Moon Cursed: The Reluctant Werewolf Chronicles, Book 1 Read online

  Moon Cursed

  The Reluctant Werewolf Chronicles, Book 1

  Tori Centanni

  Bad Blood Books

  Copyright © 2018 by Tori Centanni

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art by Lou Harper.

  Created with Vellum

  To my brother, Richard, who always makes me laugh

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Also by Tori Centanni

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Three Years Ago…

  I stared up at the building, barely able to breathe. This was it. Years of research, of waiting, of hanging around the entrance of Bats and sometimes even talking my way inside the supernatural nightclub, and I’d found it: the place where the vampire lived.

  My heart started pounding as I made my way to the building’s entrance.

  “Are you sure this is it, Charlotte?” Michael asked, staring dubiously up at the condo building. Michael was always saying things like that: “are you sure?” and “this can’t be right.” I didn’t have the patience for Negative Nelly tonight, not when I was finally so close to immortality I could taste it.

  “This is it,” I said. “Damien Voigt lives in 805.”

  Michael frowned, not convinced. “That can’t be right.”

  I sighed heavily. “It is right. According to the bartender at Bats, Damien has lived here for two years.”

  Michael squinted up at the building, his shaggy dyed black hair falling back in a cascade. I was secretly envious of Michael’s hair, which always had a shiny quality to it. Mine always felt dry and a little frizzy, especially in the humid Seattle air. I’d even started using the same brands of hair dye and conditioner, but it hadn’t helped.

  “It doesn’t really look like a place a vampire would live, though,” Michael said finally, meeting my eyes.

  “What did you expect?” I asked, impatient to meet Damien, but frankly, a little nervous, too.

  “I don’t know. A castle. A spooky Victorian house. At least something without gaudy orange and green coloring.”

  There was some strange art piece on the side of the building, perhaps a fire escape meant to look pretty, in stark orange and green that matched the condo complex’s outrageous colors.

  “Damien is practical,” I said. “Condos are cheaper and more secure.”

  Michael rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, and the effect was impressively broody. “Or you’re wrong.”

  He had a silver lip ring and a glittering blue stud in his nose. His black t-shirt hugged his narrow frame and fell only slightly over the hips of his black jeans. He already looked like a vampire, with his pale skin and Goth attire.

  I was dressed similarly, only I wore a black lacy skirt instead of jeans, but my boobs made the t-shirt fit funny and I didn’t have cool piercings yet. Today was my eighteenth birthday and my parents had been assholes about what they called “body mutilation.”

  If all went well tonight, I’d have eternity to get all the piercings I wanted.

  I tucked a red strand of hair back behind my ear. My hair was dyed the same black as Michael’s, with two red streaks in front.

  “You can stay out here if you want. I’m going to meet a vampire.”

  Michael hesitated but followed me up to the building’s call box, where my mission to meet and woo a vampire into making me like him hit its first snag. Damien’s name wasn’t listed on the callbox and there was no way to search by unit number.

  “Told you,” Michael murmured.

  “You don’t have to be here,” I hissed, pulling out my phone to double check the notes I’d taken the night the Bats bartender had spilled the details on Damien’s housing arrangements. I double checked the address. Unless I’d typed it in wrong—and I’d made the former Bats bartender repeat herself six times to be super sure I was getting it right—this was the correct place.

  The light was being leeched out of the sky like it was being sucked out with a vacuum and I was stuck outside. This wouldn’t do at all.

  I hit numbers on the callbox until it dialed someone random. When they answered, I put on my customer service voice, the one I used at my after school job at the yogurt shop, and said, “Hello, this FedEx. I have a package for your neighbor, but they’re not answering. Would you mind buzzing me in so I can leave it in the lobby?”

  The person didn’t even bother to answer, just hit the buzzer and hung up. I wrenched the door open and held it for Michael, who looked astounded.

  “You’re not supposed to lie. What if they come down and check?”

  “Oh my God, Michael, no one cares,” I said, and made a beeline for the elevator. Michael followed quickly behind, probably scared of getting caught alone by the neighbor he was sure was coming to verify my story. He was so naive. Hard to believe he was almost a year older.

  The ride to the eighth floor took half an eternity. For a new building, the elevator was slower than a snail. If lived here, I’d complain, but I guessed vampires had plenty of time to kill (ha).

  I power-walked straight to 805, at the end of the hall, and then looked out the hallway window. Night had fallen and the full moon was already bright against the dark sky.

  Giddiness and trepidation sloshed around my stomach. I’d been planning this for months, and been scheming to be a vampire for years. I’d studied them, learned where they hung out (turns out, not many places a girl can get to with a bus pass and a ten o’clock curfew), and did enough research to write several grad school worthy papers on the subject (not that any school would take my brilliant analysis, even as a college entrance essay). Of all the supernatural creatures that existed, there were precious few that humans could become and vampires were the best.

