Blood Moon's Servant: A Paranormal Thriller

  Curse of the Blood Moon

  Blood Moon’s Servant

  Leah Kingsley

  Blood Moon's Servant

  Published internationally by Foxfire Press

  88 Captain Morgans Blvd. Nanaimo, BC V9R 6R1

  Copyright © 2021 by Leah Kingsley

  Terms and Conditions:

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or used in any way without written consent, except in the case of brief paraphrases or quotations cited in critical articles or reviews.

  Fictitious Disclaimer:

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities between persons, living or deceased, and the characters and situations within this book are unintentional and coincidental. This book contains references to heaven, hell, angels, and demons strictly on a fictional basis. These references are only intended to stimulate the imagination. They do not coincide with any religious beliefs.

  For Bibber

  Here’s to your future. Know whatever path you take, I will always be proud.

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Forty-one

  Forty-two

  Forty-three

  Forty-four

  Forty-five

  Forty-six

  Forty-seven

  Forty-eight

  Afterword

  Author Note

  One

  SUSAN EVANS SAT squashed in the filthy wheel well of a sedan, violent ripples of shock rocking her to her core. Five seconds ago, she had been on her way home from school. Now she was a prisoner. Her captor wrenched her arms behind her back and tied her wrists together. The car shot forward, its tires squealing on the sharp exit turn out of her elementary school parking lot. Terror gripped her body, streaking through her veins and clutching at her pounding heart. How had this happened? Why wasn’t anyone helping her? Her captor clamped a hand over her mouth and crushed her shoulders between his knees. His cologne hung thick in the air, smothering her, choking her. She bit down on his fingers. He yanked her hair, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Knock it off.” The male voice was low and anxious. “You’re not supposed to hurt her.”

  “Who’s gonna stop me?” Her captor laughed and kicked her in the ribs. Susan curled into the fetal position and squeezed her eyes shut. He hit her again, and no one spoke up.

  Susan woke with a start, covered in sweat and tangled in her blanket. She clawed her way free and huddled into a ball, her heart beating a wild tempo of terror against her ribs. The feeling of his hands on her had been imprinted on her body, burned into her soul. It was always there in the background, a sleeping sickness she could not cure.

  She gazed around her tiny burgundy bedroom and fought to focus on reality. Sunlight streamed across her twin bed, and Justin Bieber smiled down at her from the poster above her dresser. She swung her legs over the edge of her mattress and sank her toes into her soft, wool rug.

  Susan pressed a hand to her racing heart and stared at herself in the full-length mirror on her closet door. Her skin crawled with invisible ants as she checked for bruises she knew weren’t there. Anger sizzled through her veins and scorched away her pain. She was giving him power by acknowledging her fear.

  “You’re eleven-year-old Susan Marie Evans,” she lectured her reflection, “and you’ve got a serious case of bedhead.” Talking to oneself was usually labeled as the first sign of madness. In Susan’s case, it was more like the twentieth clue that she might be unhinged. Her therapist had recommended the technique. Mrs. Ramirez had called it grounding. Susan called it self-mockery. She tried to tame her onyx-colored hair as the crazed expression left her dove gray eyes. Her brush snagged on a tangle. Susan yanked it free on a rush of irritation. Amy and Zack never complained of bad dreams. Why was she the only one stuck having nightmares?

  When Susan was nine, a gang called Assassin’s Honor had gone after her big sister. Amy had only been sixteen at the time and completely unaware of the chain of events she had set into motion. Assassin’s Honor had kidnapped Amy, Susan, and Amy’s boyfriend Zack over little more than a case of schoolyard bullying. The trio had had a terrifying, newsworthy adventure that Chris Donnellson, Zack’s younger brother and Susan’s best friend, still begged her to retell. Susan had rattled off her PG version so many times, she almost believed it as the real story. Almost. Waking up in a cold sweat every morning made the truth difficult to forget.

  The incident had marked the end of Susan’s childhood. It had scarred her soul despite her best attempts at pretending it had never happened. Susan had been going to therapy for years but had sealed the worst of her trauma in a shameful crevice of her heart. The secret had festered inside her like an infection around a splinter, and her nightmares had grown more vivid with every passing day. She struggled to swallow the bitter taste in her mouth. She was glad Amy and Zack were okay, but the night terrors were scarier when she faced them alone.

  Susan blew out a frustrated breath and threw her brush at the mirror. She needed conditioner to conquer the tangles. She carried the external speaker Chris had gotten her for her birthday into the bathroom and blared her music as loud as it would go.

  One long, hot shower later, she wandered downstairs in search of breakfast. Their two-story home was old and rundown and leaned ever so slightly toward the house on its left. The front door opened into a dim, cave-like living room where an enormous chocolate brown sofa dwarfed the rest of their meager furniture. A narrow doorway to the right of the sofa led up a single step into their ultra-tiny kitchen, and a steep, wooden staircase at the far left of the living room creaked its way to the second floor.

