Gray Moon Rising: Seasons of the Moon by S M Reine Page B

kept us dressed, but it was in uniform so we would march in your stupid army. You taught us to kill innocent people. You housed us in motels while you chased Dad’s dreams.”
    “You deserved worse,” Eleanor whispered. “I should have left you under the trailer.”
    “It takes a lot more than fur and fangs to make a monster. That’s all I’m saying, Mom.”
    “And I know why you’re here. I know what you plan to do. I’m watching you.”
    Seth sighed. “Okay. What am I planning to do?”
    “You’re going to kill them all in their sleep. The Union. And you’re going to run off with the wolves.”
    He had to laugh. “I’m not a killer, Mom. Not anymore. Not since I escaped from you.” He took another look at the sleeping bags. One of them had shifted. Was that Yasir? He raised his voice a little. “But we can end everything here. If all the werewolves die, there won’t be any more attacks. No more victims. And I want this to end as much as you do.”
    “I wish I believed you. I really wish I did. But I hear your lies, and so does God, and you’re going to be judged. You ought to know that.”
    He rubbed a hand over his face. “Goodnight, Mom.”
    “I’ll be watching,” she whispered.

E LEVEN
    The Shores of Golden Lake
    Rylie opened her eyes on blue sky and a single drifting cloud.
    She smelled pine trees. Fresh water. Stone encrusted with winter’s ice. The crisp bite of spring air. There was something wet beneath her flexing fingertips that felt like sand, and her legs were damp.
    She sat up. Sand squished underneath her.
    Rylie lay on the shores of Golden Lake. The early morning light cast a yellow haze over the sky, though the trees were still heavy with the violet shadows of nighttime, and trees that had been growing for centuries towered overhead. There was a rock face behind her. If she climbed it, she knew she would see a path, and if she followed that path, there would be cabins.
    She twisted, and her gaze tracked up the slope to the mountain and its bald peaks still marked with white snow.
    Gray Mountain.
    “I’m dreaming,” she whispered, “I have to be dreaming…”
    She got to her feet and spun around, searching for the body in the waves. Water slopped over her feet. Her legs must have been in the lake for a long time, because she couldn’t even feel it on her toes. But the surf was empty of everything except colorful rocks worn smooth by years of waves. The trees rustled with a breeze that blew the hair back from her face.
    Rylie ran her hands down her body. She was naked, but uninjured.
    Why was she naked? What happened?
    “I have to be dreaming,” she repeated, more firmly this time. A fresh breeze blew, and she shivered as chilly waves rippled over her skin. That didn’t feel like a dream breeze.
    She lifted her nose to the breeze and took a short sniff. Those weren’t dream smells, nor were they the faint echoes of Gray Mountain that she always picked up off other werewolves. It was the real thing. The wolf inside her recognized it, and it filled her with a powerful sense of calm and peace.
    Rylie wasn’t far from Camp Silver Brook.
    She climbed the rock face, digging in her fingers and toes for traction. It had been a long time since campers scrambled over the beach while enjoying warm summer days, so the moss had grown thick and slimy. It was tough getting a grip. But she was much stronger than she had been the year before, so it didn’t take much effort to get over the cliff.
    A winding dirt path led into the trees, just as she expected. She could make out the hard lines of what had once been the office building through the bushes. There was a sign by the path. One arrow pointed to a path parallel to the lake’s shore and said, “Archery Range.” Beneath that was another arrow that said, “Stables.” And the third arrow was aimed at the buildings. It said, “Camp Silver Brook.”
    Her throat clenched shut, and her hands flew to her mouth as her eyes began to