Page 4 of Under A New Moon

Getting to work so he could pay the bills was becoming an increasingly thin reason. It wasn't like packing crates gave him a sense of purpose. He knew he had to have been happy at some point in his life because he felt a profound, wistful nostalgia.

But what those happy moments looked like, he couldn't recall. At best, it felt like a half-remembered dream. He could picture events that happened, but everything was clouded now by years of grief. He must have had a good birthday or something.

And while he couldn't recall what the happy moments were, he knew one thing for sure. There hadn't been any since he left his pack. He let out a sigh brought on by a bone-deep weariness. He missed his home. He missed his pack.

His melancholy was inevitable. Wolves weren't meant to be alone. It went against their nature. He'd wanted to stay with his pack, and it was a tough choice to leave them. But as much as a wolf needs to live with other wolves, he still had to be able to live with himself.

There had always been some elements of metahuman supremacy among the wolves. But after the Veil fell, it spread like cancer, infiltrating so many parts of werewolf society. And then it grew into something worse, not just metahuman supremacy, but wolf supremacy.

Some wanted to set wolves at the top of the metahuman hierarchy, or more accurately, build that hierarchy and then claim the top of it. While the societies interacted, there wasn't a natural pecking order. Galen didn't know the exact details of the plan to make that happen, but he did know that it involved deception and bloodshed.

He wanted no part of it. He thought it would be best if the wolves and other shifters strived for peaceful coexistence with humans. So, he had a choice. Stay or go. He chose to go.

So, he got his coexistence with humans but not the transparency. He had to stay isolated. Stay hidden. Being considered a dangerous rogue put him at risk. Now he kept to himself mostly.

He wasn't entirely sure why he started going to the diner, but outside of work, it was the only place he interacted with other people. It had pleasantries and good customer service. A poor replacement for connection, but it sustained him.

That changed, though, when Shelly started working there. An almost smile broke across Galen's face when he thought about her. He felt drawn to her a little. He wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe she just had one of those magnetic personalities.

But even their brief interactions felt like a ray of sunshine that pierced the gloom. Before her, he went to the diner weekly. But even after the first time she filled his coffee cup, he felt compelled to start going daily.

He realized she'd become part of his routine.

She was one of the reasons he got out of bed in the morning. It was such a surface-level connection, but he was so desperate for something, it gave him something to hold on to. He started to play out the idea of asking her out, how it could go so well.

They could fall in love. And why not? She was nice. Pretty. And talking to her was easy. She was friendly with him.

It was why he tipped her so much the first time. That and a twenty was all he had on him. The words "keep the change" slipped out. And then she was there the next day. He couldn't go back now.

It was the sort of story you could tell your kids. "I didn't have any change, so I just went with it," seemed like a nice enough start.

Galen laughed bitterly. He was holding on to the tiniest scrap of kindness, of connection. She was a waitress. Part of her job was to be friendly. It was how she earned tips that supplemented the crap pay that came with jobs like waitressing.

Of course, she was so quick to be near him the next day. He tipped well. He was a customer. A friendly customer, but just that. He'd seen how she'd been less than impressed with the advances from other regulars.

It wasn't the start of anything real. His fantasies just painted over what their whole relationship was. It was just a transaction. A pleasant transaction, but it was still just money-changing hands for services rendered. It didn't mean he wouldn't go back.

It was his breakfast spot now, and routine helped him get through the days. They had good steak and eggs to feed the body. And he could sustain a tiny ray of hope on the fantasy that Shelly could see anything in him but his wallet.

Then a breeze blew in, carrying with it the smell of the burgers and pancakes. Galen would have been able to smell it from this distance, but it was coming from his left, and the diner was behind him. He stopped. Something was wrong, but he'd been so distracted that he couldn't quite make his brain shift from grief about the past to accessing the dangers of the present.

It cost him precious seconds to react to the lightning-quick form that emerged from the shadows. The quick hit to his solar plexus drove the air from his lungs. He fell to the ground, and whoever it was coming at him again. He was in for the fight of his life.

Four

Darla

Darla fell in step behind him, calculating the force it would take to bring a big shifter like him down. Maybe he noticed her, maybe he didn’t.

It wouldn’t matter.

She waited until they were on the secluded stretch, without any onlookers to call the authorities. Shewasthe authorities but she wasn’t keen on flashing her PEACE badge. Their work was best conducted in the shadows, getting it done quickly and quietly.

With all the intel she’d built up on Galen Trent, she was ready.

She moved with practiced agility, closing the distance and striking the back of his left knee. He buckled as she knew he would, and she wasted no time, landing a decided blow to the back of his head.

A grunt escaped him as he folded forward.

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