Free Moonbound (Moonfate Serial Book 1) by Sylvia Frost Page A

a couple more seconds to identify the man on the floor. The blood-stained yellow polo shirt is a tip-off, but it’s not until I see the spiky hair that I realize.
    It’s the pufferfish. It’s Cooper.
    Holy fuck. He said his boss would do something drastic.
    I think he’s dead. I can’t look at him any longer. But I can’t stop, either. Just to prove that this is really happening, I sneak one quick glance at him. His neck is twisted way too far to the right, but the blood is coming from long cuts down the back of his head.
    I close my eyes, yesterday’s lunch heaving up my stomach to my throat. Oh, God. I know those claw-marks. I know those odd angles. I’ve seen them before. There’s no doubt in my mind. This is a werebeast attack.
    My whole body feels numb.
    How did he get here? Did he come to try and warn Lawrence? Oh, God, Lawrence. What if whoever did this to Cooper hurt Lawrence too?
    “Law—” I start to call out for Lawrence, but then snap my jaw shut so hard my teeth crash against each other.
    What if whoever did this is still here?
    On the landing above the staircase my bedroom door is open. I know the gun is in there. If I could just get it, I could… What? I don’t know. Kill the intruder? I’ve never even fired it before. I still have to load it, and I only know how from some YouTube videos. But if I leave now and call the police, I may never see Lawrence again. I may never even see the outside of a jail cell.
    I take another few steps, my head doing 360-degree checks. The likelihood that there’s a werebeast hiding in the kitchen cabinets is slim, but the windows above the counter aren’t closed. The same cool summer breeze that tickled my bare flesh in that alley blows through the curtains.
    I always shut the windows.
    Bang.
    I whip toward the sound. It came from Lawrence’s room upstairs. A gunshot, a hammer banging. I can’t tell. I don’t know anything anymore.
    Bang. Bang.
    I sprint up the stairs, taking them two at a time, before finally reaching my room and diving through the open door. Once inside I scramble to the duffle bag searching for the gun. The bag is still there, half-unzipped, just where I left it.
    I pick up the gun and flip off the safety. But shit. It’s not loaded. Fingers fumbling, I pick up the box of bullets. At first I try to find a chamber on the side, but it’s not there. Shit, how does this work? I can’t do this. From the other room I can hear a creaking sound. It might just be the wind. Or it might be someone coming. I freeze, paralyzed, then my eyes catch on one of my Post-it notes.
    “Don’t let it happen again.”
    I try again, this time the bottom of the gun, and the magazine slides out. I press the bullet in, then push the magazine back up.
    Then I stand, shaking, holding the gun in both hands, pointing it into the hall. It’s surprisingly heavy. I hope I’ll be able to aim straight.
    I creak my bedroom door open further with my foot.
    It’s not until I’m standing in front of Lawrence’s door that I realize I don’t know how to open it without taking a hand off the gun and losing accuracy. I kick the door hard. Unlike in the movies, it doesn’t bust down.
    No sound comes from the other side. I take my left hand off the gun; the pointer finger of my right hand is hot and slick with sweat against the trigger. Then I turn the knob.
    Nothing moves in Lawrence’s room. It’s incredibly clean, decorated with repainted furniture he bought off of Craigslist. Undisturbed. My left hand flies back to the gun anyway, steadying it.
    Bang. Bang.
    My gaze darts to the left, and I see it. A gust blows, sending the old transom window, the kind that latches at the center, slapping against its frame.
    That was the noise. Not a gunshot.
    For the first time since I entered the house, my heart slows, but I don’t lower the gun until I check the closet and under the bed.
    Nothing. Just me and the dead body in the living room.
    Cooper.
    He didn’t deserve to die.