Free Moonbound (Moonfate Serial Book 1) by Sylvia Frost

speech, I know the truth. Even if he did know me it couldn’t fix me. And if he could, would I still be me or would I be someone else?
    “Please, just leave me alone,” I say. I don’t know why I say it, instead of just going. There is nothing holding me here now but myself. I know that now. “Let me go.”
    He says nothing.
    I walk to my bike, conscious of every step that takes me farther away from him. Any second, I’m sure he’ll call out my name or pounce on me again, but he remains silent as I straddle my bike. The seat is wet and warm between my thighs, reminding me of other things I could have between them if I turned around. But I don’t.
    Just as I’m about to push off and start pedaling, he speaks. “I won’t follow you, Artemis. Not like this.”
    I jump a little at his voice, rubber bruising my palms as I my grip tightens around the handlebars.
    “I don’t have to.” His voice echoes through the alleyway. Around me, behind me, in front of me. Inescapable. “Because whether it’s in a moment or a day or a decade, eventually you’ll follow me.”
     

Chapter Thirteen
     
    My head doesn’t stop spinning, even after I’m three blocks away from him. I can’t believe it. He really let me go. I zip through a puddle and send a sheet of water showering out on either side of me. I’m free. So why does it feel like there’s a hole inside my chest?
    Well, at least Lawrence will be proud.
    I pull up to the house. Even though my aunt gutted the inside, the outside still looks pretty much the same. A nondescript yard where I can still remember catching fireflies borders a two-story wooden house painted pink—Mom’s least favorite color. She always meant to repaint it.
    The click-click-click of my bicycle spokes slows as I dismount while the bike is still moving and get out my lock. Usually I put the bike in the garage out back, but now I hook the lock around the white wrought-iron fence and leave it there.
    I wonder if Lawrence is home or out partying. He usually likes to spend his weekends at the club, finding some poor new boy-toy to pump and dump.
    A boy-toy like Cooper.
    Fuck. Cooper. Cooper’s boss. He’s still out there.
    I stop fiddling with my lock and look up at the second floor of my house and Lawrence’s bedroom. The windows are all dark.
    After putting down the kickstand, I finish locking up and give one more glance over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Orion striding down the street. But he’s not there.
    Then, I fish the door key out of my purse and thrust it into the lock. I turn it, once, twice, but I don’t have to. The door’s already unlocked. Panic flares in my throat. Lawrence knows how I feel about locked doors.
    My hand rests on the knob, debating whether to turn it. “Lawrence,” I hiss.
    Should I call the police? But what would I tell them? That my door was unlocked? Hardly grounds for 911. Not to mention that if anything serious is actually going down, the cops will take one look at the mark on my wrist and call the Federal Bureau of Supernatural Investigation. Weremates and werebeasts involved in any crimes don’t go to trial when the FBSI shows up. They just disappear.
    I push open the door.
    At first everything looks normal. We don’t have a foyer, so the first room you see when you enter is the living room. There are the same white walls, new hardwood floors installed courtesy of Aunt Jennifer. Even the smell is the same, a cloying vanilla from the air fresheners that Lawrence buys by the bucketload from Target.
    But there is one difference.
    A man is lying in the living room. Face down and in a pool of blood.
     

Chapter Fourteen
    I drop my purse. My keys clatter as they hit the floor and a tube of lipstick rolls out, but I don’t scream. I’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime. I’m not proud of the thought that blares through my mind instead.
    It’s okay—it’s not Lawrence.
    While it’s immediately clear to me that it’s not Lawrence, it takes me