Moonbound (Moonfate Serial Book 1) Read online

  Name: Orion North

  Species: Wolf

  Age: 27

  Mate Status: Unspecified

  Unlike Cooper, the asshole pufferfish, Orion’s profile has nothing more than the basics. Nothing about his mark. Not even a picture of his human form. But he does have something that Cooper didn’t—a small green circle next to his name.

  He’s online.

  Fuck.

  The thought of it makes him feel closer. As if I can reach out and touch him. As if he can touch me. I should shut the window, but his mate status tempts me.

  Unspecified.

  Is he my mate? If he is, I can run from him. Leave the house to Lawrence for a while and then come back when I know he’s gone. I keep telling myself this lie as I navigate to the chat box and start to type, but I can feel the curiosity, fear, and desire already beginning to bubble up.

  Because that’s the thing about running. At some point, you always want to turn around and see what you’re running from. Biting my lip, I stare at the small paragraph I just wrote.

  Anonymous: Hello. Can I ask you a question? What does your matemark look like?

  And then, before I can think too much about it, I hit send.

  Chapter Five

  The chat window stays blank. I hold my breath. One second, two seconds, three— A reply pops up and the air goes whooshing out of me.

  Orion North: Hello there.

  I shiver. That’s the exact same greeting the wolf used in my dream. My fingers fly to the laptop screen, ready to close it, but I stop myself. No. Those two words aren’t that uncommon. My heavy breathing moves the laptop resting on my stomach up and down and I tell myself that I’m feeling so flushed because of the heat from my computer. Another message appears.

  Orion North: What’s your mark, Anonymous?

  Anonymous: A spiral of scales on my left shoulder.

  I type out the lie carefully. I know that werefishes are a rare kind of werebeast, so it’s unlikely that he’ll know anyone who might be my fake self’s mate.

  Orion North: Little goldfish or dolphin?

  I frown at his condescension.

  Anonymous: More like a shark.

  Shit— that sounds kind of flirty. I have to be more careful. I bring my thumb to my lips, teasing the moist flesh there. The warmth in my belly spreads downward.

  Anonymous: How about yours?

  Orion North: How poor are they that have not patience.

  I bite down on my thumb. Strike two. The werewolf in my dream quoted Shakespeare, too. Crap, crap, crap. If this is my mate I definitely shouldn’t be talking to him. But I can’t stop.

  Anonymous: Nice Othello quote.

  Orion North: I know.

  I can almost smell the cool scent of his confidence. It clears away the haze of anxiety choking me and makes me want to take him down a notch.

  Anonymous: Although to be fair, Othello ended up strangling his wife in the end. He was too impatient to take the time to actually investigate.

  Orion North: Humans are always poor masters of their inner beasts.

  Anonymous: And you aren’t?

  Orion North: When I’m in bed with my mate, I won’t be strangling her.

  Even as I type out my reply my eyes are stuck to one word on his: bed. My mind whirls with all the things he could do to me on it, pinning me down, fu— No! Jesus! Damn matemark hormones. These are the same creatures that killed my parents. Anyway, he’s talking like he already has a mate.

  Anonymous: So you /are/ mated.

  Orion North: I didn’t say that.

  I roll my eyes. Well Orion is certainly as cryptic as the wolf in my dream.

  Anonymous: Well, I told you my mark, will you tell me yours?

  Orion North: Why should I tell you, Little Fish?

  I close my eyes, trying to seek out the right words, but finding something much less useful. The man from the dream appears. He leans against a tree somewhere, gazing downward, holding something metallic in his hands. Heavy green summer leaves dapple his face and naked torso in a pattern of shadow and light that make him look like Lucifer stealing into the garden.

  He glances up. Smirking, as if I’m someone running seven years late for an appointment, and just finally showing up “Artemis.”

  My eyes open and my pulse gallops in my throat. The fear is back.

  Oh, shit. Is my weremate invading my daydreams now too? Is that Orion? But no, that’s not possible. He shouldn’t be able to enter my nightmares from seventy miles away, let alone my daydreams. Something else must be going on.

