Moonlight Page 4

  Laughing, he took my offering and smoothed out his nail before handing the file back to me. I put it back into my pack.

  “You need to be drinking,” I reminded him.

  “Oh yeah, right.” He grabbed a bottle from his backpack and guzzled for a few seconds. Then he peered over at me. “What do you know about that guy?”

  “What guy?”

  “The guy who thinks he’s in charge.”

  “If you’re referring to Lucas, he is in charge. Has papers and everything to prove it.” I wasn’t sure why I was defending his superior behavior.

  “Whatever. Is he from around here?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I think he goes to college somewhere else but he grew up around here.”

  “Weird hair. I mean, who has hair that’s all different colors?”

  I sort of liked it, but I didn’t defend it because I didn’t want anyone thinking I had a thing for Lucas. I wasn’t quite sure how to define what I felt for him. On the one hand, he was incredibly hot. On the other hand, he was older and seemed way more experienced than I was. The truth was, he intimidated me a little.

  “So what about you?” Mason asked, interrupting my strange musings. “I overheard you say you were from Dallas. This place is practically near Canada. What made you decide to work so far from home?”

  My gut said to give a flippant answer, but the whole key to effective therapy was facing my past and not hiding from it. Besides, I was still having some residual creepy feelings from the nightmare. Maybe I needed to unburden, and Mason seemed like a nice guy, someone who was interested in me anyway. I touched the braided leather he’d given me and said as quietly as I could, “My shrink recommended it.”

  “You go to a shrink?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or appalled. The kids at my school tended to think if anyone went to a psychiatrist, she was on the verge of going on a killing spree, so I never talked about it with anyone. At home I was much more closed off within myself than I was here in the wild. I felt more at home here than I did in Dallas. Given a choice between living in the city or in the forest, I’d choose the forest every time. Suddenly I felt a need to connect with someone on a level I never had reached before. I nodded at Mason and admitted, “Yeah.”

  “So what—you’re bipolar or something?”

  Okay, there it was—the negative connotation all wrapped up with a little bow. “Let’s just say I have issues.” And because he’d hit a sore spot, I continued tartly, “My parents were killed in these woods. My therapist says I need to embrace this forest in order to get past them dying here.”

  “Wow, that’s some heavy shit.”

  Obviously he had a problem discussing emotional matters, and whatever connection I thought I’d felt with him earlier had been totally misguided. Already I regretted opening up to him. “Yeah. I don’t usually tell people that. Forget I mentioned it. I don’t know why I told you.”

  “No, hey, my bad. I’ve never known anyone whose parents were killed. I mean, I just wasn’t expecting that. How were they killed? Wild animals?”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

  “Hey, it’s okay. Not that they died, but that you don’t want to talk about it. From the moment we met yesterday, I’ve kinda felt this connection with you. Really, if you want to talk, I’m here.”

  I gave him a hesitant smile. “Thanks.”

  “Sure. Besides, I’m safe, you know? You’ll just see me for a couple of weeks and then I’ll go away. Unless…” His voice trailed off.

  “Unless what?” I prodded.

  “Unless we get really tight on this trip. Then who knows? With email and text messaging, long-distance relationships can work.”

  Whip out the engagement ring already. “Whoa, you move fast.”

  “Just throwing out possibilities.” He leaned toward me. “I’m definitely interested in possibilities.”

  I was, too. Or I thought I was. So why didn’t I give him a wink and nudge him in the right direction? Why did I find myself glancing around as though I were doing something wrong? And why did I nearly come out of my skin when I saw Lucas leaning against a tree watching me?

  What was with this guy and his constant lurking at the edge of the group? And why in the world was I wondering what sort of possibilities he might hold?

  “We need to head out if we want to make our designated camp by dark,” Lucas suddenly announced. “City Girl, you’re still with me.”

  As a rule, I’m a team player—except when I’m not. I was still close enough to the village that he might send me back if I staged a mutiny. After tripping earlier, I couldn’t even argue that I didn’t need watching.

