Lunar Rebirth (Lunar Rampage Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  Lunar

  Rebirth

  SAMANTHA CROSS

  Copyright © 2020 Samantha Cross

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9798635723678

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental.

  For my Loki.

  My heart just doesn’t beat the same without you.

  READ MORE BY SAMANTHA CROSS

  LUNAR RAMPAGE TRILOGY

  Lunar Rampage (2018)

  Lunar City (2018)

  Lunar Rebirth (2020)

  Acknowledgements

  I’m about to be pretty damn repetitive with these thank yous, but over the course of this trilogy I find there have been a few constants. Those have been my parents, my grandma, and my brother, Erick.

  To my parents: Thank you for always being supportive, for always giving me time to pursue my writing career without pressuring me to do something I never wanted to do, and never making me feel less than for not becoming an overnight success.

  To my grandma: Thank you for showing excitement and passion, for buying copies of my books and selling them to total strangers that became obsessed with my stories. And thank you for turning your bingo buddies into readers. I never imagined this would be my demographic, but hey, not gonna complain about that!

  To Erick: Quite possibly the most important person to this entire series. You read through each and every chapter as I wrote it, sat through disgusting typos and grammatical errors, and still found the heart of the story. Whenever I lacked motivation you talked me up, gave me ideas, helped me brainstorm. Most of these things you did without even noticing. All I had to do was think out loud with you, and I’d find a new plot detail to be pumped for. I lost track of the amount of things you mentioned in passing that I thought, well, shoot, let me see if I can do this. And it worked. Every single time. Thank you for always reading, always being there, and acting like you give a shit. Not a lot of people do.

  Is it okay to write shit in your acknowledgments? We’re doing it!

  Chapter One

  Cooking and basting a turkey wasn't exactly ideal, but it was Thanksgiving, and when you're in charge of dinner, you get stuck doing tasks you swore up and down you never would. My right hand grasped for the oven handle, shaking like something supernatural possessed it, and tugged open the door for the turkey inside. I was blasted in the face by steam and heat, and almost choked at the aroma of cooking meat. Cooking flesh is a more accurate description.

  I couldn't believe they forced the vegetarian to prepare the turkey. They, being Max and Priscilla, who were running fifteen minutes late.

  This would be the first time Priscilla was going to see my new apartment and how I decked the place out. I finally found a place I felt good about settling into, based on the outskirts of town, yet far away from any wildlife and woodlands. I’d grown beyond tired of trees, moons, bugs, and any sort of howling, wailing, or even barking and I needed to sleep soundly at night. I needed my sanity back.

  Three heavy knocks thudded at the door. Finally. I hastily took hold of the turkey pan and dragged it out of the oven, setting it down on the stove burners and yanking back the top. More steam hit my face, and I coughed. "Oh God, I'm gonna hurl," I groaned, and waved away the cloud from my face. The knock grew stronger, more insistent this time. "Just a minute!"

  I switched off the boiling potatoes, checked real quick to make sure the turkey was steaming and golden brown, and then flipped back my hair to spruce up. I flattened out any wrinkles in my Thanksgiving-themed skirt before answering the door. "Happy Thanksgiving!" I exclaimed as I tore open the door and spread my arms out wide.

  Priscilla leaned against the door frame, sporting a black leather jacket and carrying a cheap-looking bottle of red wine. She stood up straight when she saw me and then scrunched her nose. "Is something burning?"

  "No." I glimpsed over my shoulder to make sure anyway.

  "Then what's that smell?"

  "My cooking."

  "Makes sense." Priscilla pushed through the door, her black hair slightly damp from the frigid weather outside. She didn't even bother to kick her boots off before sauntering into the kitchen.

  I poked my head out into the apartment building hallway, expecting to see Max, but no one was there. "Uh, what happened to Max? I thought you two were supposed to be meeting up and coming over together. You didn't kill him and then stash the body somewhere, did you?"

  "He's probably looking for a parking spot," she explained to me as she foraged through the kitchen cupboards for a cup to pour her wine into. "I took the only one by the entrance." Once she found a glass, she hopped onto the counter and started drinking. "Nice skirt, by the way."

  Any other human being and I'd take it as a compliment, but this was Priscilla and I knew better. No way was she sincere about my skirt when it was designed to look like a turkey. I was just glad she got the dig out of the way.

  A loud bang, like someone had fired a shotgun, rang out. I turned and saw it was the front door bursting open, with Max sort of flying in as he attempted to work the dirt off of his shoes and onto the welcome mat. Slight dampness glistened in his hair, similar to Priscilla's, and when he ran his fingers through it, it stayed in place as if he had just gotten out of the shower. It was a beautiful sight. He then unbuttoned his brown, field jacket and hung it up so it could dry. An overwhelming cold, winter air aroma accompanied him, and it made me feel cozy inside knowing the first snow was ready to start at any moment. Plus, seeing him in my doorway in all his svelte sexiness made me want to hit the bedroom to stay warm in a way that didn't include a heater.

  "Hey, look, there he is," Priscilla robotically said, peeking over her glass of wine.