  The entire house was eerily quiet. Everything, from its groaning floorboards to its squeaky faucets, was muted and dull like a broken TV. Susan tiptoed around making her cereal, flinching at the Froot Loops clattering into the bowl and the spoon clanging against its edge. She rolled her eyes at the clock on the microwave. Why was she trying so hard to be quiet? No one else was even home.

  She hummed her latest Ariana Grande favorite and wandered into the living room with her cereal and juice. She turned on the TV to break the eerie spell of silence, a weighted blanket of sadness coiling itself around her heart. Tears pricked her eyes as she perched on the edge of their gigantic sofa to eat her breakfast all alone. This was how it was going to be from now on. Amy and Zack had been accepted to the University of British Columbia, one of the top schools in Canada. Her sister had to move all the way across the country. Susan was going to miss her every second she was away, and being home alone made her feel as though Amy had already left.

  Amy was much more than her big sister. She had been friend, playmate, and m
other to Susan for half her life. While their mom went off to party and hook up with losers, Amy had stayed home to make dinner and pay the bills. While their mom collected DUI’s and got fired left and right, Amy had juggled high school and worked herself into exhaustion. While their mom went to rehab and found herself a sponsor, Amy had nursed herself through two broken ribs and cleaned the house on crutches.

  A burst of anger scorched Susan’s skin. Why had everything fallen to Amy? Her anger sizzled into steam that formed thick clouds of despair. Was that why she was leaving? Was her sister that desperate for time to herself? Susan slumped into the sofa. Why hadn’t she helped more, done more? Her sister deserved the best. She bowed her head. Why did the best have to mean a three-hour time difference and visits on the holidays? Preteen misery pooled in her heart.

  Susan released a sorrowful sigh and stretched her arms behind her head. Amy was in the grips of an entirely different type of misery. She had left at the crack of dawn to meet up with their soon-to-be sister-in-law, Clarisse Donnellson. Clarisse was Chris’s and Zack’s older sister, and she was marrying Justin, Amy’s and Susan’s older brother. If Amy and Zack were ever uncomfortable with their siblings’ engagement, the couple never let it show. Susan, for her part, tried hard to avoid thinking about her brother’s impending marriage and dodged wedding-related activities like they were the Black Death. Just last night, the ever-charming Clarisse had invited her future in-laws along for a day of beautification. Susan had gotten out of it by reminding them what terrible company she was in the morning. Amy had not been so lucky. The girls had hair appointments, nail appointments, and who knew what other additional horrors lying in wait for them that day. Susan grinned, imagining Amy’s face as Clarisse dragged her into the beauty salon. Neither Evans sister felt the need to play dress up.

  Amy was uniquely attractive with her silken ebony hair and misty gray eyes. She had a little, hourglass figure, long dark lashes, and cheekbones a model would kill for. Susan looked a lot like her with her onyx hair and dove gray eyes. The only major differences were the freckles that dotted Susan’s peaches and cream complexion and the dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. Their striking looks, combined with Amy’s confidence and Susan’s contagious laughter, made them, in Susan’s view, impossible to forget. Amy had always been a heartbreaker, and she, Susan, was following in her sister’s footsteps.

  She and Chris endured endless teasing about eventually pairing off. With Clarisse and Justin getting married and Amy and Zack in a long-term relationship, they, as the youngest siblings, were expected to continue the trend. Susan giggled at the thought. Chris was by far the best friend she had ever had. His heartbreaker looks and thoughtful nature had won the adoration of every girl in their class, except Susan’s. She had once held his hand while he puked his guts out after a disastrous jellybean eating contest. His multi-colored vomit had destroyed any datable potential Chris had ever had.

  She plucked her phone from the coffee table and typed a quick text to Chris. Come over and hang until the wedding? I’m bored. She dropped her phone without hitting send. A snippet of conversation had snapped her attention to the TV. She turned up the volume, clutching the remote in trembling hands.

  One of her four kidnappers, Peter Jenkins, had made parole and was being released from City Hall later that day. Susan held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. If any one of her other kidnappers were released—her blood turned to ice at the thought. Peter was the only one who would never dream of hurting her. He had switched sides to save Susan’s life. The newscaster began talking about a forest fire in Windsor. The knot of tension in her stomach loosened enough for her to breathe. Elation flooded her heart. She threw her hands into the air and danced around the room. Peter was free, and the others were locked up! Her face split in a smile as inspiration struck.

  Ninety minutes and two buses later, she had stationed herself in the lobby of City Hall. The snarky front desk lady had refused to let her see Peter without an adult, so Susan had parked her butt in a straight-backed, metal chair and refused to leave until they released him. She and Peter had a special connection, strengthened, in no small part, by the fact that he knew, and had kept, her shameful secret. He was her rock in a raging storm, sometimes the only thing that kept her tethered to her sanity. She longed to see him again to instill that soul-deep sense of safety that his smile and his hugs brought her.