  I eye the screen like it might bite. I should just stop now, I know, but I have to figure out what’s happening. But I can’t tell him the truth, either, not without risking my independence.

  Anonymous: My best friend’s wolfmarked, but she doesn’t have an account on here, so she wanted me to investigate.

  Orion North: She could’ve just slipped a note underneath my desk with a ‘Check yes if you like me.’ It would’ve been about as effective as this scheme. I am not a child, and you aren’t either, are you, Little Fish?

  I take my thumb from my mouth. My nipples are starting to stiffen. No. This shouldn’t turn me on.

  Anonymous: New York is a long way from California. :-)

  I tack on a smiley face at the last second, hoping it will ease the tension, but it just makes the wait seem longer.

  Orion North: Hmm.

  I swear I can feel the low rumble of his voice on my skin. Please let me be going insane. Please don’t let him actually be in my head.

  Orion North: Well, you can tell her that she knows where to find me.

  Anonymous: She’s just curious what your mark looks like.

  Orion North: I’m more curious about you, Little Fish.

  Anonymous: I’m nothing worth being curious about. As you said, I’m just a fish.

  Orion North: You’re a fish trying to play games with a wolf. That’s the definition of curiosity.

  Anonymous: I’m not trying to play with anything. I’m just trying to help my friend.

  I’m punching the keys hard, forcing myself to ignore the dryness in my eyes. I might see him again if I close them. So I don’t.

  Orion North: Oh, you’re playing, but I don’t think you fully understand the rules.

  Despite everything, his words bring a tickle of a smile to the corners of my lips. I may not understand the game, I may not even have wanted to play, but now that I am, I want to win.

  Anonymous: Then teach me them.

  Orion North: You’re the bravest little fish I’ve ever met.

  A surge of pride courses through me. I’ve impressed him, and, more importantly, taken some ground. No more visions flit in front of me, either. I just needed to calm down.

  Anonymous: So what’s your mark?

  Orion North: What’s your name?

  Smirking, I remember Cooper’s ridiculous profile.

  Anonymous: Just call me Little Mermaid.

  Orion North: No. But I will tell you something that might interest your friend.

  My heart ricochets in my chest, sending shockwaves of adrenaline through my system with every beat. This must be how those people with wing suits feel when they jump off mountains. Somewhere between falling and flying. So much for calm.

  Anonymous: All she needs to know is your mark.

  Orion North: My mark doesn’t matter. You can tell her I’m sure she isn’t my mate.

  I blink. His face appears again. Still under a tree, he’s staring straight at me, head cocked, daring me to keep playing.

  I know I shouldn’t, I know that this way lies only danger, but the sinful twist of his mouth is impossible to resist. I open my eyes.

  Just a weird daydream. I’ve always had a vivid imagination. I’m not really communicating with him. I can’t be. But if I’m not, then why does the normally dusty air of my empty house suddenly taste like something off an alpine ski slope?

  Anonymous: Why doesn’t the mark matter?

/>   Orion North: Because if she were my true weremate, she would be brave enough to message me herself.

  Anonymous: You don’t know anything about her. You don’t know that she’s not brave—for all you know she’s just not ready to meet you.

  Unless he can see me too, unless he knows that I’m lying. I crack my knuckles and lean away from my computer, trying to get some distance. His every word feels like a hook in my heart, tugging me closer and closer.

  Orion North: Then tell me about her.

  Anonymous: She’s pretty. Brown eyes too big for her face. Size zero. Comes from a big family. Has great teeth, although she’s never had braces. Smells like cookies, because she brings them to work every day. She’s that kind of girl, you know. She never hurts her friends. Ever.

  Once I start to spin the lie I can’t stop. I give her some traits I wish I had. I wish I was more considerate of Lawrence. I wish I could cook. I wish I had a big family. Any family at all.

  Others are characteristics I’ve never really yearned for, but that I know people think a girl should have, like the ability to fake humility, or small talk, or be skinny—hell, even the ability to care about being skinny. None of that matters to me now.

  Orion North: Your friend isn’t my type. If she’s even real.

