Chapter 21 Luna
Chapter Twenty-One
Luna
No, time does not slow down. So no, I don’t see everything happening in slow motion.
One moment I am being escorted from the clubhouse with Shadow’s stony hand pushing me forward, and the next moment he’s in front of me and sheltering my body from a hail of lethal projectiles.
As strong as he is, not even Shadow can absorb the gunfire’s momentum without grunting and lurching forward. Or is he pushing us into the shade so that the pale cloud-covered sun can’t reach us?
And in that fraction of a second, I am shocked to think of him as vulnerable. You see, in my mind, Shadow will always be immortal and everlasting—just like my love.
That crazy man outside just fired both barrels of shotgun slugs at us. Enough firepower to bring down an elephant.
The blast is deafening. A violent wind gusts and blows my hair as the Riders rush past us. I am vaguely aware that in the short time between now and then, they have donned gloves, helmets, and bandanas. Every inch of skin is hidden from the overcast gray sun.
I don’t see what happens because Shadow has his back to the door as he cradles me in his arms.
I have no doubt that the Midnight Riders are acting on instinct. I fight for them to hear my voice above the sound of their snarling growls.
“Don’t kill him—”
Shadow overrules me. “Keep it clean. I don’t want Luna seeing the mess.”
When I attempt to push him off me, it’s like trying to move a life-size marble statue. All I can do is crane my neck to look up and berate him. The full impact of what just happened hasn’t sunk in yet.
“Let me go! You might think you can take the law into your own hands, but that’s not how this works.” I am and always will be the daughter of a cop.
Shadow pulls off his helmet and flops onto his back. He is panting as if he just ran a mile.
And then I see it. There is blood pooling and leaking out of Shadow’s eyes. I thought vampires were meant to be able to heal themselves? Like those superheroes in the movies.
Is he playing a joke on me? As macabre as it seems, I reach down and touch a trailing tear of blood.
There is something so familiar about the red fluid as I inhale its copper scent.
It reminds me of every finger cut I’ve ever had.
His blood is mixed with mine, mixed with the blood he fed off me last night.
But now the blood is as cold as ice.
“Sh- Shadow? Are you okay?”
I know I should be thanking my lucky stars and praising the Lord that I am still alive, but that’s not how being caught in the middle of a gunfight works.
My dad told me when I was old enough to understand.
“It happens too fast for the brain to process, Luna. All I could ever think about was getting the job done.”
Not the job of staying alive to go home to his family—the job of apprehending the perp and bringing him down. Typical law enforcement priorities.
My job is to remain calm and ascertain the damage.
It all happened so quickly. The door opening. Jake Farmer standing there with his shotgun raised. Shadow protecting me with his body. Riders rushing outside.
And now there are bloody streaks coursing over the blond stubble on Shadow’s chiseled jaw. His eyes close.
“Got some damage, darlin’. Don’t you fret your pretty little head ‘bout it.” He doesn’t bother asking me if I’m all right. He would smell my blood if I were injured.
“All clear?” he calls out weakly to the other Riders.
“Yep.” One of them replies in a casual voice.
When Shadow lets me go, I peep around the one called Larsson’s broad shoulders and bulging biceps that block my view. I don’t expect to see Jake Farmer there with his hands in the air. I know that ship has sailed. We’re dealing with vampires here.
I would feel more pity if Jake hadn’t tried to kill Shadow and me first. What harm have I ever done him?
“Can one of you come and help Shadow please? He’s got blood leaking out of his eyes.” I look up at his face and amend my observation, “And his mouth.”
Shadow staggers slightly as the Riders pick him up. The burly biker with russet brown hair runs to catch him before he can fall. The name on the front of his leather jacket says “Baltosson.”
“Let’s see the damage.” He calls over his shoulder to the others, “Y’all get back in here before the Heiners come looking for the source of that gunshot. Celia is kin to Jake from way back.”
The biker with short-cropped pitch-black hair sweeps the balls off the pool table. The others hoist Shadow up by carrying his arms and leg and then lay him down on it.
I am so distracted, I don’t know which way to turn. I am babbling.
“I thought you were immune to guns! Why is he bleeding? What have you done with Jake Farmer?”
A heavy hand thumps onto my shoulder. “Why don’t you head on back home, Luna.”
It’s the biker with long silvery blond hair and a fey slant to his green eyes.
I noticed the way he looked before the helmet covered his face.
He looks so much like the Witcher character that it’s uncanny.
