Moon Called : Werewolf Academy (Book 1)

Chapter 2

I wait until silence fills the halls of the school as the last students leave, before I sneak out, heading straight home. But it isn’t without unsolicited comments and stares along the way.

I find Mom in the kitchen, slumped over the table with an empty bottle of whiskey in her hand. She keeps mumbling to herself, staring glassy-eyed into space. It’s clear she’s had more than whiskey this time.

A lump grows in my throat as I wonder how she’ll react to what I’m about to tell her. That is, if she even responds at all.

I used to think my life is terrible. Uncaring parents, no friends, and I go day by day adherent to the hope that when I turn eighteen, I’ll get to start a new, better life for myself—far away from all this unfairness.

I cling to my optimism, writing down my daily gratitude list and convincing myself that there are people out there worse off than I am.

My perks are: I get to go to school. We have a roof over our heads, albeit the atmosphere beneath it is as dead as a graveyard. My parents never fight, even though their relationship is broken. I have good grades—good enough to get a scholarship and build a vibrant future for myself.

None of those ‘ups’ mean anything now. No university will take in someone like me. There is no longer a way out, no bright future—only my doom. I will soon become a monster.

I will never escape hell.

“Hailey waily boo,” Mom croaks from the table. She turns her head to face me, her cheek pressed to the table. “Be a good girl and go to the liquor store for Mommy.”

I don’t move, waiting for her to notice my red, puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. The unnatural glow of my eyes. It’s all wishful thinking on my part.

“Come on now, Hailey, it’s getting late. I’ve got cash stashed in my purse. I think I left it on the couch in the living room. You can keep the change. Buy some makeup or whatever you’re into.” Mom straightens up. “Your dad went to get us some Wendy’s. I can’t eat if I haven’t had a drink.”

My eyes fall pointedly on the bottle in her hand. I want to call her out for it, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

“Mommy?” My voice cracks. I haven’t called her that in years, but I’m scared and crave her comfort right now. Somewhere, in those drunken bones of hers, there has to be some maternal instinct left. Right?

“Hurry up now, you can’t keep me waiting.” She stares at me for a moment, her face scrunching up as if she’s struggling to focus. “You should think about getting some makeup, honey. You look awful.”

I push down the stinging sensation expanding in my chest. “Mom, I need to talk to you,” I try again.

She picks up the empty bottle and presses it to her lips, tilting back her head to get the last few drops. When she slams the bottle down on the table, she sighs. “Come on, the clock is ticking.”

I cross my arms, staring at her in disbelief. “I said I need you.”

“I’m right here, so I’m not sure what you’re on about.” Her lips thin when I still don’t move, and she tips over the bottle. “Fine then.” Mom gets up, curses, and falls back into the chair. She tries again, almost stumbling over the chair in the process. “I’ll get it myself since my own daughter refuses to help me.”

“Can you, for five seconds—for crying out loud, not make it about yourself and listen to me?” I ask, pointing to my face. “Have you considered that maybe I look like crap because something bad happened to me? That I actually need my mom?”

“Stop being a baby. You’re not two anymore,” she snaps airily. “Aren’t you, what, almost twenty now?”

“Yeah? Great to know you don’t even know how old I am. Or that I still go to school.” Fresh tears threaten to spill. “I should have known you wouldn’t know what day it is today.”

Mom’s head snaps up, and she points the bottle in her hand at me. “Honestly, Hailey, what are you going on about? I know what day it is. It’s Thursday.”

“The fifth? My birthday?” I retaliate. “I don’t expect to get anything, but wow, it’d be nice to hear a happy birthday at the least. Or a hug. No, wait—you don’t do those either.”

Mom stiffens. “No, it’s not.”

“Oh, and by the way, I’m sixteen today. Not twenty, Mom.”

“So I forgot. I’m sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear? Happy?”

“Wow, Mom. Just wow.” I shake my head, my vision swimming.

“You started by being catty,” Mom claps back. “Don’t expect me to be all warm and fuzzy when you act like a brat.”

“Well, then I guess you’ll be happy to hear I’m moving soon,” I announce. “I’ll be out of your way. Permanently.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me with your ‘I’m going to run away’ crap, you hear me?”

“I’m not running away.” I muffle a sob with my hand before I continue. “I got marked.”

Mom’s head tilts to the side. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

I push back my hair to reveal the ugly, dark veins running across my neck and the crescent moon illuminating in sapphire blue. Then, I point to my face. It surprises me that she hasn’t noticed how different it looks. “I’m turning into a werewolf.”

The bottle Mom holds slides from her hand and shatters on the floor. She doesn’t move, but it seems like my words have shocked the alcohol right out of her. “W…What?” Her voice shakes as she speaks. “Oh no, no, no.”

Mom presses her palms to her forehead.

“I know, Mom,” my lips quiver. “They’re going to take me away to that horrible place.” As in where all the werewolves stay, get trained to be a monster, and do other vile things I don’t want to think about.

Mom drops her hands, and her eyes wide. “What is everyone going to say?”

“That I’m a freak?” I supply.

“You can’t be seen here.” Mom rushes past me into the hallway. She rips open the storage closet and pulls out duffel bags.

I follow her into the hall, stopping beside her. “Is that all you care about?”

“Goodness forbid, how can you be so inconsiderate to risk our lives by coming into this house? Here, take these. Start packing quickly. We need to get you out of here.”

My mouth drops open in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

Mom halts, glancing up at me. “Of course, I’m serious. We can’t associate with a werewolf.” She spits out the last word like it’s something foul. “And what if you turn and eat us?”

I sigh, taking the two empty duffels she shoved at me. “As my mom, I thought you’d try to figure out how to get rid of the mark. Not throw me to the wolves.”

Literally.