  I hold my breath, as if that could stop time, stop this. But it’s too late. Beyond my own will my fingers stumble over the keys.

  Anonymous: What?

  Orion North: I’ve never heard of anyone who had real friends but no real enemies. And even if your friend is real, she’d be no fun to tame.

  Anonymous: Tame?

  I press my thighs together, trying to keep my rising temperature contained between them, but it’s no use.

  Orion North: Does that scare you?

  Anonymous: It disgusts me.

  I let out a long needle of air, searching for control and finding only desperation and another wild heat I refuse to name.

  Orion North: Liar.

  My lip catches between my teeth and I bite down. Hard. It doesn’t help. He’s stripping me bare.

  Anonymous: I’m here for my friend. Just to find out your mark. I deserve that much.

  Orion North: No one deserves anything. If that were the case I wouldn’t be talking to you right now, Little Fish. I would be buried deep in my mate as I used my matecall to compel her to scream my name. Then, maybe, after I had taken her from behind, I would grab her soft body and turn her around and climb on top of her to have her again. Because the gods know I deserve it.

  My nipples are completely hard now against the scratchy cotton of my sleep shirt, and my underwear is damp, but my mouth is dry.

  Orion North: Thankfully for you, I’m not a slave to my instincts. So when I meet my mate, which I will—no matter how far she runs from me—I’ll have my dominance over her, not by her weakness, but my strength.

  My mind short-circuits, fear and desire blending until I can’t take it anymore. Even his words on the screen feel real. I can almost hear them whispered in his gravelly baritone, closer now, right in my ear, tickling it. I arch my back, leaning into the phantom sensation.

  I had thought I knew how hard it would be to fight him. I had no idea.

  Orion North: Even though I know she would enjoy our fighting, fucking, and my pure dominance, even though I know that one day she will beg me to pin her down and take her submission in the old way, I will be patient. Do you know why?

  My fingers slip under the covers. I know I should stop them. But I’m a fly storming the spider’s parlor, and I don’t care. The fear only stokes the rioting desire inside of me.

  Orion North: Because I want to claim her strength too.

  My finger brushes over the line between my panties and my thighs.

  Orion North: Her bravery. Her fire. Her passion. Every last bit of her. And to do that I’ll have to win her loyalty by persuasion.

  I snatch back my hand and sit up out of the slouch I’d sunken into, tangled in my scratchy Target sheets and shame.

  He says he wants brave, well, I’m practically the dictionary definition of coward. And even though he says he doesn’t want to break me, it doesn’t matter. I’m already broken because of his kind.

  God, how could I have ever thought of giving in?

  Unfortunately, this thought doesn’t soothe. If anything, it feeds the part of me that wants to just close my eyes, to forget, and be swallowed up in the delirium.

  But I won’t. I fight the shame. The fear. And I raise my hands to type out some retort about how he’s a sick mutant, but he types faster.

  Orion North: Although, first I’ll have the truth. You’re no fish. You’re a wolf.

  Aren’t you, Artemis?

  Chapter Six

  I stare at the message for only a moment before I slam my laptop shut. One thought multiplies in my mind like a virus.

  Orion North is my mate, and he and I both know it.

  My first instinct is to close my eyes and plan how to fix this, how to escape, but I stop myself. The visions must be a part of our connection. How else could he have found out my identity? Closing my eyes is a bad idea.

  My skin sticks to a bare patch of my air mattress, and it squeaks as I peel myself off of it and begin pacing the room.

  Orion’s coming for me. He always was. I guess I’ll have to leave. What other choice do I have?

  In making the circuit, I’ve ended up right in front of my duffle bag. It gapes open, the butt of the pistol peeking out from the nest of Post-It notes and rumpled clothes.

  No, the gun isn’t an option, either. I can’t kill him if he finds me. There’s no way he’ll ever believe that I would. Not when his eyes can see right through me.

  But I don’t want to leave forever. With every second I spend in my old home, it seems less like a husk and more like an outline, a coloring book.

