Full Moon Kisses (Full Moon #3)

Full Moon Kisses (Full Moon #3) Page 5

Brandon had nearly two weeks to wait before he could take the serum and discover how it would affect him. Never mind it could possibly turn him into a werewolf full-time; what if it didn't work at all? What did we know about the serum anyway? Even with Dr. Maddox's reassurance, the anxiety of the unknown was palpable to us both.

And how was I supposed to make sure that Brandon was the one who took it first? It really wasn't my decision, and I felt that Brandon might not want to be cured as much as Nash. But I'd made a promise, and I'd have to keep it.

I tried to hide my anxiety the next day by hanging out with Brandon at his house. But as soon as my mind became unfocused, that was the first thing my thoughts went back to.

Nash sent me texts about how he needed me to help find him a cure - that he was feeling more agitated with the impending full moon. Brandon was obviously anxious, too, chopping wood that didn't need to be chopped and building things in his backyard that didn't need to be built. In his spare moments, I saw his mind wander, and I knew what it was contemplating: a life forever as a werewolf.

To ease our minds, I thought it might be a good idea to get insight on their lycan plight by getting more information on the whole Legend's Run folklore from the only living resource we knew - ninety-year-old Mr. Worthington. Brandon and I hadn't been to visit him in a few weeks, and I thought he might be happy to have us. And I decided bringing Nash along might help us all.

Later that day, I called Nash and convinced him to meet Brandon and me in the parking lot outside the Pine Tree Village Retirement Community. Nash knew that I had been volunteering here for some time, but when we were dating he always had an excuse not to join me. I think he felt awkward around elderly people - maybe he didn't know how to speak to them or felt sorry for them because they seemed lonely. To me, they were like anyone else, just older. And their stories and lives were that much richer for their years of experience.

I headed in first, with Brandon following me and Nash last in our pack. Brandon stood beside me, and Nash hung back in the foyer while I asked the receptionist for Mr. Worthington. Usually the friendly senior citizen was out in the lobby making small talk or taking a quick nap, but this time he wasn't in sight.

I tried not to worry - but I only felt good when I saw him well, at his age. Every time I didn't see him made me afraid I'd never see him again.

However, my concern eased as the receptionist assured me that he was just finishing a group activity. We could smell chicken baking in the kitchens. Dinner came early at Pine Tree Village.

"I'm getting hungry," Brandon said.

"I'm getting sick," Nash said. "I'd hate to live here."

"Shh!" I said. "You're being rude."

"Where is the old man?" Nash said. "I think I've aged a few years already waiting for him."

Nash's impatience was one of the reasons I didn't totally click with him. I knew he was only hiding his fear - in this case, fear of becoming old and being alone. But Brandon was naturally caring and nurturing. He took care of his grandparents and seemed really pleased when he met Mr. Worthington and found out he was his maternal great-grandfather.

Nash was texting when Mr. Worthington came out from the dining room and into the lobby. The chipper senior citizen was pleasantly surprised to see me and my entourage.

Mr. Worthington was wearing a brown cardigan and khakis. He walked slowly toward us.

"Hello, Celeste, it is wonderful to see you."

"We just stopped by to say hello," I said.

Mr. Worthington extended his hand to my boyfriend. "Brandon," he said. "It's good to see you again."

"And this is our friend, Nash," I said, introducing them.

"It's nice to meet you," Mr. Worthington said. "You can call me Charles."

Nash extended his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, too."

"Your boyfriends seem to be multiplying," Mr. Worthington said to me with a wink.

I blushed and tried to cover my embarrassment with a soft giggle.

"What brings you here?" Mr. Worthington finally asked.

"We'd like to know more about the Legend's Run werewolf," I replied.

"Great news," he said. Mr. Worthington was always eager to have an audience, and talking about the Legend's Run werewolf was one of his favorite subjects.

"Come, sit down." Mr. Worthington waited while I sat on the sofa. Then Brandon sat next to me while Nash and Mr. Worthington took their places in paisley-patterned chairs.

"What would you like to know?" Mr. Worthington asked.

"We've heard about the Legend's Run werewolf," I began. "But we only know about the one werewolf."

"Yes?" he asked eagerly.

"In the story you told us last time, a man was bitten by him," I continued. "We'd like to know if there is another werewolf. Another bloodline?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," Mr. Worthington said. "Bloodline?"

"You told us that your great-grandfather Worthington was rumored to have bitten another man," I reminded him. "That means that maybe there was another werewolf bloodline that carried the curse."

"Oh, yes..." Mr. Worthington said. "That is, if you believe in such things. Do you?"

We all nodded in agreement.

Mr. Worthington perked up, pleased with his captive audience.

"My family was very close with another family. The Hamiltons."

Nash, Brandon, and I sat up as if a ghost had just stepped in the room.

"Did I say something wrong?" Mr. Worthington asked, concerned.

"No," I replied. "In fact, you said something right. Please, go on."

"My family - our family - " he said, referring to Brandon, "settled in Legend's Run at the same time as the Hamiltons did. Competition immediately came between the two families. Legend has it that it was over a girl." Then he paused. "Isn't it always? Great wars are started that way."

Mr. Worthington looked at us and gave us a laugh. Nash and Brandon chuckled back politely. I don't think either one of them cared for the joke.

"The Hamiltons were the ones who tried the most to banish my great-grandfather from town," he continued. "It was said that Joseph Hamilton was hoping he could gain control of my grandfather's wealth and the love of his wife."