  I grabbed my backpack, shrugged it on, and trudged over to him. “Is it really necessary for me to walk in your shadow?”

  “For now.” He jerked his head toward something behind me. “Did you want to walk with him?”

  I knew he was referring to Mason. “Maybe. What does it matter to you?”

  “You get into trouble and all you’ll see is his butt as he runs off to ensure his own safety.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I’m a good judge of people. Mason is all bark and no bite.”

  “And I guess you’re all bite.”

  A corner of his mouth hitched up in what might have been a smile. “Depends on whether or not someone needs biting.”

  Before I could respond with something clever, his version of a smile disappeared and he said, “There could be danger out there. Stick with me for a while longer.”

  He was talking to me about danger? Did he not know my history? Why did he care anyway? Because I was the newbie? Or was there more to it? And why did I want there to be more? I considered arguing further, but everyone had gathered around and I was the holdup.

  I shrugged—as much as I was able to shrug with a two-ton backpack on my shoulders. “Let’s go, Boss.”

  FOUR

  “Werewolves? You really believe in the existence of werewolves?” I nearly strangled myself holding back my laughter as I asked the question. While I knew that in retail the customer was always right, I didn’t know if this mantra applied to the campers who had hired me to serve as a guide. In this case, they were definitely wrong, and I just couldn’t be silent about it.

  Several of us were sitting by the campfire with Dr. Keane. The rest of our day had gone pretty much like that morning: trudging through the forest, stopping for a break, trudging on. Until we’d reached this large clearing and Lucas had announced we’d set up camp here. It had been dusk by then. Now it was night and we were toasting marshmallows. Cliché, but oh, they were good.

  Dr. Keane had been regaling us with ancient tales about werewolves, which had been fascinating—absurd, but fascinating—and then he’d segued into talking about wolves spotted in the wilderness around here. Wolves he was convinced were, in reality, werewolves. He believed this particular national forest was their hunting ground, where they hid away from the real world.

  “Why is that so hard to believe?” Dr. Keane asked now, in answer to my question. He was sitting on a little folding stool, looking very professorial. All he needed was a red bow tie. “Every culture has a legend about man shifting into an animal shape. Legends are rooted in fact.”

  “I’m with Kayla on this one,” Lindsey said, sitting beside Connor. “Werewolves exist only in fiction. Look at Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster. They’ve all been debunked.”

  “I don’t know,” Connor said. “Dr. Keane could be onto something here. There was a guy in my dorm that could have been a werewolf. He never shaved, cut his hair, or bathed. It was hard to call him human.”

  I bit back more laughter. Apparently none of us were taking his theories seriously.

  “But what if it is true? That werewolves exist and they inhabit this forest?” Mason asked. He was sitting on a log beside me. He was very particular about his marshmallows, toasti
ng them slowly and carefully to a golden brown. On a good day, I didn’t have that much patience. Tonight I was so tired that I had none at all. My marshmallows were quickly poked into the fire and tossed into my mouth.

  “Then we’re all doomed to die,” I quipped in an evil horror-movie scientist kind of way. All I needed was a flash of lightning and a boom of thunder for effect.

  Connor and Lindsey chuckled at my theatrical display. The prof’s students even smiled.

  “Or we all turn into werewolves,” Lucas said ominously. He wasn’t sitting in our circle, but was leaning against a tree. “Isn’t that how it works, Professor? A werewolf bites you and then you become one?”

  “That’s one possibility. The other is that it’s genetic. Werewolves are born with some sort of genetic mutation—”

  “What? Like in X-Men?” Lucas interrupted with a smirk.

  “Even fiction has an element of truth in it,” Dr. Keane insisted.

  “But why are the werewolves the ‘mutations’?” Lucas made little quote marks in the air. “What if everyone else is the real mutation? Maybe we all started out as werewolves.”

  “Interesting theory, but if that were the case, they’d be the dominant species, don’t you think? They’d be hunting us instead of us hunting them.”

