Page 30 of Fool Moon First Aid

Now, the room’s as silent as a library at midnight, and I figure it’s my cue. I clap my hands. Let’s lighten the mood, shall we? I stroll over to Ava, sliding my arm around her. Her eyes, those deep pools reflecting a universe of secrets, make me want to shield her from everything and everyone. Including Ethan, who is still glaring at her.

She’s so small, so delicate against my frame. It’s like discovering a new side of myself, this protective instinct mixed with an undeniable allure to push her boundaries.

Ethan’s voice slices through my reverie, sharp and urgent. “Ava, where did you learn those words?”

Ava bites her lip, her eyes darting around as if seeking an escape. I tighten my grip on her shoulders, offering silent reassurance.

I’m looking down at Ava’s phone, nestled in her hands like a delicate bird. I chuckle a bit at the absurdity of it all, the screen glowing with ancient words. “May I?” I ask, reaching out with a playful smirk. “‘Ancient Spiritkin Incantations,’” I read out loud, my voice oozing irony.

Meanwhile, Ethan still vibrates with frustration. He groans, the sound like thunder rumbling through the cozy, cluttered kitchen, with hand-me-down pots and pans witnessing the drama. With a flourish, he tears his apron away, letting it cascade onto the counter like leaves in a whirlwind. His departure is more than mere movement, it’s a performance, each stride echoing the thunderous clap of lightning.

Oh, he is big mad.

Ava’s eyes are wide saucers of shock, following Ethan’s tense shoulders and the angry dance of veins on his neck. His shirt comes off in a fury fueled whirlwind at the front door, the fabric fluttering to the floor. He shifts into a wolf just outside, his form a fusion of man and beast as emotions and fur meld, leaving Ava gaping.

Ethan, Brody’s voice cuts through our pack link, tinged with worry and a hint of reprimand. Dude, you can’t just turn your back on her now. She needs us.

I need a minute, Ethan’s growl echoes in our minds. You explain it to her.

Ava exhales deeply, and I can feel her irritation and smell the bitter tang of guilt wafting off of her. She snatches her phone from my hand and stuffs it into her pocket with quick, uneven gestures. Her fingers flutter slightly, revealing her attempt to mask her emotions. The tension within her is tangible, like a string pulled taut, poised to snap.

Without asking, I scoop her up, sliding my arms under hers in a fluid motion. She’s as light as a feather as I set her gently on a chair at the rustic breakfast table, its surface a mosaic of scratches and memories. “Mocktail time?” I ask, my voice light, but inside, I’m craving the punch of a real cocktail.

“Please,” she replies, her eyes meeting mine

“Preferences?” Brody, already in motion, crosses the kitchen to our well-stocked garage. He’s our go-to guy for drinks, always knowing exactly what to mix.

“Something with lemonade. Oh, lavender lemonade sounds amazing if you have it,” Ava says, her voice perking up a bit. She swivels toward me as I slide into the seat next to her. Her gaze is intense and expectant, though she keeps glancing at the door after Ethan. “All right, spill it.”

I wriggle my nose, contemplating where to start. I tilt my head, playing with the strands of my tousled hair, thinking it over. “So, remember that story I said I owed you?” I start, trying to keep it light.

“You owe me a bunch, but yeah.” She leans back, the old wooden chair creaking under her. She looks uncomfortable, as though she’d rather leave and go anywhere but remain here.

I will have to change that.

“I can move you,” I offer, starting to stand, but she’s quick, her hand darting out to slap mine away.

“Story first,” she insists, shaking her head. I want her to be comfortable, especially since she unknowingly put something lifechanging into motion.

“Okay, okay,” I concede, my pout exaggerated for effect. “Let’s talk about the spirit comet.”

Brody saunters in, his arms laden with lemons and fragrant lavender, looking like some sort of potion master in his element. “Nice starting point,” he comments, his voice smooth as he begins his alchemy with the drinks.

“I think so,” I say, grinning down at Ava. Every time I look at her, her gaze pulls me in. Damn, she’s beautiful. “The spirit comet. It is the cornerstone of our wild, mystical origin story.”

“Spirit comet?” She wrinkles her nose, and it’s ridiculously adorable, like a cartoon character coming to life. “I thought shifters were…I don’t know, descendants of gods or something.”

“Shh.” I press a finger to her lips, teasing her with a mischievous twinkle in my eyes. “I’m getting to the good part, promise.” She swats my hand away, her mock annoyance sparking a playful air between us. “Okay, okay, so all of us spiritkin—wolves, bears, you name it—evolved at the same time.” I stretch out my hand, letting it twirl and dip through the air, my makeshift comet soaring across our kitchen’s star speckled, imaginary sky.

Brody rolls his eyes at my theatrics. “Ava, long ago, when the Earth was still young and untamed, a rare celestial event occurred.” His voice takes on a storyteller’s cadence, drawing us in. “A comet passed extremely close to Earth. Our ancestors believed this comet to be the breath of the gods—a mystical bridge connecting the heavens and Earth.”

Ava’s nodding, her mind visibly racing through this new, fantastical information. “There’s the god bit,” she muses, resting her elbows on the worn wooden table. “But why is this news to me?”

“Because, butterfly” —I lean in, adopting the tone of a conspirator sharing secrets in the dead of night— “even though we’re out of the spiritkin closet, we don’t just hand out our secrets like candy,” I whisper, feeling her warmth.

“It’s not safe,” Brody adds, his voice dropping to a gravelly murmur, casting an almost palpable shadow over the cozy kitchen now filled with the rich, calming scent of lavender.

“So, the spirit comet,” I continue, my hands fluttering like birds eager to take flight, “isn’t just a normal comet. This thing’s practically dripping with magic. Picture a starry night with it blazing across the sky like a celestial firework, and down below, a bunch of humans are out, their faces illuminated by its ghostly glow, but here’s the kicker—only the chosen few, those lucky enough to be bathed in its light, could actually see it. And that light is pure magic.”

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