Page 133 of Conner's Luna

"Crud," I mutter. One glance outside confirms that the entire neighborhood has lost power. That's comforting, at least I don't have to worry about this being a cruel prank from Trey's pack.

I stumble around in the semi-dark, making my way to the living room where I left my phone charging. I find my phone where I left it, relieved to have a flashlight in my hand as the sky just gets darker and darker. The storm is raging now, water literally pouring over the sides of the gutters and flooding the walkways. This house doesn't have a basement, just a crawlspace. I wonder if it has water problems. Our old house used to flood all the time. It drove mom crazy. We used to man the storms with buckets and mops. Together, while Dad was working.

Depressed, I start to go back to the kitchen window when a rhythmic banging begins on the front door. I freeze in the kitchen doorway, like a frightened rabbit.

"Bailey!" I hear the familiar shout and almost trip over my own feet to turn and run to throw open the door.

"Sean?" I stare at him in shock. He is soaking wet, pale, his hands shaking and his lips blue. He's wearing a blue plastic sheet. I think it might be the tarp Ms. Franklin has draped over her woodpile behind her house next door. I stare into his eyes, but they look dark and fathomless in the glow of my phone. A flash of lightning and I see the desperation and panic tight around his mouth and eyes for only a second. It is long enough for my heart to jump into my throat. The blood starts to drain to my toes, my heartbeat a staccato of fear.

"Bailey, please come fast," he begs desperately. "He needs you, now."

I grab my purse and run out to my car. Sean grabs my shoulders as I start to unlock my door and pushes me to the other side of the car. "Let me drive, Bailey," he shouts over a clap of thunder.

I nod and slide into the passenger seat as Sean throws open the garage door and peels out of the driveway. I lean over and turn up the heat. Sean has lost the tarp, so I grab my hoodie from the backseat and drape it over his lap. I'm too scared to be embarrassed at his nudity. He's still shivering, from either adrenaline or the cold, maybe both, I don't know.

"What... what happened, Sean?"

"The slut has been fucking that douchebag, Bailey. Conner is spitting up blood. His wolf is ripping him apart. His father and my dad have literally been holding him down to keep him from slicing his own chest apart." By the time Sean is done talking I am crying and his voice is hoarse with tears.

"Hurry, Sean," I whisper. I turn to look outside. I understand why Sean wanted to drive. I can barely see more than fifteen, twenty feet ahead of the car. The rain is driving down so hard that it is kicking up from the road. I can't tell where we are already and we have only been in the car for ten minutes.

Sean must have run to my house, in wolf form, judging by his nudity. It must be faster. We are in the woods within minutes, the only light from the headlights and the lightning from the storm. Tree branches litter the road and some of them can't be avoided. Sean grits his teeth as he drives over them, issuing a harsh, 'sorry' every time my little car hits one.

I shake my head at him. I can't speak. The car is heating up nice, but I'm shivering. "His dad and mine came to help," Sean snaps the fact at me as he ushers me into the house past an unfamiliar truck parked crookedly in the driveway.

I can hear Conner screaming when we walk inside.

I run behind Sean as he tugs me into Conner's bedroom. Just inside the door, I come to a halt. It's just... too scary.

The older, gigantic, version of Conner is kneeling down, speaking in hushed, soothing tones to the bleeding boy thrashing on the ground. One of the Grim's hands is one Conner's right arm, the other is on his leg, pinning them in place against the floor, knuckling white with the exertion. I gulp when I see the claws on the end of Conner's hand, twitching with the need to rip at his own body. Another older man is on Conner's other side, his knee completely on Conner's legs and both hands holding his left arm, pinning him down with visible effort. Sarj is at his head, holding him fruitlessly as Conner thrashes and snarls in his grip.

"Bailey, don't be afraid. Help him," Sean orders, giving me a push toward Conner.

I ignore the two older men. It's not easy, they're huge and the one I assume is Sean's dad seems like he wants to block me from getting too close.

"It's too risky," he grunts, as Conner nearly rips his arm free.

"She'll help, Nate," Conner's Dad replies calmly. Reluctantly Sean's dad moves back to give me room.

"Conner," I whisper in a voice choked with horror. I slide to the ground and put his head in my lap despite how soaked my clothes are. He goes still, his body twitching from pain. Ignoring his hands,theclaws, I reach out and slide my shaking hand over his chest near his heart, wincing when a streak of lightning reveals the dark black bruises decorating his abdomen. "Shh, Conner, it's OK."

Whimpers emerge from his mouth. His eyes are closed and I tremble as I take him in. His skin is grey, not just pale but the color of death, certainly not the healthy golden glow typical of him. His lips and eyelids are white, blood-tinged on his mouth. His eyes are sunken in and he looks skinnier than he did earlier today.

The worst part, though, is the cruel metal binding his mouth shut. It's a muzzle, I realize in horror as I finger the leather strap that wraps around his head. "Why?" I whisper tearfully as my fingers skim the torturous device.

Conner's eyes spring open and I gasp. The whites of his eyes are blood red from burst capillaries. His pupils are elongated and his irises are glowing yellow-green. He sees me and snarls furiously, gnashing his teeth as his head turns sharply toward my fingers. His body surges into mine, knocking me backward just a bit.

I jostle into his dad, who catches my hand and pulls it back faster than Conner can move with one hand. His other slams his son backward. "Let's just steer clear of his mouth, alright Bailey? His teeth are still very sharp, sweetheart, and even a small touch can bleed his venom into you."

How is the Grim so calm? Conner snarls and growls, his eyes demanding something from me that I don't understand. I'm a genius, but this emotional plea, the command in Conner's eyes, is beyond me. I don't know what Conner wants, but comforting him when he's in pain is familiar.

I rip my eyes away from the glowing-green gaze of my boyfriend to turn my attention to petting Conner's stomach. He growls again so I shakily hum tunelessly, trying to drown out that threatening rumble vibrating in Conner's chest. Occasionally he coughs wetly, his father turning his head away from me and releasing the muzzle's catch to let the blood splatter the floor. Conner seems to hate it when he has to turn away, his growls increasing until he's able to fix those eyes on me again.

"Try to stay calm for him, Bailey. You're doing great," his father says to me gently.

I nod without looking at him. The Grim is the sort of guy you cross the street to avoid. I can tell he must be six and a half feet or taller, and he's crouching down. His shoulders are two of me, maybe more. He could snap me like a twig. I have this odd sensation of pure heat radiating off of him, a good thing because I am still cold and wet but he and Conner are keeping me warm.

Slowly, Conner settles, his bright, glow-light green gaze never leaving me until his eyes slowly blink close again.

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