Page 65 of Fool Moon First Aid

The silence that follows is electric, charged with unvoiced threats, until his laughter slices through the darkness, freezing me to my core.

“Such a sassy mouth on you.” His voice is haunting. “But we’re just getting started. You can’t dodge your fate any more than you can dodge me.”

His chilling declaration hangs in the air, like a dark omen. My resolve crystallizes. I refuse to be swallowed by his darkness. No matter his mind games, I’ll shield Brody, and I’ll unearth the truth about Mom my way.

The hunter’s silhouette looms outside, like a menacing specter in the silence. The car creaks, groaning under the weight of our standoff, echoing the tension gripping me. Brody’s labored breaths are the only sound in the eerie quiet—a stark reminder of what’s at stake. I can’t abandon him, can’t step into the hunter’s web of lies, no matter how sweetly he spins them.

“Really, Ava,” he taunts, trying a new angle and oozing faux concern. “You might want to rethink your choice. This could be your shot at the truth, at justice for your mom. Doesn’t she deserve that? For you to uncover who ripped her away from you?”

His words slink through the darkness, dripping with a venom that tries to seep into my very soul, but the more he evokes my mother’s memory, the more a steely resolve wraps around my spine. She was a warrior in her own right, teaching me that bravery isn’t about the absence of fear, but staring it down with fierce defiance. There’s no way I’ll let her legacy be tarnished by his twisted games.

“I don’t need your distorted version of the truth,” I retort, my voice brimming with venom to match his. “My mom was brave—something a coward like you could never comprehend. She’d spit on your pitiful attempts to manipulate me.”

A dark chuckle seeps from the shadows, menacing and cold. “Bravery? Oh, Ava, to me, that’s just a fancier word for foolishness. But, darling, you’ll learn. Sometimes, facing the harsh light of reality is the bravest act of all.”

He’s weaving a web of words, a maze meant to ensnare me in a fog of doubt and fear, but I’m not biting. The stakes are too high. Brody’s safety, my sanity, and the honor of my mother’s memory are all teetering on the edge, depending on the choices I make right here, right now.

His footsteps circle the car, slow and predatory, like a shark scenting blood in the water. My heart pounds against my ribs, not in fear, but as a drumbeat of war, urging me to hold my ground.

“Your mother’s story was just a chapter, Ava. There’s a whole saga here with you as the climax, the pièce de résistance. Aren’t you the least bit curious to see how it all ends?”

His insinuations slice through the air, sharp and dangerous, hinting at a bigger picture I can’t quite see yet, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let him know he’s gotten under my skin.

Shaking my head to clear the cobwebs his words have created, I remain unyielding. “You’re just trying to mess with me, to get inside my head, but I’m not falling for it. I’m made of sterner stuff.”

The night holds its breath, a heavy silence descending like a curtain after a performance. Just when I think he might have retreated into the shadows, his laughter shatters the stillness.

“Ava, you’re truly your mother’s daughter—so defiant, so unyielding—but make no mistake, this is far from the end. Fate has a way of catching up, and it has your scent now.”

His final words linger in the air, leaving a sense of foreboding that wraps around me like a cold embrace. But fear? That’s not on the menu tonight. I’m Ava, forged in the fires of my mother’s strength, ready to take on whatever twisted fate he thinks he has planned for me.

Game time’s here, and I’m all-in. I’m geared up to rumble, peel back the lies, and square off with whatever warped curveballs this hunter tosses my way. Sure, the path forward might be wrapped in shadows, but I’m marching on, chin up, because I have my mom’s fire in me, and I’m not about to be knocked down.

My heart goes from zero to sixty, vaulting right up into my throat as every inch of me tenses, ready for the main event. The hunter’s cackling, full of himself and his creepy vibes, but suddenly, he hits a wall of silence so thick, you could cut it with a knife. Then, the underbrush starts whispering sweet nothings of doom, and a growl—low and oh so menacing—soars through the air, setting off my internal alarm bells.

The hunter’s presence, once looming and oppressive, now seems to hesitate, the air charged with a new, potent energy. Without warning, a massive form bursts from the shadows of the forest—a wolf, but not just any wolf. This is a creature of immense power and primal grace, its fur a deep, lustrous black that absorbs the moonlight, making it seem as if the night itself has come alive.

Ethan.

Laying eyes on him hits me with a wave of mixed emotions—relief, admiration, and a bit of a thrill. He’s the embodiment of power, a force of nature on four paws, with eyes that blaze a trail straight into my soul. They are golden, fierce, and they flicker with promises of safety, revenge, and a hint of something more—something that makes my stomach do backflips.

The hunter tries to stand his ground. “You think your big, bad wolf scares me, Ava?” he taunts, his voice quivering like a leaf in a hurricane. “I’ve danced with werewolves before. I’m not scared.” The tremble in his voice, however, tells a story of doubt and fear.

With a growl that seems to rattle the bones of the earth itself, Ethan advances. He’s grace and danger rolled into one. The hunter makes a clumsy grab for something, probably hoping for a miracle, but Ethan’s already on him, a blur of primal instinct and fury.

I’m stuck, my body frozen as I protect Brody, as the scene unfolds like the climax of the wildest action movie. Ethan is poetry in motion—if poetry involved a lot of snarling and tearing. The hunter, with all his bluster, is about as effective as a paper bag in a hurricane against Ethan’s whirlwind of protective rage.

It’s an epic showdown, one where nature’s law trumps human arrogance every time. Ethan isn’t just fighting, he’s declaring his claim loud and clear for anyone daring enough to question it. It’s a spectacle that’s equal parts terrifying and mesmerizing, with a dash of undeniable allure.

In what feels like an eternity but lasts only moments, the struggle ends. Ethan stands over the hunter, his form imposing and dominant, the hunter’s lifeless body a testament to the ferocity and strength of a spiritkin’s wrath when his mate is in danger.

The world around us feels like it’s holding its breath, the air thick with the drama we just lived through. Ethan turns my way, and it’s as if he’s the only thing glowing in a sea of shadows. His eyes, those golden orbs, shift from warrior mode to something softer—something that makes my heart do little flips. He pads over as if he knows just how fragile this bubble of time feels.

I open the car door, its squeaky hinges echoing around us.

My heart, which was racing like a getaway car, now beats to a different rhythm—gratitude mixed with a deep, sweet kind of ache. When Ethan, in all his glorious wolfishness, nudges my hand, it’s like getting a hug in the form of a whisker tickle. That little gesture is a whole conversation about sticking together, no words needed.

Then, the weight of everything—the scares, the close calls, the what-ifs—settles on me like a heavy coat. Relief is there, yeah, but it’s tangled with a sadness that’s sharp around the edges and memories that promise they are sticking around. I feel the storm inside me start to stir, but it’s like Ethan’s quiet strength gives me permission to just let go. Boy, do I let go. Tears burst forth like they’ve been waiting for an invitation in a messy, salty flood that’s been dammed up too long.

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