  Damien Voight was the vampire I’d chosen to be my sire. For one thing, everything I knew about him suggested he was kind of nerdy. He’d been turned in the 1970s, so he was relatively young as far as a vampires go, and he’d been turned in his early twenties. From all accounts, he spent more time with his nose in a Nintendo DS than he did stalking victims for their blood, which was fine with me. Michael was secretly a huge nerd too (not that he’d admit it) so I knew we’d get along.

  The only problem was I had not actually discussed this plan to become a vampire on my eighteenth birthday with Damien.

  Or actually met Damien.

  Minor setback, really. Sure, he wasn’t expecting me, but catching him by surprise might turn out to be the best plan. After being alive for so long, surely vampires liked surprises.

  “We can still leave,” Michael said, misunderstanding my hesitation. I wasn’t scared or whatever, I was just letting the reality of it wash over me. Soon, I would be a vampire.

  I knocked.
>
  There was a crashing sound inside the apartment, like someone had pushed a large glass vase off of a table. I winced.

  Michael actually turned and took two steps away before realizing I hadn’t moved. “We should go,” he urged, as something else banged inside the unit.

  “No way. This is my destiny,” I argued, and Michael knew that because I’d already explained it like ten times.

  There was another crash and someone yelled something I couldn’t make out. I pressed my ear to the door and heard a growl. Did Damien Voigt have a dog? I’d definitely never heard or seen mention of him having pets.

  “Charlotte,” Michael hissed, urging me back toward the elevator with frantic gestures.

  I shook my head, swallowed, and knocked again.

  The door opened a fraction of an inch. I saw a red-rimmed eye and part of Damien’s face. “Hello. I don’t want any cookies, thanks.” He started to shut the door.

  I jammed my Doc Marten in between the door and the frame. “I’m not selling cookies,” I said. Something glass shattered behind Damien and he swore. This wasn’t going how I’d planned at all. I needed to get his attention and hold it. “My name is Charlotte Lear. I’ve come—”

  There was bang, a crash, and the sound of wood cracking behind him.

  “This is a bad time.”

  Damien shut the door.

  I stared, stunned. This wasn’t how it was meant to go. I was supposed to explain to Damien that I was a dedicated scholar of the undead and that, as it was my eighteenth birthday and a full moon, I wanted him to have the honor of bringing me over me into vampirism. I thought perhaps he might wish to see some of my work, so I had copies of my essays in my big, black purse, but I hadn’t expected to be dismissed before getting a chance to make my appeal.

  I knocked again. Damien was shouting “No, bad, come here!” while it sounded like a tornado was making its way through is unit. I knocked a third time, but the chaos inside continued and no one answered.

  “Char, come on!” Michael whisper-yelled down the hall. He’d made it to elevator and had pressed the “down” button which glowed an angry orange.

  I looked from him to the door which had been put between me and fate. The chaos inside abruptly quieted. I couldn’t just leave. Not without even trying.

  Michael got into the elevator and waved for me to join him. I shook my head and put my hand on the door knob for 805.

  I took a deep breath and turned the knob. It was unlocked. Clearly Damien had been too distracted by his dog’s tantrum to check. I pushed it open and took two steps inside.

  Damien shouted. Not at me. He was in a back room and he was still yelling at the dog, who must have heard the door open because it came barreling down the hall. For a second, it seemed normal. A big dog, sure, but a normal dog.

  But then my eyes adjusted. It wasn’t just a dog. It was a wolf, massive with black fur and glowing yellow eyes. And it was heading right for me.

  I didn’t have time to think or act. I just stood there, stunned, sure I was going to die, mauled to death by a huge wolf who definitely did not belong in a condo. It had to be against their homeowner’s association rules. In my building, we weren’t even allowed to have cats.

  The wolf bounded into the living room and slowed, stalking forward with dangerous purpose. I made one stupid, useless motion to brace myself against the inevitable attack and raised my arms in front of my face. An instinct, not a rational decision. The wolf snarled as it pounced. And then Damien was between me and the wolf. The wolf smacked into the vampire with the force of a jetliner, knocking him back and into me. That in turn knocked me over and my back slammed against the floor, the vampire landing on top of me. Damien jumped up to push the wolf back.

  Pain exploded in my leg. It felt like a snake bite. I looked down to see the wolf’s claws digging into my flesh through my black leggings.

  “No, Holly, bad!” Damien yelled, and grabbed the wolf by the scruff. The wolf’s claws retracted, leaving only a red gash in my lower right leg. I sat up to inspect it. It was red with blood smeared beneath the torn fabric, but it wasn’t bad. I’d be okay. Hurt like hell, though. It felt like the wound was on fire. I rolled up my legging which was sticky with blood and nearly fainted at the sight of the gouges in my flesh.