  “We’re hunting them?” Rafe challenged.

  “I gave the wrong impression,” Dr. Keane said. “Discovering them is what I was referring to.”

  “If they don’t want to be discovered, maybe they’ll come after us,” Brittany said. “What then?”

  “I don’t think we have anything to worry about tonight,” Lucas said, glancing up at the sky. “No full moon.”

  “That works only if the transformation is lunar controlled,” Dr. Keane said. “What if they could transform at will?”

  “Then I’d say we’re in big trouble.” His delivery was deadpan, and I wasn’t sure if he was serious or teasing.

  “You’re not buying into this, are you?” I asked. Lucas was the last one I thought would swallow this ridiculous notion of werewolves.

  He winked at me and my heart gave a little tug. “Just know that when I zip up my tent tonight, I’m not leaving it until morning.”

  “Tents won’t stop a werewolf,” Mason said, before blowing on his perfect marshmallow.

  “There’s never been a documented account of a healthy wolf attacking a human,” Lucas challenged him.

  “We’re not talking wolves, dude,” Mason said sharply, turning to glare at Lucas. When he did, his stick took a dip and his gooey marshmallow landed in the dirt. I didn’t know why that bothered me. All that work for nothing, maybe. “We’re talking werewolves. A person who turns into a beast. They’re out there, and we’re going to prove it.”

  And earlier you questioned my being in therapy?

  “Is that what this expedition is about?” Lucas asked in a deadly calm voice that sent a shiver racing up my spine.

  “Mason is just a little overzealous,” Dr. Keane said. “We are hoping to see some wolves and perhaps study them. I’ll admit to being fascinated by the notion of lycanthropy. Do I truly believe it exists? No, of course not, but I like to be open-minded enough to leave room for the possibility.”

  “Wolves were extinct in this area until about twenty years ago, when a few were brought in to repopulate the area. The original wolves have probably died off by now, but their descendents have flourished. They’re a protected species,” Lucas said.

  “We’re not going to harm them,” Dr. Keane assured Lucas.

  “Well, then, maybe you’ll get lucky and see some.” Lucas shoved away from the tree. “We’ve got an early start tomorrow. I’m going to bed. Rafe, make sure everything is secure for the night.”

  “You got it,” Rafe said, before popping a burned marshmallow into his mouth.

  Once Lucas had gone into his tent, the tension around the campfire eased. I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one who thought Lucas and Mason were headed toward a brawl.

  “Do you really believe in all that stuff?” I asked Mason.

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “Nah, but wouldn’t it be cool?”

  “They’re always a little rabid in the movies,” I reminded him.

  “A wolf bit me once,” he announced.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.” He leaned down and rolled up his pants leg. There on his calf was a horrible scar. “Took a chunk.”

  “Mason has been studying wolves ever since,” Dr. Keane said, his voice echoing a sense of pride.

  “But Lucas said there were no documented accounts of wolf attacks.”

  “Guess he doesn’t know everything,” Mason said quietly, and it sent a shiver through me.

  “So do you turn into a werewolf when there’s a full moon?” Lindsey asked.

  Mason snorted. “I wish.”

  “I always root for the werewolves,” Lindsey replied. “They get such a bad rap in movies. Demons from hell. I think they’re a metaphor for how badly we treat people who are different.”

  “It’s just fiction, Lindsey,” Connor said. “No subliminal messages or great truths revealed. And anyway, a girl isn’t going to scream and snuggle up against you if you’re watching a movie where the werewolf is sweet and understanding.”

  “But there’s a bias against them. They’re always the bad guy. Just once, I’d like to see a werewolf portrayed as heroic.”

  “You really take it personally,” Mason said, starting to toast his next marshmallow.

  “What can I say? I like canines.”

  “Vampires get the same bad rap,” Brittany said. “Are you going to defend them?”

  “There are lots of vampires who are portrayed in movies as fighting their addiction to blood, trying to be noble. I’m just saying it would be nice to see a noble werewolf in a movie once in a while.”

