Page 2 of The Red Moon

He slams the door shut, and everyone shudders.

Including me.

There’s two of them. Two large rats circling around the group of us, stopping every few feet to sniff the air with their heads arched. They might be taking inventory and waiting for one of us to die and eat what’s left. They aren’t afraid of people like the rats at my apartment in LA. They don’t scurry away from sunlight or the slightest movement. These rodents are drawn to it. Waiting for it. As if one of us might start suddenly convulsing and ring the dinner bell. These rats are hunting. And what we are to the wolves upstairs is no different than these abnormally large creatures down here. Their next meal.

I inspect myself, noting the similar clothing I share with my cellmates. A large, plain gray shirt falls in wrinkles around my hips, and the sweatpants seem to match, give or take a shade or two. Remnants of blood stain my neckline. Not a concerning amount, but enough to know the last person to wear this didn’t survive whatever hell the Vostik pack put them through. I guess I can count myself lucky. My prisoner attire is not nearly as tarnished as some of the others. Claw marks. Chunks missing from the sleeves and torso. There’s one thing alarmingly clear as I glance around the room, though. All of the clothes will be worse for wear after the next full moon. The blood moon, Viktor called it. Four words ring in my head. Four unnerving syllables to be exact. We. Are. All. Fucked.

I maneuver the crowd, pushing my way through to the middle and close to the bars no one else dares to go near. There’s safety in the center, they probably think. No, not a single one of us is safe in any facet. All I know is if Viktor or any of his followers wanted me dead, they could’ve handled it stateside at Völk, not in the belly of their werewolf den thousands of miles away. They want us all alive. Healthy enough to run I assume. A wolf longs for the hunt, after all. And everyone down here is nothing more than something for the Vostik pack to chase.

“Nat—Natalie?” A weary voice croaks out as I step over the tangle of legs hiding the rough cement floors.

I glance to my right, and when I do, the pit in my stomach I’ve had since I woke up here nosedives. Platinum-blonde hair drapes in knots down her shoulders while the streaks of brown are visible at her scalp. She peers up at me, hope in her swollen and red-rimmed eyes. They’re unmistakeable. No. This isn’t happening. Not now. Not here. I close my eyes, hoping whatever version of hell Viktor dragged me to is something I can wake from. When I open them, the cage is more cramped than before, and her gaze is fixed on me alone. Of course it’s not a dream.

It isn’t bad enough I have an entire werewolf pack preparing to serve me up like a hog on a spit. Here I am, trapped in a cage I’m not so sure I’ll walk away from, and yet … it’s somehow gotten tremendously worse.

Veronica fucking Tate.

She stands, wipes the tears from her cheeks, and wraps her small arms around me. “They got you, too!” she says and whimpers into my shoulder. I pat her back on impulse, a few subtle pats like I’m touching a hot stovetop. She doesn’t let go. No, why would she? Veronica tightens her grip and pulls me in closer.

I was right before. We. Are. All. Fucked.

TWO

NIK

I’m not sure how much time has passed since we boarded and took aim for the heavens. Not even sure what country we’re passing over now. Dimitri has drifted in and out of sleep enough times to lose count, but it must be easy to do when you’re not strangled by a fresh set of chains keeping you in your seat. The pilots, terrified I might break free again, wouldn’t step foot on the Citation jet until every chain in storage was added for good measure. I can’t blame them, of course, though something in me doubts any amount can truly keep me confined. Especially now.

I’ve done my best to block out the wolf taking residence in my head, but every now and then, there’s an unmistakeable huff of annoyance.

I despise this, he says with a snarl. We agreed no more chains.

What he doesn’t understand, what my own brother can’t seem to comprehend, is the hell I’d claw through to get her back. Natalia. My little wolf. Ripped away from me and taken to the one place I swore I’d never go back. I wish I was oblivious to the horrors that happen at the Vostik estate during each hunt. How the stench of blood overwhelms every inch of the property. Pieces of uneaten flesh left to rot on the earth like apple cores tossed to the street. As much as it sickens me to admit, part of me still thirsts for it. Hungers for a taste of something more than raw beef. Something … human.

We can get out of these chains and eat the big one, the wolf interrupts.

I glace over at Dimitri, his large arms crossed over his chest and head tilted to one side in sleep. There was no stopping him from accompanying me, not when he found out what Viktor had done. “We go,” he said, leaving no room in his thick voice for rebuttal. He knows what he signed up for. Dimitri knows better than most what my father is capable of. His loyalty has always been unmeasurable, but I’m not the only reason he’s willing to fight. Not anymore. Dimitri is here to save her. To do what he couldn’t years ago.

“We don’t eat humans,” I say aloud, earning another huff from my counterpart. It’s odd I’m only hearing him now. I was a teenager the first time I turned, so he’s been in me this whole time essentially dormant.

Dormant? You have blocked me out since our first transformation. Don’t mistake your own self-loathing for my absence. I have been with you this entire time. Seen the world through your eyes. Tasted the human food you insist on torturing me with. And once a month when I was allowed to finally stretch my legs, they were attached to chains. No. More. Chains.

I smirk and settle in my seat, a crescendo of rattling metal filling the cabin. Another annoyed growl, this time loud enough to vibrate my skull.

You test my patience, human.

“Do all of the cursed have the ability to talk to their wolves?”

Cursed? The wolf snarls. I have given you heightened senses. Wounds that heal. Unmatched strength. You, young Vostik, are hardly cursed.

“Fair enough.” I smirk again and rest my head against the seat, staring up at the small lights leading to the cockpit. “Answer the question: Can my brother and father talk to their wolves too?”

Yes.

The response is quick, fast enough in fact that it leaves more questions careening up my throat like vomit. “How do you know?”

You humans speak only with words, yet we’re the mindless beasts? He scoffs and continues. A wolf can communicate with all their senses. A scent. A pair of widened eyes. Barred teeth. We take note of it all while you wait for a verbal response. I know because I have seen your father, through your eyes and my own. His two sides weren’t strangers. No, it is obvious he accepted his other half the moment it manifested, welcoming the wolf and working in unison from an early age. There’s a reason his role as alpha has remained untested. Why no pack dares to challenge him. While he may not be the first human to ever embrace their wolf, Vlad Vostik is by far the strongest.

Growing up, I never imagined my father had a second voice in his head like some secret advisor, invisible to the world. Telling him what to say. To do. Was it the wolf’s decision to slash up my torso, or his? Would it change things if it was the wolf who decided for him? No, I don’t think it would. Knowing what I do now, he was a willing participant the entire time. Just as ruthless and vile.