cotton as she lets the dressing gown fall to the floor.
It saddens me to know she plans to open the door with day clothes on. How I would love for Luna to invite me inside wearing nothing but her dressing gown—like some delicious present longing to be unwrapped.
The porch steps creak as I mount them; my heavy biker boots make the weathered planks shake.
I’m wearing a t-shirt with the club logo printed on it—the uniform known as soft colors—no cut needed. The t-shirt will give me a good excuse for my icy skin.
Black jeans and boots are a different kind of uniform; a code of dress the Riders have stuck to for over forty years.
Should I untie the sheathed hunting knife hanging from my belt and leave it outside? No need. Last time, Luna didn't get spooked by it, so she’s not likely to do so now.
Standing at the door, I knock three times, deliberately and slowly.
Muohta barks once, but it’s only to say hi.
Her bare feet patter down the stairs. Good to know her ankle is better.
There are no such things as peepholes or security cameras on Landslide. But she’s expecting me because she recognizes the sound of my bike.
Luna thinks that the old me, Dante, is waiting for her to open the door. I hate to ruin the surprise, but I have high hopes that Luna and I can pick up where we left off, and that she will want to be friends with the “son” as much as she was with the “father.”
Flinging the door open, Luna starts talking before she turns on the porch light.
“Oh my God! I was just having the weirdest dream about you—”
As artificial light floods the entrance, she gasps, taking a step back.
Time for me to start talking.
“Hey, Luna. I thought I’d come by and introduce myself.” But I make sure to keep my hands by my side because I'm not wearing gloves. “I’m Shadow Sylva, Dante’s son.”
Her face tells me everything I need to know. I misjudged this woman. I must have made a deep impression on her as Dante, deep enough for her to question the story I want to tell her now.
Our bets were way off. When I see how intently Luna is looking into my eyes, I know what she’s about to say.
Stepping aside to make way for me to come in, Luna comes straight out and says it as I move to sit down on the same armchair from the night of our first meeting.
“Nice try, Dante. But I’m loving the makeover.”
For the first time in my life, I don’t know how to reply. I’ve never been second-guessed like this before. Never.
Bending down to pat Muohta, I get my story straight in case she has questions. I guess I’m going with her makeover theory.
I wait for her to sit on the couch opposite. We observe one another in speculative silence. Luna is slightly breathless; her topaz eyes glitter with anticipation.
I think I know how to dodge around the awkwardness we both feel at Luna being able to see through my pretense so easily.
“You said you were having the weirdest dream?”
Nervously shaking her head, Luna backtracks.
“I said too much.” A nervous laugh. “Oversharing is a problem for me. Blame it on the fact that large portions of my day are usually spent staring at a wall. So, when I see a face, I blurt out the first thing that comes into my mind.”
“Walls?”
“I’m an artist. I place tiny terracotta squares onto walls or floors to create mosaics.” Her fingers nervously pleat the hem of her shirt as she fixes her attention back on me. “Is that why you left?” Luna stares at me intently. “To get your hair cut?”
I guess I will have to get used to Luna shocking me to the core like this. I want to tell her the truth.
I left to find out how Tempest died.
I needed to know the awful truth about who her killer was.
And once all those pieces fell into place, I wanted to look more tempting for you.
Because you, Luna, represent our last hope.
Running my fingers through my hair, I enjoy the sensation of the windswept wavy strands.
“You could say that, yep.” Rubbing my clean jawline, I give a rueful chuckle. “How did you know it was me?”
Luna rolls her eyes as if to say “duh?” “You’re very identifiable, Dante. Don’t be offended when I say you’re one of a kind, because it’s a compliment. But I must say the haircut and shave has taken decades off you. Why the ‘Shadow’ charade?”
I have to smirk at her choice of words. “Change is good. And please call me Shadow… seeing as we’re friends. Now, tell me about your dream.”
The abrupt change of subject takes her by surprise.
“I believe I just told you that would be oversharing.”
“Pretend I’m a wall.”
That gets a smile out of her. “I wish I could. But unfortunately, the dream is—was—too personal.”
Slowly getting out of my seat, I go to sit next to her on the couch. Patting my lap, I wait for Luna to put her feet up on me.
At first, she’s reluctant, but she relents after seeing that I’m not budging. Her toes are icy from walking barefoot. Winter is on its way. But this serves me well. Cold is not likely to detect cold.
“I’m pleased to see your ankle is better.” I move my finger over the tips of her toes the same way I did on the first night we met. “Tell me, what was so personal about your dream?”
Making an exasperated noise, Luna folds her arms and frowns.
“What do you think?”
The second her guard drops, I get a glimpse of what she’s holding back.
A dark shadow. A man. Luna writhing ecstatically on the bed, her fingers frantically kneading her pulsing clitoris.
I’m not embarrassed by my intrusion into her fantasies. I’m aghast.
Grabbing her foot with my cold hand, I don’t let go.
“Tell me how often you have such dreams!?”
Twisting her foot away from me, Luna scowls.
“None of your Goddamn business, Shadow Sylva, you fucking pervert!”