Fire in the Blood (Last Moon Rising #1)

Chapter One

“The severe drought that has plagued the southeast for the past six months, killing hundreds of cattle and crippling wildlife, is migrating north. Most of the southern New England states haven’t seen rain for six months, and current weather patterns indicate this trend will continue indefinitely, making for an unusually dry, warm fall. Wildfires in the Midwest have now consumed thousands of acres, dozens of homes, and a total of ten casualties. Rain continues to drench southern California, creating another mudslide which has claimed six more homes and a family of four. One hundred sixty people have died from a deadly tornado outbreak that covered the states of Nebraska, Kansas, and Oklahoma. In other news…”

My hand shot out, slapped the radio button, and cut off the reporter’s dispassionate voice. My window fan whirred softly, but the cool night air had already dissipated, so the fan did nothing more than circulate warm air across my skin. I laid in bed in a tank top and undies, a bead of sweat trailing down my hairline to my jaw, where it detoured to slide down my neck. My stomach cramped, and my mouth was dry. I reached for the water I kept on my nightstand and drank it down.

I was starting to understand the old adage “kill the messenger”. The message these days was never good, all about droughts and fires and tornado outbreaks. It seemed the Earth pulsed with its own message to the inhabitants that had been abusing it for centuries; a message of doom and destruction.

I yawned then breathed deeply, wishing for the cool and damp Northeast fall air. Instead, the air smelled dry and hot, like old pine needles baking in the sun. Despite the weather man’s promise last night of a “desperately-needed soaking rain after midnight”, it definitely hadn’t rained.

I rubbed my eyes then swung my feet off the bed. That weatherman should be called a “whether-man”, because no one knew whether the man actually knew what he was talking about.

The distant rumble of Kent Falls—Kent, Connecticut’s two-hundred-fifty-foot claim to fame—barely squeezed through the screen of my open window. How long would it take a drought to suck all the moisture from the falls? I shivered at the thought. I’d been hiking to the falls every day since June, and I could swear it was shrinking, not that anyone would listen to the dire musings of some hick sixteen year-old.

Wait. Check that.

Seventeen year-old. Today was my birthday.

With a squeal, I peered at my newly seventeen year-old self in the mirror, checking out my front-end, back-end and everything in between. I twisted my lips. Obviously, turning seventeen hadn’t miraculously made me…what? Different? Cool? I pressed my hands to my breast bone and held my breath, but my chest didn’t look any bigger. I laughed to myself. As if sprouting boobs during the night would make any difference. Haley Roble would never be a hall goddess, that was for damn sure.

After a quick “water-saving” shower, I dressed in a pink t-shirt and a pair of jeans with a hole in one knee. I debated whether to pull back my hair into a ponytail, but after inspecting my should-length hair, which wasn’t frizzing and actually looked nearly sleek, I decided I shouldn’t hide a good hair day behind a rubber band.

Skipping down the stairs, I stopped in our cracked, yellow kitchen for a piece of toast. Mom, despite her blonde bed-head and blue terry robe, still managed to look runway-ready as her blue eyes gazed into her coffee cup.

Being adopted, I had no one to blame for my less-than-model looks. My petite frame resembled a tom-boy, and my gray eyes seemed faded in my pale face, unless I wore make-up to brighten them. I kind of rocked the hair department, thick and straight, though the color bordered on mousy. My clothes situation, however, was on a good-will basis, and my chest area was a total bust—not exactly a combination that attracted hall gods.