Page 122 of Fool Moon First Aid

Only they are here to kill us, not make peace with us, and I can’t give them the chance to kill again.

Shaking off those thoughts, I zero in on the pressing danger. The atmosphere is charged with the ominous energy of impending doom. I neutralize one more hunter, then plunge into the thick of the fight, making my way toward the clan house, where the conflict intensifies.

Ahead, Ethan, Tyler, and Brody move with seamless coordination. I skid to a stop, choosing to work with them. Luckily, they don’t growl at me to get to safety, and instead, we move together.

We stand side by side.

As our determination crystallizes, so does the hunters’ resolve. Their faces, etched with grim determination, reveal a willingness to fight to the end, driven by orders rooted in deep-seated hatred. Their eyes reflect a chilling commitment, a mirror of our own, but born from blind allegiance rather than unity.

This realization fuels a fiercer resolve within me. If they refuse to back down, then we have no choice but to defend our home with every ounce of our strength.

We refine our strategy, focusing on separating the hunters to break apart their unity and spirit. As we take down one, though, another steps up, their relentless numbers overwhelming.

Exhaustion attempts to slow me down, but determination fires my muscles.

In the chaos, a moment of terror unfolds as a hunter targets Ethan. Time stretches thin, my actions driven by an urgent need to protect, but before despair can take hold, Tyler intervenes, his swift action averting disaster.

The battle intensifies, our willpower and resilience the only things keeping us going. We gradually push the hunters back to the tree line, where spiritkin take them out one at a time, our resolve unshaken by the realization that this is more than a mere physical confrontation—it’s a clash of ideologies.

This understanding does not weaken us, rather, it fortifies our determination. We fight not only for survival, but for the principle of coexistence, challenging the narrative driven by fear and hatred.

As the conflict wanes and the hunters retreat, a figure emerges from the forest, a presence that stirs a whirlwind of emotions within me.

I shift and stare in shock.

“Dad?” I whisper, disbelief in my voice.

Ava

“Dad.” My voice carries the turmoil roiling within me, casting me back into the memories of a child who saw her father as an unapproachable, mythical figure. Now, confronting him on clan lands, the shock of his presence intertwines with the harsh reality of his intentions—he is the leader of the Puritas cult, an enemy to my kind.

That’s when it hits me that I chose spiritkin over humans like my father. Not that I didn’t realize before, but now, when faced with the one who I thought loved me and backed by those who love me unconditionally, it sinks into my soul.

“For heaven’s sake, Ava, cover yourself,” he sneers, his voice heavy with scorn as he casts a disparaging look at my naked form.

I hadn’t even noticed I was bare, too caught up in the moment. Who cares about clothes when everything’s on the line? Here, amongst friends and foes, the absence of clothing seems insignificant, especially against the backdrop of my father and his hunters, all clad in black, their intentions as dark as their attire.

I can feel their hostile stares fixed on shifters, their fingers poised over triggers, ready to enact their misguided justice. The air between us crackles with tension, the night sky ominously clouded, concealing the moon’s light.

“No,” I state, angling my head to let my hair shield what modesty I may, and for the record, I’m only doing it because trigger finger over there is staring at the girls.

Focusing on my father, I repeat, “No.” I can’t help but think that Mama would be proud of me right now. “I refuse to hide or concede to your distorted commands.” My gaze locks with his, my pulse racing. “I stand with them.” I gesture toward the clan, all of them fanned out behind us. Even Alpha Hughes is giving me this moment to confront my father. In a twisted sense, I feel accountable for all of my father’s actions—a burden born from my lineage. Who knows how far back this goes? “This is our home, and you aren’t welcome here.”

My father’s expression hardens, his contempt for my defiance palpable. “You’ve always been a defiant little bitch,” he retorts. “Aligning with spiritkin? You know the consequences.”

“Consequences?” I challenge, standing my ground. “Tell me, Father, what would you have me do? Turn my back on those who have accepted me when you secretly hid my heritage from me? When you broke my mother? Did you kill her? Did you kill my mother?” My heart clenches as I struggle to get the words out.

He takes a step forward, his hand twitching as though needing to grab onto something or someone.

A suffocating silence ensues, our standoff unyielding, his eyes betraying a guilt that confirms my darkest suspicions—his involvement in my mother’s death.

“I had no choice,” he confesses, his tone heavy with artificial earnestness. “She became a liability to our purpose.”

That’s what I waited for—his confession. It only makes it worse.

“Liability? She was your wife!” My voice soars, heavy with indignation. “She was my mother!” It’s as if I’m yelling into an abyss. He’s unmoved, heedless.

He doesn’t care. I don’t think he ever did. Mama was nothing more than a challenge to him.

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