The Lunar Effect

Book 1 in the Ayla St. John Chronicles

By

C.J. Pinard

Copyright 2017-2020 ©C.J. Pinard

Copyright 2017-2020 ©Pinard House Publishing

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Cover design by Kellie Dennis at

Photography by Dave Kelley at

Models:

Copyediting: Amabel Daniels

DEDICATION

This is for Ayla, the pretty waitress at the restaurant in Perdido Key, Florida, who told me her name meant "light of moon." You triggered an entire story about a sassy werewolf girl who decided to become a vampire hunter. May your dreams take you to the moon and back.

THE AYLA ST. JOHN CHRONICLES

The Lunar Effect

The Lunar Curse

The Lunar Secret

The Lunar Magic

The Lunar Promise

The Lunar Light

Lunar effect: The direct correlation between the full moon and the erratic and violent behaviors of humans.

(and werewolves!)

PROLOGUE

I sat perched on top of the tall, stone building. The frigid night air swirled around me and pierced my exposed skin with a cold bite. Ghastly stone gargoyles hovered on either side of me, scowling out into the night. I ignored them and continued to peer down at the street, scanning for my target.

I really don't know what possessed me to climb up here anyway; I supposed it was because this was the tallest apartment complex in Denver—an ostentatious tower, really. And with my eyesight, it wasn't as if I needed binoculars to see down that far, but it did give me a spectacular view. The building across the street was pretty much a mirror image of this one: a ludicrously high-risen, yuppie-infested stone monstrosity, with large, boring square windows set perfectly symmetrically apart and one revolving door on the ground level, which was shrouded in an outlandish green awning. It even had a doorman. I briefly wondered how much money that poor guy made to stand there all day, having to be courteous and helpful to the rude snobs who inhabited the cold building.

Tiny snow flurries began to float and twirl in the frosty air around me, and I knew my window of opportunity was about to slam shut if I didn't shit or get off the pot. I had one shot at staking this guy tonight, and I was determined as hell to get him. I thought about the stack of bills awaiting me if I scored my prize, and a smile twisted up on my lips.

Rocking back on the heels of my black boots, I came to rest, sitting as still as the gargoyles who were keeping me company. He should be coming out of that apartment building at any minute, according to my source.