  Max brushed the wet debris from his shoulders and beamed holes into Priscilla's head for a moment, not even looking in my direction. "Yeah, look at that," he responded to her cynically. "I would have been here sooner if I didn't have some maniac pulling out in front of me to steal my parking spot, nearly killing me, and then forcing me to circle around the building to find another spot."

  "Maybe you should drive a little faster."

  "I'll remember that the next time you're parked in front of me."

  "I thought you were a gentleman these days. Isn't it ladies first?"

  "Is that what we're saying you are?"

  I stepped in between their bodies and shushed them. "Now, now, children, let's get along. It's Thanksgiving! Shouldn't we be focused on what we're thankful for?"

  Max groaned. "I'm thankful my brakes were good enough to handle that abrupt stop on the icy roads, so I didn't collide into the building and suffer brain damage."

  "Well, see, so you do have something to be thankful for," I said sarcastically and smirked.

  "Cute," he responded with an equally sarcastic tone.

  "Cheer up. If I can throw away my morals and my beliefs to prepare you guys a turkey, you can get along for the night."

  "A meal that is burning, by the way," Priscilla noted as she slurped her wine.

  "It's not burning!" I told her. "I pulled it out already. That smell is probably just an old french fry I dropped inside the oven that’s burning."

  "Gross."

  Biggie ca
me strolling into the kitchen and hopped up on the counter next to Priscilla, and not long after that, the newest addition to my family also jumped on top, a little calico named Puffy. Priscilla screamed, nearly spewing her wine from her mouth. “Jesus Christ, they’re multiplying!” she exclaimed.

  “Hey now, shoo, shoo, get down!” I yelled, and both the cats went running.

  “I can’t believe you got another one of those.”

  “Those?”

  Max scoffed. “Jesus, Priscilla, it’s a cat, not anthrax.”

  “That’s up for debate,” she cattily responded, and as though Biggie understood her, he suddenly hissed in Priscilla’s direction.

  I looked at Max and said, “Biggie doesn’t like Priscilla.”

  “The feeling’s mutual,” she added.

  “Maybe if you didn’t treat him like some kind of abomination, he’d warm up to you.”

  “Maybe if he hadn’t taken precisely fifteen shits in my bathtub when I babysat him,” she retorted.

  “He goes when he’s nervous. It’s a quirk.”

  “Taking too many shits is not a personality trait, Cora.” She took a sip of her wine, and under her breath, I heard her say, “It would explain your dating preferences, though.”

  I shook my head. It wasn’t that long ago she was talking about wanting to drag her nails down Max’s back, but I think she liked to pretend I had a short-term memory.

  I clapped my hands together and said, “Why don’t you guys sit down and try to warm up for a bit? Dinner is pretty much ready.”

  Priscilla hopped off the kitchen counter and rushed to the table, bumping into Max’s shoulder and forcing him to move to the side. “Sorry, was that your seat?” she asked dryly, as she pulled out a chair and sat down.

  I could see Max’s mouth open slightly and then close back up. For my sake, or so I assumed, he was refraining from saying anything.

  Once the remaining food was prepped and everyone was seated, we dug into the Thanksgiving feast. Priscilla and Max devoured the turkey and the side dishes, and I stuck to the vegetables and roasted butternut squash risotto. I would have loved for them to join me in eating something meatless, but, eh, what can a girl do?

  “Work must be pretty busy with winter starting up,” I said to Max.

  “I’m up to my neck in it,” he confessed. Max had recently opened his very own store, and I was pretty excited about it. He sold a lot of camping, skiing, and wilderness equipment, and he was getting a pretty steady flow of business out of it.

  “So the store idea didn’t flop?” Priscilla asked. “Color me surprised,” she added as she sipped her wine.

  “Well, yeah, that’s what happens when you have cashiers and workers who do their job,” Max replied.

  Knowing that was a dig at her, Priscilla faked a smile. “I’m just saying, don’t get too comfortable. Most new stores go out of business after a year.”

  “Where did you get that stat, out of curiosity?” I asked.

  She looked at me. “A magazine.”

  “What do you do for a living these days, Priscilla?” Max inquired.

  Priscilla went quiet for a moment, holding her glass of red wine in one hand and swirling its contents as her eyes were laser-focused on Max. “I’m blessing this planet by even existing in it, that’s what I do.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How does the turkey taste?” I asked, in an attempt to move the conversation. “Does it taste like well done murdered innocent animal, or should I put it back in the oven for another ten minutes?”

  “Ten minutes wouldn’t have hurt,” Priscilla said.

  “Don’t listen to her. It tastes fine,” Max countered, and placed his hand on my thigh.

  I smiled and said, “I wanted to do a good job for you guys. I know it’s just the three of us, but dinners like this always remind me of Thanksgiving at my grandma’s. My parents, aunts, and uncles playing cards, while my cousins and I were…” I had to stop. Out of nowhere, I felt a pain in my chest and a subsequent lump rise in my throat. I was doing so well too, but with the holiday season here, just the vaguest of mentions of Melanie made a cold chill run down my body. It was Thanksgiving, and she wasn’t here.