  The space on the wall would be a perfect place for a La Boehme poster like the one my mom gave me. I could put a bookshelf right by the window and stuff it to the gills with books my father introduced me to: Tolkien, The Dragon Riders of Pern, and Ender’s Game. I could do it better this time. No Twilight or Beasts, Blood & Bonds.

  Maybe I can leave for just a little while. Take a vacation. Now I know who my mate is I can avoid him using Tracker. It will be tough because I don't have a phone, but maybe Lawrence will let me borrow his

  There’s only one problem. Bus tickets, hotel rooms, food, all of that costs money. Money I don’t have. At least today is payday at work. It won’t be enough, but it’ll be a start.

  And work, if the blinking of my alarm clock is anything to go by, starts in an hour and a half.

  I crack my knuckles, take a deep breath, and jog toward the shower. I’ll have to use every trick I know, anti-scent shampoos and perfumes. Who knows if it’ll be enough.

  But I have to try.

  The thought fills me with fear, but as I untangle the knots in my hair at record speed and pick out my battle armor of black jeans and an even blacker leather-trimmed, long-sleeve shirt that clings to my every curve, I feel a twinge of something else. I’d almost call it exhilaration.

  Chapter Seven

  A storm brews in the magenta sky as I furiously bike down East Avenue on my way to the city center. The half-deserted skyscrapers left after Xerox and Kodak went bankrupt loom over the horizon. They almost block out the distant black clouds.

  But I don’t stop, I pedal harder, heading right into the coming storm. I wonder if I’m riding toward Orion too. The smell of dust and electricity prickles my nose, and the rubber of the handlebars abrades my palms as I tighten my death grip and swerve onto the sidewalk. When I reach the end of the deserted street, I dismount and pull my rusty combination lock from my purse and thread it through the spokes. A flash of lightning illuminates the whole sky.

  “Artemis!”

  Standing at the entrance to the bar is my boss, Lola, waving at me. Her many faux-gold bracelets jangle. Above her, the green neon sign reading “B
ar Lola” is flickering on, except the “a” is broken, so now it just reads “Bar Lol.”

  “Honey Bunches of Oats, you’re going to get drenched if you stay out there much longer!” Lola calls, managing to sound both very sweet and very loud. It’s a talent.

  “Coming,” I shout. I finish locking up and hurry across the street just as the first raindrop hits my skin.

  By the time I get to the doorway, thunder cracks so loudly my bones vibrate. Taking one last look behind me, I search the shadows of the deserted street for a gleam of teeth or a pair of strange eyes, but I find nothing. Yet. Then I head inside.

  Bar Lola is cozy, with dark walls and darker floors. It’s not especially unique with its sports pennants and flat-screen-TV decor, but if you look closely you can see the Polaroids of favorite regulars and other real mementos hidden amongst the crap Lola thinks will attract new customers.

  Lola stands in the back, on a tiny raised platform that passes for a stage next to the bar, fidgeting with the plug for the dinky electric keyboard. Her heavy makeup and teased eighties-style hair can’t cover up the discomfort of her face. “Folks, I’m so sorry, but the band we scheduled for today canceled at the last minute. So we’ll have to see Jellyfish Riot another time, okay?”

  The mostly empty bar is not impressed. In fact, a sorority girl in pink stands and gives a sour attempt at a smile to Lola.

  “I’m, like, really not trying to be offensive or anything, and you have a really cool bar, but I feel like, since you put flyers all over campus advertising Jellyfish Riot, they should be here. And, like, I know their drummer and he’d never do this, you know. So.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Can you at least give us a coupon or something? IDK.”

  Her friends nod in unison. I’m in snarky shock that she just used “IDK” in a real-life conversation. She and the werepufferfish should date.

  “I’d be happy to offer you guys a free drink,” Lola says.

  One of the other girls shakes her head. “No, like, for music. I paid cover for music.”

  Lola’s brows furrow. I know she can’t afford to give them a refund, even though that’s what she’s going to have to do. Like, she really can’t afford it. She’s a single mom with a barely-getting-by business. Her life makes mine seem like a cakewalk.