“It will help us more if you sort out the recipe and get the fucking distillery going again. Shadow needs fluids. We all do.”
He pushes me out of the door. Just as I suspected, there is no sign of Jake Farmer’s unexpected visit outside.
No blood, no guts, not even a stain on the rain-soaked grass.
“I… I want to stay with Shadow. He saved me—” Shrugging his hand off me is like trying to remove a dead weight.
The name badge neatly sewn onto the front of his leather jacket reads: J?rvinen. But that is all I have time to take in before he’s hustling me towards my car.
“Get that sweet ass of yours home, Luna, and go figure out how to brew the fucking fluids! Don’t make me ask you twice. I’m not in the mood to deal with a fucking whining woman right now.”
“I’m not whining, you Goddamn bully—!” Before I can work myself up into a hysterical tantrum, J?rvinen has wrenched open the door and stuffed me inside the hatchback. Muohta must have run home, because he’s not around. Clever dog.
J?rvinen growls through the window, his voice muffled behind the dark helmet.
“Go on, get out of here before the Heiners come by.” Giving the window one ominous tap with his gloved trigger finger, the Rider steps back and folds his arms. He looks like one of those bouncers when they see someone they don’t like trying to get into the club.
I must obey him. They want me to push what just happened out of my mind and go back home. But I don’t think I can.
I’ve put this off for so long. It is time for me to finish what Tempest started—in every sense of the word.
Starting the car, I flip J?rvinen the bird as I drive back to the white house on the hill.
The first thing I notice when I go into the workroom is how tidy it is. All the mess Wulf caused when he ripped the place apart is gone.
The visitor application letters have been answered, and a stack of freshly sealed envelopes have addresses with Shadow’s wonky immature handwriting scrawled on them.
Hopefully, I can get the brewery working before a new crop of vampire victims arrive with their hiking gear and wide smiles. I doubt if a can of bear spray would keep a great beast like Midnight Rider Baltosson at bay for long.
The breath catches in my throat as I think of Shadow splayed out on the pool table like a drunken god. Giving myself a little shake, I concentrate on the pages laid out in sequence on the desk.
Equipment already at the inn
5 gal brewing kettle
Fermenter with airlock
Siphon
Stirring spoon (large enough to reach the bottom of the kettle)
Ingredients you will have to get
Soak bag of barley (honey for mead)
Malt
Enzymes
Sugar and yeast
And then it goes on to give the instruction steps, like how to sanitize the equipment and when to add the sugar and yeast to the bottles.
Come on, Luna. Use your head to fill in the gaps. Think of all those mountain men who have been brewing hooch on the Appalachian Mountains for hundreds of years.
If they can do it, then so can I.
It would help if I didn’t have the pressure urging me to hurry up. I must help Shadow replace all that blood he has lost.
Muohta comes to the door and barks at me.
“Shoo! I’m trying to think. Where would I go to get barley and malt… and whatever the fuck enzymes are.”
Muohta barks and wags his tail furiously. The dog sounds desperate. Giving up on the pages on the desk, I follow Mu downstairs.
“What are you hungry for, doggy? Salmon? Salmon kibbles? Pumpkin and oat cakes?”
The Samoyed has a better diet than I do. “I suppose it would go easier if I had something to eat. Strawberry yogurt doesn’t keep a body alive. Not after losing a pint of ankle blood!”
Grabbing a box of fish sticks out of the freezer, I fry some up for Muohta and me. He’s already chomping down the salmon kibble I poured out for him, but I have learned to share all my meals with Mu.
Yes, I am forcing myself to eat. Carefully spooning some fresh potato salad and the frozen green beans I prepared in the microwave onto the plate with the fish fingers, I sprinkle on lots of ionized salt, too. I need to replenish all that blood I lost.
That reminds me. Sifting through the dozens of items in the junk drawer—old pens, rubber bands, sachets of ketchup—I find a half full bottle of multivitamins.
Popping two into my mouth, I swallow them down with about half a gallon of water.
Rummaging through the freezer, I find a well-aged steak and put it in the fridge to defrost.
Mu barks by my side as I sit on the barstool by the kitchen counter and eat. “You want fish sticks? Good boy.”
But Muohta sniffs at the food and ignores it. Is he coming down with something? Tempest wrote in her notebook that the dog is up to date on all his shots.
Reaching down, I give Mu a loving pat. I get a shock and jump when he barks real loud in my face.
Something is up. Time for me to check him for ticks. The Midnight Riders might not be the only blood suckers on Landslide.