  Max caught that I abruptly stopped, and put his hand on my upper back. “You all right?” he asked. “You look like someone forced you to eat the turkey.”

  I tucked my hair behind my ear and attempted to smile. “Sorry, I’m feeling kind of scatterbrained lately. I forgot where I was even going with that sentence.” I forced out a giggle, but Max wasn’t buying it. There was concern in his eyes. “What were we talking about?”

  “Nothing important,” he said. Max was clearly still trying to read what was going through my head. It was better if he left it alone. I didn’t want to ruin the party.

  “So when the hell did you get another one?” Priscilla shouted from the end of the table.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Another one?”

  “Yeah, the multi-colored one.”

  “Oh, my cat?” Why did she treat cat like a dirty word? “I’ve had Puffy for months now. I must have told you about her countless times.”

  “Ahh, I thought you were just talking about your face.”

  I felt my cheeks with my hands. “My face is puffy?”

  I could only see her eyes over the rim of her glass, but they quickly darted away as she awkwardly said, “Uh, no.” I promptly looked over at Max, who simply closed his eyes and shook his head, giving me that no, your face doesn’t look puffy expression.

  Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Puffy trying to get back on the counter and eat the turkey, and I snapped my fingers at her to go into the other room. She meowed and cried.

  “Hey, you don’t see me throwing a fit because I can’t lie on the counter, do you?” I said. Puffy wandered away, pouting, and was promptly assaulted by a pouncing Biggie.

  “I see she still talks to them like they’re people,” Priscilla said.

  “Every damn day,” Max added. Hey, he was supposed to be on my side, the traitor.

  I cleared my throat and said, “Well, as fun as being made into a crazy cat lady is, I think we should make some kind of toast. Priscilla?”

  She scoffed. “Me?”

  “Well, yeah. You have the most experience with alcohol.”

  Max laughed hard and loud.

  Very lazily, she flipped him off. “Okay, fine, I’ll make the fucking toast.”

  “I’m getting goosebumps already,” Max commented.

  Priscilla raised her glass and began her toast. “Here’s to Cora. If it weren’t for you, I’d be spending this shitty ass holiday alone, eating microwave macaroni, and feeling only slightly more suicidal than usual. And now? I’m just as suicidal, but at least I don’t have to do the dishes.”

  We all clinked our glasses and drank.

  When Max and Priscilla went back to talking and being smartasses together, I found myself sinking into my seat, my heart hurting. It was so silly, but even in her ridiculous toast, Priscilla managed to say something that tugged at me inside. It was the word alone.

  One of the last things Melanie told me as she lay bleeding out in my arms was, “I don’t want to go alone.”

  I felt sick to my stomach thinking about it. All I had to do was close my eyes and I could still smell her blood, and no matter how hard I tried, I would never get over that panicked, helpless look she had in her eyes before she passed.

  There was something about the holidays that made her death even more difficult.

  I wiped my mouth with a napkin, feigned a smile, and told my guests, “I forgot something in my room, I’ll be right back.” I didn’t wait for a response and bolted out of the kitchen so I could be alone. I was feeling overwhelmed at the table, and I needed a moment alone to breathe.

  After I snuck into my bedroom, I quietly closed the door, pressed my face against the brown oak, and counted to five. I didn’t even bother to flick the light on. I just needed to work through whatever was
brewing inside of me.

  My apartment was on the second floor, so from my window, I could see the entire parking lot beneath me. When I drew closer to the window, I noticed there was a fresh sheet of snow over the pavement and the roofs of the vehicles.

  I smiled. I always loved this time of year.

  My bedroom door crept open and the light from the hallway poured in, lighting up the wall beside me. It slowly disappeared when I realized the door was once again shut. It was Max sneaking in to check how I was doing. I must have been a worrisome sight, just standing alone in the dark, peering out the window. He approached and stood beside me, his eyes locked onto my face even though mine were on the window in front of us.

  "It's snowing," I whispered. My voice was so quiet it surprised me that he even heard me.

  "I noticed."

  "And not the pitiful kind. It’s coming down steady.”

  He was quiet for a moment. "Priscilla left."

  "And she couldn't come and say goodbye?"

  "She said, 'goodbyes take too much time.'” His voice had gone monotone to mock her. "Besides, I think she has work in the morning or something."

  I still wasn't looking at him, but I could feel his eyes burrowing away at me. He was trying to read me. "You all right?" he asked. "You're not usually this quiet."

  I scoffed. "Am I really that much of a motormouth?"

  "It's the holidays and you have a lot of energy, of course I'm gonna notice when you're hiding. Tell me what's wrong."

  I exhaled long and deeply. "It's Thanksgiving, and Melanie isn't here." I turned and looked at him, and watched as his curious, concerned expression faded to realization and empathy. "Her parents most likely made a turkey tonight, a turkey that she'll never taste. She doesn't get to spend the night shoveling snow out of the driveway so she can get up early and go Christmas shopping for her family, she doesn't get to make a Christmas list, her parents won't get to see her open a gift they picked out for her. She's just gone, and my aunt and uncle have no answers. Every time I see them, I feel like I'm lying to them."