"Ooh," I said. "It sounds scandalous."

"You might say that," he went on. "But the story goes that it was the night of a full moon when Joseph Hamilton was on his way to confront my great-grandfather in the forest and met a half man, half wolf. It was said townsfolk heard his cries for miles. He didn't return that night. The next day a group of hunters discovered him lying in the woods, violently attacked and left for dead. They returned him to his family, who nursed his wounds. But during the following nights he began behaving strangely. Fierce howling came from his house at moonlight. The daylight showed his home had been ransacked, as if by a wild animal. His wife and children, fearing for their lives, fled. Townsfolk believed he'd come down with a fever, and this was what caused his strange behavior. Those few who believed in the lore of the werewolf swore otherwise. The two men were forced to live out their lives as lonely and haunted creatures of the night."

"Wow..." I said.

Brandon shook his head in awe.

"That's it?" Nash asked.

"What did you want to hear?" Mr. Worthington wondered.

"That they all live happily ever after," Nash said, sitting up.

"Isn't it more exciting and mysterious this way?" Mr. Worthington asked.

"No," Nash said. "It's depressing and tragic."

"That's how most werewolf stories are. That's what makes them exciting."

"I don't like that kind of excitement," Nash said.

"It's just legend," Mr. Worthington said. "Folklore that's repeated through time. Just like ghost stories told around a campfire."

"But you believe it, don't you?" I asked Mr. Worthington.

"It doesn't make sense - my great-grandfather was a werewolf?" he asked. "As a boy it always frightened me, and I surely believed it. However, as I grew older I dismissed it, like you grow out of believing in the tooth fairy. But I've always liked to tell the story."

"But what if it isn't just a story?" Nash asked. "What if it really happened and it keeps repeating itself through future generations?"

"You believe it then?" Mr. Worthington asked eagerly. "Then you believe in werewolves.... Have you ever met one?"

"Yes," Nash said. "And so have you. In fact, you are talking to one."

Brandon and I were shocked by Nash's declaration. Mr. Worthington stared at my former boyfriend skeptically and then changed his expression. He grinned and began to chuckle.

"This has been so much fun, talking with you," he said. "Celeste has such comical friends. It gives a little liveliness to this place."

"But there has to be more to the story," Nash urged. "Did they find a cure?"

Mr. Worthington thought for a moment. "Not according to legend."

"Perhaps they did and you just don't remember."

"A cure was never part of the story I heard growing up."

"Then the story is tragic," Nash said.

"Yes, it is. But only if you believe it."

"I believe it. And I don't want my story to be tragic, too. My name is Nash Hamilton. And the dude that your great-grandfather bit was one of my ancestors."

Mr. Worthington was quite shocked and didn't seem to know what to make of Nash's second declaration.

"Calm down, Nash," I said.

"Yes, let's keep this between us." Brandon spoke in a low but forceful voice.

"I can't hide this anymore," Nash continued. "This is what's going to happen to me? Banishment to the woods? Are you kidding?"

"What is he talking about, Celeste?" Mr. Worthington asked. "I thought your friend was joking. Why is he so upset?"

Nash rose. "This isn't what we came here for. We came here for answers."

A few passing residents gawked at us, wondering what all the commotion was about.

"Answers to what?" Mr. Worthington asked.

"Chill out," Brandon scolded Nash. "I think it's time we leave."

"Yes, Nash," I quietly chided. "You are upsetting Mr. Worthington. And the rest of the residents."

Mr. Worthington rose. "I'm fine," he said. He looked at Nash. "What answers were you looking for?" he asked.

Nash's anger and disappointment turned to sorrow. He placed his hand on Mr. Worthington's shoulder. "A cure for the common werewolf," he said, half laughing.

"There is always a cure for whatever ails you - " Mr. Worthington said. "You just have to look inside yourself for the answer. It is closer than you think."

Nash seemed soothed by Mr. Worthington's comforting words. He shook the elderly man's hand and said good-bye to Brandon and me.

I apologized to Mr. Worthington as Nash left the building.

"Why would he be upset?" he asked, worried. "It's only a story. Nothing more."

"He takes things very personally," I said.

"And what about you, Brandon?" Mr. Worthington asked. "Do you believe that your friend is a werewolf because he is a Hamilton descendant? Is that why you all came here?"

We were taken aback by his questions, and Brandon stumbled for an answer.

"Uh...well - "

"I was just joking with you," he said. "You kids take everything so seriously." He patted Brandon on his shoulder. "It's spring. Go out there. Have some fun. And don't let her get too close to that other fellow," he said. "I can tell he's a real wolf."

And with that, a nurse came over to Mr. Worthington and told us it was time for his music activity.

Brandon and I left, distracted by Mr. Worthington's tragic story and his message about Nash. Maybe we'd have to figure out what to make of it and hope that this new generation of werewolves wouldn't have to live out their lives deep in the woods in isolation.

"This makes me feel even stronger that I should take the serum as soon as I can," Brandon said as Nash drove off.

"Really?" I asked.

"The Legend's Run werewolf didn't have a cure. I might have one. It would be wrong not to try it - and since my father won't let me use it for Nash, I'll have to be the one to try it. We can't spend our lives banished to the woods - with no life and no family."

I squeezed his hand reassuringly as we got into his Jeep. I stared out the window as we left the retirement home behind us and thought about the words of wisdom from a man who was helping us far more than he would ever know.