  “They always lose their humanity when they transform,” Mason said distractedly. He removed his perfect marshmallow from the fire and glanced around. “Or at least that’s the way it is in the movies.”

  “In all the legends, werewolves do horrible, unforgivable things,” Dr. Keane said. “It’s only natural that Hollywood would incorporate those fears in its storytelling.”

  “Still,” Lindsey mumbled, but she seemed to have given up arguing on behalf of werewolves. It was silly anyway. It was, after all, only make-believe.

  Mason offered me his lightly browned marshmallow. “I can’t take it,” I told him. “You worked too hard to get it just right.”

  “Because I wanted it perfect for you.”

  How could I refuse? I popped it into my mouth. It was heavenly. I smiled at him. He smiled back. When we weren’t discussing werewolves—and Lucas wasn’t around—I enjoyed being with Mason. And he was safe. He didn’t make me want to do things I shouldn’t do—things that went way beyond a kiss.

  After Brittany, Lindsey, and I got into our tent, Brittany stretched out on her sleeping bag, rolled over, and went to sleep without a word. I quirked an eyebrow at Lindsey. She shrugged. “Something is bothering her. I don’t know what.”

  We got into our own sleeping bags. Lindsey turned out our main lantern and turned on a small penlight. It cast a ghostly glow.

  “So what’s up with you and Mason?” she asked quietly.

  “I’m not sure. I mean, I like him.”

  “You need to be careful. Some guys think that sherpas are only for hooking up—that we’re easy.”

  “I don’t think Mason’s like that. And I’m definitely not easy.”

  “Just be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt on your first expedition.”

  “I might hang out with him, but I would never get serious with someone I may never see again.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they all say,” Brittany muttered.

  “Thought you were asleep,” Lindsey said.

  “How can I sleep with you two yammering?”

  Lindsey stuck out her tongue at Brittany’s back. I stifled a g
iggle. Lindsey settled down into her bag. “Just be careful,” she whispered before curling up to go to sleep.

  I stared at the tent ceiling. Lindsey wanted the penlight on to serve as our nightlight. I’d learned last summer when we were out in the wilds that she wasn’t a big fan of absolute darkness. Late at night, after my parents went to sleep, I’d snuck out and crawled into Lindsey’s tent. We’d talked for hours about school, clothes, and guys. She was the first person outside of my family who I’d ever told about my parents getting killed. For some reason, except for last night, I didn’t have the nightmares when I was around Lindsey—maybe because she didn’t define me by my past. In some ways, she was far more accepting than my therapist.

  I’d met Brittany last summer as well, but I didn’t feel as close to her. Maybe because I sensed that she had her own issues. She was snoring now. It was a little snuffle, similar to the sound my Lhasa at home, Fargo, made.

  But it wasn’t the light or the noise that was keeping me awake. It was wolves. They weren’t howling, but I had a feeling they were lurking nearby. If what Lucas said was correct, they’d been in these woods for only twenty years. Long enough to have been around when my original parents and I had come camping that long-ago summer. Had those hunters seen them? Were we hiking now near where the wolves had been, near where my parents had died?

  I hadn’t wanted to visit the spot last summer. I wasn’t ready for that. Besides, no one had seemed to remember where it had happened. Or so they had said. Maybe they were afraid the trauma would be too much for me. But tonight, I was remembering low-throated growling and snarling that weren’t dream-induced. Had we been running from wolves? But Lucas had said they never attacked people, so my strange musings made no sense.

  What had really happened that day?

  I threw back the top of the sleeping bag and sat up. I suddenly felt as though I had to get out of the tent. I hadn’t bothered to undress earlier, so all I had to do was put on my hiking boots. When they were securely tied, I grabbed my flashlight. As quietly as I could, I unzipped the tent opening and slipped outside.

  A couple of lanterns had been left on, but no one was around. I didn’t want company. I just wanted…