Page 30 of Bad Moon Rising
“What do we do now?” I ask. I’m trembling all over. I know Becka’s just trying to bargain for her life, but her words…they fucking got to me.
Brooks looks up toward the sky, where the last rays of sun are sinking below the horizon. The pale blue light of the full moon peeks through the clouds. “We wait for her to go full wolf bitch, and then we stake her. We have to make sure we kill her in wolf form, because the wolf can be alive inside her even when the host is dead. I’ve seen a corpse come to life and bite a mortician once before. It wasn’t pretty.”
Jackson grabs my shoulders and shakes me roughly. “Don’t think of it as killing someone,” he says. “Think of it as saving Lily. If Becka were at prom right now, Lily would be in danger.”
He’s right. I break free of his grasp and collapse against the silo. Becka’s terrified screams wash over me, and I know that as hard as this is, as painful as it is, we’re doing the right thing. We’re keeping the werewolf far away from Lily, so she never ever has to know that the world is a terrifying place filled with monsters.
12
LILY
This is definitely not how I thought my night would go.
Didn’t every young adult angst book I ever read describe prom night as the most magical time of a teenager’s existence? Didn’t the movies portray the dance as some once in a lifetime opportunity where you met your true love, lost your virginity, and then emerged from the event as an entirely different person?
Yeah…the only magic I feel is the slightest tinge of alcohol reverberating through my system before I realized the punch had been spiked. I mean, seriously? I thought that only happened for entertainment purposes only. It’s such a cliché.
I stopped drinking almost immediately as soon as the tangy taste of it assaulted my senses, but Chase is downing his fourth glass, his eyes sparkling as he grins down at me.
The school has outdone themselves, though I shouldn’t be surprised, not with Marcey Hildenbrand and Rachael Tetters on the student council organizing the event. Our neighboring high schools chose to have their prom in fancy hotels and country clubs, but not good old Haddenwood with a budget of exactly one thousand dollars. Instead of extravagant ballrooms and catered meals, our prom is in the school gymnasium, but it’s been completely transformed to fit the theme of books and ballgowns. It’s a reader’s wet dream, with archways of books piled up at the entrance and even more decorating the perimeter of the room. Golden streamers hang from the rafters, but instead of trashy or cliché, they actually add an elegant feel to a room that still smells vaguely of sweat and gym socks.
A DJ booth has been placed on a raised stage underneath one of the basketball hoops, and the speakers on either side of it play a popular hiphop song that students can dance to.
Our school rivals, Mount Dearest Prep, had a five star restaurant cater their event, but we’re not so fortunate. Instead, our gym teacher is flipping burgers and hot dogs while trying his luck with our pretty psychology teacher who’s supposed to be a chaperone. And I say ‘supposed to’ because she herself is on her fourth glass of punch and hasn’t made a single comment about the alcohol in it.
There’s even a photobooth corner done up to look like Belle’s library from Beauty and the Beast. A lump rises in my throat as I think about the silly pictures I should be taking there with Jackson and Orion.
All and all, it’s not a bad evening. It’s just…nothing special. Not horrible, but definitely not magical either.
Although I suspect that has more to do with the people here. Or, rather, the people who aren’t here.
Everybody looks gorgeous, though, and I have to admit it’s nice to see my fellow classmates dolled up and having the time of their lives. The girls’ hairstyles are curled to perfection, styled in elaborate updos or cascading down their backs. Their dresses are so straight there’s not a single wrinkle to be seen. The guys are similarly clothed in immaculate suits that make most of them look way older than their true ages. I see the kicker on Jackson’s football team—a normally scrawny kid by the name of Darius—looking like a freaking super model with his hazel hair slicked back and his gray suit conforming to the muscles I didn’t know he had.
Maybe that’s the magic in the air—everyone looks a little better than normal, a little more perfect, a little more beautiful, a little more handsome.
Even Chase.
My date cleans up well. His shoulder-length blond hair has been straightened with product, the glossy strands shining like gold in the fluorescent lighting. He’s handsomely dressed in a three-piece suit, though he ditched the jacket as soon as we walked in and rolled the shirtsleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows. A dimple materializes in his right cheek, and I try to feel the butterflies in my chest I know I’m supposed to feel at the sight of a dimple. But either those butterflies have been brutally murdered or they’ve never existed in the first place.
Not like…
Not like the way they sprung to life when Brooks kissed me.
My lips tingle at the memory before I can control my instinctive reaction. I know it’s a really bad idea to think about Brooks—to think about any of the Bellua brothers, if I’m being completely honest with myself—but thoughts of them slip past my defenses unbidden. Sometimes, I swear I can hear Jackson’s hearty laughter in the crowd, but when I turn in that direction, I don’t see him.
Is he here yet?
Is he with…Becka?
I don’t see them anywhere.
Are they not here because he took her somewhere private?
My heart thrashes in my chest painfully at the thought, twisting and coiling around me in a way it doesn’t with Chase. God, I know that’s so messed up. I should be having these reactions towards my handsome date, yet my thoughts are consumed by the three men I know I can’t have.
Will never have.
“You know…” Chase begins casually as he extends a hand towards me. I’ve been sitting at one of the tables lining the perimeter of the room for most of the evening, one of my hands tight around my bottle of water while the other fiddles with the white table cloth as I scour the dance floor for Jackson. I glance up at him through my fringe of lashes to find his dazzling smile aimed at me. “It would be a shame if we went the entire evening without dancing at least once.”