Enemy Within (Moira Ashe Book 1)

Lincoln woke in the afternoon. Still groggy, he pulled himself out of bed and began getting ready.

He wasn’t thrilled to face the beast once again, but he had come too far to give up now.

Buckling his belt around his waist, Lincoln headed for the door. He turned the knob, but it stopped short of opening.

He tried it again; it still didn’t open.

He didn’t remember locking his door earlier, but he sighed and reached for the key in his coat pocket.

He was jolted awake as he fished and patted his pocket looking for the key he’d left there. Lincoln searched his other pockets and the floor of his room in search of his missing key. Finding nothing, he turned his attention to getting help.

Lincoln pounded on his door and yelled for assistance.

He waited a minute, but no one came.

Lincoln slumped to the floor with his back to the door. He clawed at his scalp as he tried to remember where he had the key last. He recalled unlocking his door earlier, but he couldn’t quite remember if he’d locked it afterwards. Lincoln growled in frustration. If he didn’t lock it then someone else would have had to, but who? His head sprang out of his hands as he remembered Moira’s unexpected embrace.

“Damn her!” He slammed his fist into the floorboards. How dare she lock him in here! His blood boiled as he pushed himself to his feet.

His eyes searched the room looking for a target to unleash his fury upon but instead settled on the window. He rushed over and pushed the window open, eyeing the tree outside.

Lincoln climbed into the window frame and shut his eyes. After counting to three, he leapt, pushing off the windowsill as he reached for the tree branches. His heart pounded as he grabbed hold of one of the tree’s limbs before he lost his grip and fell towards the earth below.

The landing was softened by the rain-soaked soil surrounding the tree’s trunk. The wind left him as the pain found him. Sprawled out on the ground, he lay there a few seconds before he could begin moving again. He found he had no broken limbs, which he was very thankful for, as he got to his feet and began walking off the pain.

Moira had locked his door for a reason, but Lincoln couldn’t fathom why. Was she trying to keep him safe? But he was the one who had saved her life last night. So why the hell would she face the beast alone?

Lincoln banished the thoughts from his head. He didn’t care what her reason was, if she even had one, he would be there tonight whether she wanted him or not. But he would have to do it in secret, or else Moira would probably have him detained by the guard or something.

The problem was, he had no idea where she was, so he decided to go where he knew she would be.

He didn’t wait long outside the town gates before Moira arrived. He had concealed himself in the forest’s brush waiting for her, and now that she had arrived, Lincoln’s curiosity was piqued.

He wondered at the contents of her bundle as he followed behind her. Her sight was compromised, but her other senses were not, so he made sure to keep as far away from her as he could without losing her.

He was caught by surprise when she stopped suddenly. He ducked behind a tree and covered his mouth to mask his breathing. He sat there silently even when she called out to him, even though a small part of him wanted to reveal himself to her, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had to know where she was going and what she was doing with her package.

He waited until he heard her footsteps continue before he crept after her.

He followed her as she approached a tangled mess of foliage. Quickly ducking behind the nearest tree, Lincoln peeked around the trunk as Moira disappeared into the wall of greenery. Scurrying over the brush, Lincoln found the clearing as he peered past the veil.

He was concerned by what she was doing at first. She left her guns, coat, and especially her hat on a tree, poured the pig parts on the ground, and then wrapped herself in the sheet. It wasn’t until she began removing her other clothes that he became enthralled.

He didn’t see anything of her, not really, except for Moira’s thin body silhouetted through the sheet and the few glimpses of her skin he caught as the edges of the fabric were snatched at by the lustful breeze.

The nausea of guilt and disgust he felt were drowned out by the flood of heat. His fingers dug into the rough bark as sweat stung his eyes; he didn’t dare blink lest he miss a moment of her. He had always found her attractive, dispute her injury, and his pulse raced faster with every new piece she stripped off herself, the blanket threatening to slip off her shoulders. It wasn’t until she was finished and was carefully organizing her discarded clothing that he chose to leave. He couldn’t bear the thought of revealing himself to her now, even if she did get in trouble. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the tree as Moira knelt in the clearing facing him. Once Lincoln’s blood had cooled, he slowly began creeping away when a wheeze made him glance back.

Moira doubled over. She gasped as she rocked on her knees, letting out moans and grunts of pain as tears streamed down her cheeks, glinting in the moonlight.

Lincoln froze as he watched her.

Moira’s sheet slipped off her shoulders. Lincoln couldn’t believe his eyes.

On Moira’s right shoulder, accompanied by the fresh scars of the previous night, was the unmistakable mark of a creature’s jaws. He sat there horrified at his discovery but also amazed that she could survive such an ordeal. He was overwhelmed. Conflicting feelings went to war in his mind as he tried to make sense of everything. All the while, he continued to watch Moira with intense fascination.

Lincoln knew what was happening to her before he saw it. Before he saw her bones begin to reshape themselves under her skin. Before Moira’s pained expression distorted into the snouted visage of a beast. Before her agonizing breaths turned to growls.

It was both terrible and beautiful to behold, both terrifying and morbidly interesting to Lincoln as he watched her metamorphosis into the form of a lycanthrope.

When the process was done, the creature formally known to Lincoln as Moira consumed the offerings she had left herself in a frenzy. Upon finishing her gruesome meal, she bolted off into the forest, leaving behind the sheet she had quickly outgrown.

Lincoln didn’t know what to do. He sat there for a time as he contemplated what he had seen.

Should he turn her in?

Would they believe him?

Do they already know what she was?

Lincoln’s thoughts turned to the information Moira had given him the first day they met. He couldn’t understand why a werewolf would tell him how to hunt one. Unless she didn’t. His fear turned to anger as he considered her motives and how she’d locked him in his room to protect her secret.

How much of what she’d told him was a lie?

He had to report her, but what reason would they have to believe him?

Lincoln stood. He slowly approached Moira’s belonging. There had to be something there that would prove his accusation. His attention turned to her hat and her eye patch. She was never found without both those items in her possession. As compelling as the patch would be as evidence, Moira had replacements for those, but the hat was one of a kind.

Lincoln snatched the well-worn wedge-shaped hat and hurried back to the town gates.