Readers: "Luuuuuucccccyyyy… You got some 'splainin' to do. :(

Me: O.O

Readers: "Out with it."

Me: Oh, all right. I've been having problems here recently. As you can see from the post dates, I've gone well over a month without updating the story. This is my fault. (How could it be anyone else's?) This lack of updating, is because of a lack of writing. I haven't been working at nearly the pace I want too. If I had, the actual writing of In the Pale Moonlight would already be done, with the chapters waiting patiently to get posted. That would right alongside the other two novel projects that I've got going. Plus the edits on a third… Let's just say I'm not getting as much as I want done. And… I blame World of Warcraft… Yeah… Anyway, enough of me bitching. On with the show!

Chapter Four

Tears in the Pale Moonlight

Wouldn't she?

The question echoed in Dyson's head as he pulled himself up off the floor. He checked the back of his neck with one hand, found a tacky spot of drying blood and grimaced. Another gift from Fenrir. The gift that keeps on giving apparently.

A headache was underway. Born of the contact with the nightstand, born of the terror of Fenrir he shook his head—a bad idea—but drove the thought out. Fenrir had been dead for more than a millennia. Dyson had seen to that. He remembered his silver plated broadsword, slicked with the blood of the first werewolf. He remembered how he had howled at the moon that night. It was almost like he was mourning the loss of a brother.

He remembered the nick in his bracer.

He remembered the little weal of blood.

Then he remembered Jessa Mae and nothing more.

Trick's trap fell into place. He couldn't remember what happened in that ten year time span.

Dyson pressed his palm to one temple, and shook his head, slowly this time. Now wasn't the time to think about Trick or Jessa Mae or Fenrir for that matter. Kenzi was upstairs. She was crying. She was the here and now, the only thing that mattered. Let the past lay with the dead.

He grabbed a robe, and wrapped it around himself as made his way through the house. Bo's memorabilia was everywhere. Until now it hadn't affected him. Bo was dead, and these were just things. But, he stopped, looking at a picture of him and Bo and Kenzi pinned to the fridge by a magnet. He couldn't remember what they'd been doing when the picture was taken. Probably a pizza night at Dave & Busters. The three of them were smiling.

Dyson blinked and caught it in the corner of his eye.

It looked like…

He looked at the picture a little closer. He blinked and caught it again.

When he opened his eyes he could see it. There. Behind Bo. It looked like the reflection of a tornado.

The moment seemed prophetic, but he brushed the thought aside. Bo was gone. Terra's wolf had captured, tortured, and killed Bo, leaving her body as one more clue for Dyson. What was left of Bo was at the county morgue. They were awaiting contact form the Dennis's to determine what would be done with the body.

Dyson mentally shoved the thoughts away. He'd tried to come to terms with what happened. He was sure he'd succeeded.

Kenzi was the now, however. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

He passed through the kitchen, and up the steps at the back of the building. The sounds of Kenzi's tears increased with every step. As he climbed higher and higher thoughts, memories, dreams, all of it seemed to smash together as he climbed the last step.

Looking through the vaguely human shaped hole in the bathroom wall, Dyson could see Kenzi wedged between the sink and tub. She was wrapped in a coil, like a rope laying unused on the deck of a ship. Her head was on her knees, with her hair fanning and blocking out any good view of her face. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and her hands were clasped together around her ankles.

It was a fetal position crying session. Centuries of experience with women told Dyson this was as bad as it could get.

Dyson started down the hallway.

Blink.

Kenzi was no longer curled up by the tub. She wasn't anywhere. In her place was a frightened wolf cub. It was whining and whimpering, but Dyson knew a wrong step would earn a vicious turn of attitude. It would be teeth and flying fur all over the place.

Blink.

Kenzi was back.

Blink.

The cub.

Blink.

Kenzi.

Dyson stepped into the bathroom and looked down at her. He blinked and she remained Kenzi, but the sense of her, her smell, it had changed. He could almost feel the wolf there, crawling beneath her skin. It would crave freedom soon, and then the madness would begin.

If it hasn't already.

Kenzi let one more sob out, then caught control of her breathing. She knew Dyson was there. She couldn't not know, even though she'd not moved her eyes from behind her knees. There was the general sense of his fae power and more than that, much more than that, there was the smell. The smell of the opposing wolf, the challenge Dyson's wolf offered when he scented her, and there was the smell of fae blood. That smell, in particular, was the worst.

That smell made her hungry.

"You were infected," Dyson said. It wasn't a question, merely a statement of fact.

She wanted to start crying again.

Kenzi held out her arms for Dyson to inspect. Her arms were missing two things, one on each. There should have been long slashes on her wrists going all the way down her forearms. They should be half healed, with the stitches on them making her look like Frankenstein's monster.

There were no slashes on her arms. There wasn't even scar tissue there to suggest the slashes, a solitary act of stupidity, ever existed. Only fresh pinkish skin covered her arms.

This time she couldn't stop the sob when she felt Dyson's hands on her arms. She wanted to lean into them, be held by them, but she had to know first.

His fingers traced long lines on her arms. What should have been the "T" shaped wounds. He traced it the way the razor had cut. Now, she felt as though his fingers might as well be razors. If Dyson knew, where would it go from there?

She had to know.

She was terrified of knowing.

She was afraid of hearing it out loud.

"Look at me," Dyson said. It was an order. She couldn't tell what was going on in Dyson's head. He had to feel betrayed. She'd had to know what needed to be done.

"Look at me Kenzi, please," Dyson said, his voice a little softer now.

A shudder ran through her as she started to raise her head. The hair on the back of her neck stood up like hackles. Would he look into the werewolf's eyes or hers? Would it be quick when he…

She looked up at Dyson. She saw the flinch, felt his hands twitch as fear and anger surged through him. He stared down at her, unable to believe, and the yellow gold eyes of the werewolf stared right back up at him.

"Oh, Kenzi," Dyson said.

She pushed, her coiled form springing, as she drew his arms around her. Surrounded by the comfort of his warmth and his scent. She listened to the pounding of his heart, frantic at first, then slowing down to a steady mnemonic drone. She could almost sleep like this.

Dyson did wrap his arms around her. There was a need to comfort her, even though he knew what she was. Even though he knew what must happen. He took a deep breath, and he made his decision.

"Are you going to kill me now?" Kenzi asked. Her voice shook as she said it. Fear dripping off every word.

"No," Dyson said. "I'm not going to kill you. I'm not going to let what happened to Terra happen to you. I can't stand by idly and watch all the women in my life fall prey to this monster."

"The fae will want to kill me," Kenzi said. She'd turned her head, burying it in Dyson's chest, and she stared out into space. She let a sigh escape her lips. "The light and the dark."

Dyson nodded. It was a fact he couldn't deny.

"How long have you known?" Dyson asked.

"Since the night after the whole Terra thing," Kenzi said. "When I screamed in the bathroom. I saw the werewolf's eyes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was afraid," Kenzi said. "I still am. I don't want to die. I don't want to become a monster either."

Dyson was nodding. His warmth was surrounding her, penetrating her fear tightened muscles, and giving her a general sense of normality, safety. Her breathing slowed and her eyes drooped shut.

"I don't want to be a monster. Lykos don't…" Kenzi muttered before she was fully asleep.