  The comings and goings of official-looking people blurred in front of her eyes. Susan checked the time every five minutes and willed the seconds to slow. She had to leave eventually to get ready for Justin’s wedding, but each time she prepared herself to leave, she told herself she had another fifteen minutes to spare.

  She looked up, saw him, and bit back a shriek of delight. Peter Jenkins was the hottest guy she had ever met. Tall, dark, and handsome, he was everything Susan wanted in a boyfriend when she got older. His curly chestnut hair was neatly combed, his serious face clean-shaven. He wore cut-off jeans and a cobalt T-shirt that brought out his gentle sea green eyes. He had been buff before prison. Now he looked like a work-of-art body builder.

  An East Indian guard with a thick beard, a dark mustache, and the bushiest eyebrows Susan had ever seen escorted Peter through a cordoned off entrance and handed him a small plastic bag. Peter thanked him and turned toward the exit.

  “Peter!” Susan zoomed to intercept him and threw her arms around his waist.

  “Susan?” His mouth fell open in shock. He kept his arms at his sides and looked down into her face with apprehension in his gaze. She released him with an awkward smile, her heart sinking at his rejection. He swiftly stepped away, widening the space between them with an anxious look over his shoulder.

  She kept it light. “Hi. How have you been?”

  “Why are you here?” His words were taut, his tone brusque.

  She shot him a reproachful frown, hurt by his chilly attitude. He gazed down at her with his gentle eyes filled with guilt. She lifted her chin and forgave him immediately. Two years in prison would make anyone grumpy. “I heard about your release thingy.”

  “Yeah. Do you have a problem with it?”

  “What? No! It’s about time they let you out!” Susan had been rushed to the hospital after Peter had saved her life. She had never gotten the chance to talk to him, let alone thank him for what he had done. Amy had testified for Peter at his criminal trial but had stopped Susan from doing the same by claiming she was too young for court. Peter had no idea how much she adored him. She had to set him straight. “Come on, let’s go outside.” She pushed her way through a set of heavy double doors.

  Peter gazed at the city street in awe, his sea green eyes aglow with joy. He looked up at the sun to let its rays warm his face. Susan eyed him with intuitive concern. He had woken from a nightmare of his own.

  Peter rested his gaze on her. Worry clouded the joy in his eyes. “Why are you here? Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine!” Her mouth curved into a smile. He worried too much. She led him down the street to a sidewalk table outside a cute café. “I just wanted to see you before you went off to live your life or whatever. I had to thank you for protecting Amy and saving me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

  During the high-speed police chase that had resulted in their rescue from Assassin’s Honor, Amy had needed to drive the getaway vehicle for a horrifying hot minute. She hadn’t gotten her license yet and wound up crashing the car into a lake. Neither Amy nor Susan had known how to swim, and Amy had been knocked out in the crash. Peter had saved Susan, and Zack had saved Amy.

  Peter relaxed the tiniest fraction. “Okay, but if you’re not cool with it, I understand. They should know if you have concerns about my release.” He offered her the ghost of a smile. “And someone else would have helped you if I hadn’t been there. Zack, probably.”

  “Maybe, but then who would have helped Amy?”

  “I never meant for any of that to happen. I hate myself for what h
e⸻”

  Susan swallowed. A shiver ran down her spine despite the warmth of the day. Vertigo rose in her stomach, and her heart pounded against her ribs. She rushed to cut him off, babbling words to conceal her panic. “Forget about it. Take your new start. I’m only here to say you deserve it. Amy thinks so, too. She would have come with me, except she’s stuck getting ready for the wedding.”

  “Amy’s getting married? Did Zack pop the question, or was it Charles?”

  “No!” Susan laughed, the normalcy of the sound bringing her back from the edge. “It’s not Amy’s wedding. My brother, Justin, is marrying Zack’s older sister, Clarisse.”

  “Oh, okay.” He actually smiled. “I was like damn! That girl doesn’t waste any time.”

  “But somehow she’s always late, no matter where she’s going or how much she plans ahead.”

  They slipped into easy, teasing banter that lit her up inside and made the world a better place. Peter was a special person, one she had been lucky to know. He was living proof that some guys, at least, were better than Nathan Johnson. Susan stood to leave with a heavy heart. Hanging out with Peter had been like chilling with her brother. He was someone she could always trust, a protected place for her pain and the keeper of her deepest secret.

  She threw her arms around him again. He hugged her close and enfolded her in his embrace like that very first time. She rested her head against his chest and knew she was safe. Peter’s hugs did more for her than hours and hours of therapy. He slowly pulled back, gently disengaging. She fought the urge to cling to him and beg him to stay in her life. Abandonment issues ran deep in her bones. “Look us up if you want. Justin will be off on his honeymoon for a while, and Amy and I need someone around to tease.” She breathed a sigh of relief. Her words had come out semisane.

  “That’s a great invite.” Peter chuckled. “We’ll see. I don’t plan on staying in Toronto for long.”

  Her heart squeezed. “Well, the offer’s always there.”