Hunter's Moon

Deep, Dark Forest

I bolted up. I had just sat down, after pacing for a good twenty minutes, when I heard another shot. It had been silent—eerily silent—until that second. My heart was beating in overdrive and my head began to swim. Had something happened to Lincoln?

I ran to fetch my shoes, irrationality screaming at me to go save Lincoln, to make sure he was okay. I opened the sliders and sprinted into the woods. My breathing became ragged and I had to stop a few times before I came upon a pile of clothes. Perplexed, I crouched down, my legs protesting the whole time, and gingerly picked up the shirt. It looked like the one Lincoln had been wearing a half hour ago. But why would he be running around the forest—I dug through the rest of the pile—naked? My cheeks flamed at the thought of accidently stumbling upon him in that state.

After composing myself by fervently repeating he was not naked, I headed off into the woods again, adamant once again on my search.

A moment later, I went back to the pile of clothes. I picked up Lincoln's boxers, wrapping them in his shirt. At least then, when I found him, he'd have something to cover up with. No way was I going to walk through a forest with a naked boy.

After a while, I tripped over a buried branch, colliding face first with the ground, a bullet casing nearly stabbing my eye. I flinched back, crawling on my hands and knees backwards. It was about ten feet back I noticed the drop of blood.

Lincoln, my mind whispered.

Panic rushed through me. Oh God. He had been shot. Bile rose up in the back of my throat, burning the back of my tongue with the acids. Lincoln couldn't be dead. He just couldn't. For, surely, if he were dead I would know. I would feel something like a loss deep in my breast if he were gone.

It was at that moment I realized I liked him too much—maybe even loved him. I had been denying it to myself but deep down I knew we had some sort of connection. There was something about him that just compelled me, pulling me in against my will and changing me into a sappy, lovey-dovey twit.

Turning my head back and forth, I saw a second dot of blood. Inching my way over to it, I noticed yet another a few feet off, like a macabre bread crumb trail. I stayed crawling, following the blood trail, begging Lincoln to at the end and to be all right.

I heard a small whimper and wondered if an animal had been harmed as well. I crawled slower, listening for anything that could be a threat, but when I came upon the area the whimper had sounded from, I didn't see an animal. I saw Lincoln.

He was curled up on his side, his hand clutching his stomach, bloody from his wound. He body was drenched in sweat and he smelled like wet dog. His eyes were slit, the visible parts clouded, and his breathing was shallow. I tentatively crawled over to him and lightly touched his arm. He didn't so much as flinch.

"Lincoln?" I whispered, gently shaking his arm.

"Liza," he mumbled, barely getting the word out. "Get out...of here. The Lycan Hunters." He winced. "They're here. Leave."

I sighed in exasperation. Either he read too much or he watched too much TV. "Lincoln, we're fine. You're in the woods. You've been shot by a hunter—"

"Exactly!" he exclaimed, wincing again at the sudden movement. "Get out of here. Now. Before they take you with them. They're watching us. Watching me."

I moved to his shoulders and slid my hands under them. "Okay, Lincoln, I'm going to help you up. We should probably get you to a hospital."

"No. I don't need one."

"You've just been shot!" I squeaked, beginning to lose my resolve. "Now help me help you up."

He smiled and grabbed my elbow with his clean hand. "The injured doesn't help the rescuer. The rescuer does it all."

I shook my head, not even cracking a smile at his attempt at a joke. "Not helping, Lincoln."

"Say my name again. I love the way it sounds coming from your lips."

Unbelievable. The guy was practically bleeding to death and he was flirting with me. Why was it always at the most inopportune moments things like this happened?

"You, Lincoln Faelen, are in shock. Just sit tight a while." Looking around for anything to help me lift him, I realized he was indeed stark naked. I felt my cheeks flame and I hastily put his shirt over his hips. He grumbled but made no move to shake it off.

I was getting into a crouch when Lincoln's head whipped up to look ahead him. Before I could react, he knocked me to the ground, pressing me on my back. I got a face full of lean, hard chest and I realized I was holding my breath. It felt as if I dared breath the moment would shatter. His hips slid over mine as he shifted to look behind him and heat flared in my gut. My body was infinitely aware of just how undressed he was.

After what seemed like a year but was really eight seconds, he arched his back so his face hovered above mine. His brown eyes appeared deeper than the ocean and equally as vast. There were so many emotions, yet he held a lot of secrets. His lips moved but I didn't hear what he said. It looked like he said my name. My stomach felt like a pack of pterodactyls were flying around inside a volcano chamber.

Without forming a single coherent thought, I soon found my hand placed on his uninjured shoulder blade while the other dug into his hair. Our lips were close but not close enough. I wanted—no, I needed to feel his lips on mine.

My breath came quicker and I heard myself whisper, "Lincoln," breathlessly.

That was all the invitation he needed. When his lips met mine, liquid fire spread through my veins, heating to a temperature almost unbearable yet feeling oh so nice. His knee moved between mine and gently pried my legs apart. When there was enough room for his other leg to get in, he thrust his hips against mine, spreading my legs wide and allowing me to feel his desire.

I gasped into his mouth and he took the opportunity to gently nick my bottom lip with one of his canines. It felt so good I moaned. A growl rumbled through his chest in response and he sucked on my lip, gently pulling it into his mouth, where he continued to tease it with his teeth.

I was about to melt. My hands had traveled down his shoulders and across his chest, making their descent to his stomach. When my finger dipped inside the gunshot wound, I broke the kiss.

"Lincoln! Your wound!"

He growled and moved back to my mouth but I pushed him away. Turning my head, he decided to bite the bottom of my ear before trailing slow, lingering kisses down the side of my neck.

My nails dug into his side as my eyes fluttered closed. Still, that one part of my brain kept me in check. "Seriously Lincoln, it needs to get checked out. We can continue this later, particularly when you have clothes on."

He growled again but heaved himself up, snatching his boxers and shirt from where they had been discarded. "Feel free to watch." He grinned.

I turned away from him, ignoring the invitation. My mind screamed at me while he was putting his clothes on.

Are you serious? You just broke up with him and now you're making out with him while he's completely naked?! Real smooth, Elizabeth. You sure know how to keep true to your word, don't you? You about gave yourself to an injured boy just because he was there. How do you think that makes you appear, huh? That's right; like a whore!

I scolded my mind to be quiet and play nice but it was right, like every other time. Before I could think it through, I jumped onto my feet and dashed back to my house.