Kiss of a Dark Moon by Sharie Kohler Page A

and Chloe.”
    â€œClaire,” she corrected, only mildly appeased to see she wasn’t the only one subject to her grandmother’s disregard. “I needed to get some things.”
    â€œMorning, Kit-Kat,” Jack chimed in his cheery accents. He rose to press a light kiss to Kit’s cheek. When he pulled back, his warm gaze settled on her face with attentiveness. “How are you, little duck?”
    She smiled. Jack could always make her smile. “I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”
    He flipped a wrist in the air. “Ah, your grandmother keeps me busy. We’re going to the cinema this afternoon, a comedy Lois wants to see with that Vince Vaughn in it.” He gave a conspiratorial wink. “I think she just wants to ogle the fella and make me feel inferior.”
    Kit’s grandmother slapped him lightly on the hand. “Not true, Jack.”
    â€œInferior? You?” Kit clucked her tongue. “Never.”
    â€œCare to join us?” he asked.
    Kit’s grandmother pressed her lips together so severely they looked as shriveled as prunes.
    â€œNo, thank you. I have things to do today.” Like run for my life.
    â€œAh.” Jack nodded. “Then would you care for a mimosa or a snack?” He held a stained glass goblet up in the air and motioned to an array of tiny quiches on a tray on the coffee table.
    With a fond smile at him, she selected a quiche off the tray. She knew her grandmother didn’t want her to linger. The older woman conveyed her displeasure as she fished an orange slice out of her glass with one gnarled, arthritic finger. No words needed to be said. Kit knew how to read the signs. Interrupting her date did not meet with approval.
    Chewing, she quickly swallowed down the small bite of egg and spinach. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
    Her grandmother nodded, dropping her orange rind on the tray and reaching for one of the little quiches.
    Kit hovered in place for a moment, feeling that something should be said. She had no idea when she would return. If she ever would. After this morning she had to wonder.
    This could be the last moment she ever saw her grandmother. She felt that she should say something . Anything. But what? What could she say when there had never been a hint of sentiment between the two of them? No matter how much she’d wished it to be otherwise.
    At a loss, she turned and made her way down the hall. To the room she had slept in since the age of eight. The room that had once been her mother’s—that still felt as though it belonged to her. To anyone else but Kit.
    Her grandmother had led her to that room after her shower that long-ago day. Her hair wet and tangled about her head, she’d settled back on the floral bedspread that felt faintly dusty beneath her. She hadn’t bothered to crawl beneath the covers. Simply curled into the smallest ball possible and watched the flickering shadows on the walls, wondering if any of them might turn out to be more than shadow, as real as the monster her mother had turned into. As real as her father’s corpse, mauled to death by her mother.
    The faded rose wallpaper, wilted and peeling in some places, now looked harmless in the morning light. No shadows anywhere.
    She moved to her dresser, taking out clothing and adding it to another bag. Grabbing a backpack from the closet, she unlocked her chest and filled it with additional guns and ammo. Zipping the backpack, she moved to her bedside table.
    Her mother’s cross hung from the lamp, dangling in the air where she could always see it. Some nights she stared at it until she fell asleep, picturing it around her mother’s neck, one of the only clear images left to her, in a past before she ever knew that monsters existed. Outside of fairy tales, anyway.
    She closed her fingers around the cool chain and slid it into her pocket. On her bed, a ratty, one-eyed bear sat in the center, cozy between two