  Damien dragged the wolf into the back room. A door slammed.

  I sat, catching my breath and willing the pain to ebb. I’d had my share of cuts and bruises, but this hurt worse than anything I’d ever felt.

  The pain either faded a little or I got used to it because after a few minutes, I was able to focus on the room. It was wrecked. Shelves were tilted and their contents, whatever they had been, were shattered on the floor. The coffee table had been flattened and several couch pillows were deflated husks, their innards strewn about the room. The big screen television was fine, as were the numerous game consoles beneath it, though one of the controllers was nothing but a chewed mess of plastic.

  The door opened and slammed again and then Damien appeared in the hall.

  He paused, sniffing the air, his eyes glowing red. I shivered. But he shook off the predatory expression and grabbed something from under the kitchen sink. He bent down next to me with a first aid kit in hand and began unwrapping packages of bandages. “Who are you and what are you doing in my home?”

  “My name is Charlotte. Today is my eighteenth birthday.” Damien frowned, meeting my eyes. “I want to be a vampire.”

  He laughed. It wasn’t cruel or malicious, more a bark of surprise than anything. Then his gaze moved over my injury and the smile vanished. He dabbed the wounds with an disinfectant that stung. I gritted my teeth and tried not to complain. I needed to prove I was strong enough to be turned. He wound bandages around the gouges and then sat back.

  “Keep it wrapped. It should heal fast, but only if you don’t poke at it.”

  “It’d heal instantly if I were immortal,” I pointed out.

  Damien stared at me, his expression shifting from uncertainty into something darker. Sadder. Like when someone knows something you don’t and it’s pretty bad. I’d seen that expression on the faces of doctors and nurses who’d attended to my dying sister. My heart dropped.

  “What?” I asked, my chest tightening.

  He glanced back down the hall. The wolf had stopped beating itself against the closed door. “You can’t become a vampire.”

  I let out a breath. This was familiar ground. I had prepared whole speeches to counter this argument and I was ready. “I know that immortality is a burden. I don’t even really like the sun. I’m a night person! And I’ve been basically living on a liquid diet for months. I have a million bonus points on my Smoothie World account card.”

  Damien’s sadness seemed to expand and wrap around him like a cloak. “That’s not what I mean.”

  I shook my head, not understanding. What did he mean, then? Was I not pretty enough? I mean, sure, I wasn’t as gorgeous as Michael, who was effortlessly beautiful and really rocked the Goth look, but I wasn’t hideous, either. And my acne would go away once I was turned. “I know what being a vampire entails. I’ve written essays…”

  Damien sadness intensified. This guy was better at brooding than Michael. “No, I mean, you cannot be made into a vampire because you’re now infected with the werewolf poison. It’s already moving through your veins and changing your DNA.”

  I stared. Then blinked when my eyes started to hurt from staring. “Wait, what?”

  “My roommate is a werewolf. Dark came fast and she wasn’t able to get into her room in time and then you came in and…” He gestured to my leg. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing that can be done once a werewolf has bitten or scratched you. I thought you knew.”

  “You live with a werewolf?” My voice was too high. Something thumped in the backroom. “That’s not possible.”

  “But it is. Holly has been my roommate for almost a year, every since she became a werewolf. I’ve no doubt she’ll deeply. regret what she’s
done to you, but it’s not exactly her fault you walked into our place. Werewolf bites don’t affect my kind, which is why we live together.”

  This couldn’t be happening. I tried to get to my feet, stumbling on my injured leg. My head felt light and the room spun. Damien steadied me with a hand on my shoulder. Michael appeared. He must have felt guilty for leaving me because he was in the doorway, asking if I was okay.

  Damien walked me to him and then Michael was holding me up. Damien vanished inside and returned. He handed Michael an extra package of bandages and a pamphlet of some kind. “If she takes off the bandages, wash the wound with something antibacterial and then wrap it again immediately. Open air will let the wounds fester and get infected. It’s how most new werewolves die.”

  “Werewolves?” Michael asked. His eyes were wide and he swayed unsteadily. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

  “It’s not Holly’s fault,” Damien said firmly, though Micheal’s glare was firmly aimed in my direction. “Your friend opened our door and came marching into the house.”

  “Oh, I’m not blaming you,” Michael said.

  Damien scribbled something on a piece of paper and added it to the stack of things in Michael’s hand. “That’s my number. Call me if she has any problems. Or if you need help.”

  Michael’s cheeks flushed slightly. He thanked Damien and pulled me toward the elevator.

  “Wait, wait, can’t you at least try to turn me?” I called.

  Damien shut his door. Michael got me into the elevator and started ranting about how stupid and impulsive I’d been. The words were a torrent of noise, but I didn’t pay attention. The world was closing in around me and blood thrummed in my ears.