Chapter 21 Luna #2
Sitting on the floor, I do what I have been longing to do since my arrival; I bury my hands in the dog’s warm fur. For the first time, Muohta sits still and lets me pet him.
“I suppose I’m going to have to pick through all of this ridiculously long fur,” I tell Mu, thinking he has a right to know what I’m doing. “Hey, I didn’t even know you had a collar underneath all this fluff, doggy.”
Muohta barks loud, breathing fish stink up my nose. But I don’t reel back from the smell, because I think this dog might have been trying to tell me something since I came here.
I should check under his collar if I want to be sure there are no ticks…
Fumbling with the buckle, I remove Mu’s black leather collar.
A shiver of paranoia makes my belly tighten.
Holy crap. The recipe was hiding in plain sight! Dangling from the buckle hoop is a large rectangular dog tag—with my name on it.
Looking over my shoulder at the kitchen window and the door that leads to the mud room, I check to see if anyone is watching. I can’t help it. I know I am holding the key to an endless supply of vampire booze in my hands.
The kitchen curtains rattle as I draw them closed. After locking the mud room and bolting the front door, I take Mu into the living room, and we sit on the couch together.
My heart breaks with sorrow as I look at the proof of Tempest’s once happy life.
The black leather collar is old and cracked, but it’s easy to see that it is the same kind of leather worn by the Riders.
A gift to Tempest from Ifan, I know it. I imagine him clasping the band around her neck to hide the spot where he feeds from her.
And then Tempest uses it as a dog collar long after Ifan has hit the road and left Tempest behind forever.
But it is the dog tag I am interested in. It’s about the same size and shape as one of those luggage labels travelers clip around the handle; a plastic waterproof pouch with a transparent window. I recognize Tempest’s handwriting.
F. Y. E. O. Luna Blackwood.
For Your Eyes Only.
Well, Muohta made damn sure of that.
Prising open the pouch, I manage to pull out the thickly folded paper. Again, I double check to make sure I am alone before spreading the thin sheets of paper out on the coffee table. The writing is so close and cramped, I figure it must have been done with a magnifying glass.
Wow, Tempest. You might have been my aunt, but damn girl, you had a lot on your mind.
The letter gets straight to the point.
Dear Luna,
I hope that by the time you read this, Dante will have brought you up to speed with everything in our crazy Landslide life. He is a strict master, but not a cruel one. I should say rather that he’s never been cruel to me.
Even when I fell head over heels in love with my darling mad, bad, and dangerous Ifan, and we mysteriously were able to fall pregnant against all odds, Dante gave me a second chance.
I hope you don’t think I’m being vulgar if I mention the importance of a vampire’s sex and desire.
Needless to say that because they were all straight men when they were alive, they are strictly limited to feeding on similar type women.
All the kinks and fetishes from their human lives have carried over into their vampiric existence.
If they enjoyed eating out pussy when they were human or got turned on by spanking, or whatever, you can bet they still love doing that. So naughty, I know. But men are men—even when they are vampires.
It is a cliché to write this, but if you are reading this it means I’m dead—and my half-breed son was the one who killed me. He will make it look like an ordinary murder, but we know better. He hates me because I gave that human vulnerability to him.
The reason why he killed me is entirely understandable from his point of view. You see, dear niece, unlike the Midnight Riders, my son cannot live forever.
Only certain types of human blood can regenerate Wulf in the same way it does the others. He went on a killing spree the moment he was old enough to venture out alone without anyone commenting on it.
I was able to find a way to control Wulf, but the recipe only lasted as long as my fertility did.
My last hope disappeared when the menopause came and went. I am going to try and get help from Dr. de Doorns in Minneapolis, see if he can’t jump start my menstrual cycle again. If that doesn’t work, then I leave it up to you to solve the problem.
Vince Pruitt doesn’t just deal in fake motor registrations, birth certificates, and driver’s licenses. He gets me my supply of DNA polymerase enzymes too. Make sure you stock up with enough to brew a large batch in time for winter. He can’t get more after we are iced in.
And please remember—this is important—keep the batches separate.
Use your venal blood for the MC and your lunar cycle bleeding for the other. This is crucial. Only your lunar cycle blood will be able to control Wulf, my monstrous half-breed son, and stop him from sucking you dry.
Only then will you be safe from his savage unpredictability.
When you have time, I have written down the story of the Riders for you to read.
Hide the recipe in the cubby where the MC stays out of the sunlight in the brewery basement. You will find everything else you need down there.
All my paranoia and worry about Shadow fades as I begin reading the origins of Landslide’s Midnight Sons.