Get Bent! Read online

  GET BENT!

  The Hybrid of High Moon

  Book 1

  Rick Gualtieri

  Copyright © 2018 Rick Gualtieri

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of authors’ rights is greatly appreciated.

  All characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.

  Edited by Megan Harris: www.mharriseditor.com

  Cover by Mallory Rock: www.rocksolidbookdesign.com

  Proofread by Celestian Rince

  Published by Westmarch Publishing

  www.westmarchpub.com

  For my wife and kids, the very last people in the world I would tell to GET BENT!

  Special thanks to my awesome beta crew: Jason, Korionna, Amy, Noah, Ebony, Jana, Chris, Danae, Mike, Pamela, Simon, Martin, Katie, and Jill. You guys put the icing on this bloody mayhem cake of a story.

  PROLOGUE

  BEFORE

  All things are possible beneath a blood moon.

  Lissa MacGillis, the future Queen of the Monarchs, considered this as she stepped into the sacred glade. Her magic was the equal or better of any in her coven, and tonight, she intended to prove it.

  While the others celebrated the rare lunar event with a barbecue, of all things, she’d slipped away. The walls between worlds were thinner on a night such as this. If she could make contact with an outsider, she could conceivably conscript it to her service, increasing her already formidable power. Elder spirits could be notoriously short-tempered, but it was worth the risk, partially thanks to increasing tensions between her people and the lycanthropes.

  Those mongrels had been growing bolder in recent months. She’d heard it was all due to a young male vying for the position of alpha. He was seemingly intent on testing the limits of her people’s patience – seeing how far he could stretch his leash before someone rapped him on the nose.

  In a sense, it was ironic that, in scrying to find a suitable location for her ritual, she’d discovered this clearing deep in the lycanthropes’ territory. It was a place of power, not unlike Stonehenge in centuries past. Unlike that old ruin, however, the energy here was fresh, untapped.

  Tying her auburn hair into a tight bun, the young witch unpacked her supplies, then carved a circle into the dirt with a garden trowel. She filled the shallow trough with melted wax from a blessed candle, lit three more, and placed them all to match the four corners of the compass.

  Perfect. Let’s do this.

  Lissa tentatively sat down inside the circle, immediately sensing a hum of power through her lithe frame as she opened the weathered tome she’d borrowed from her mother’s personal library.

  She cut both her palms with a ceremonial dagger, allowing the blood to slowly dribble out between her fingers and onto the ground – a tempting sacrifice for any spirit.

  Almost as if in response, the plants, the ground – the very glade itself – began to glow a dull bluish green. It would seem something from outside had already noticed her presence.

  Lissa smiled, noting the welcome side effect of now having more than enough light to read the incantation she’d opened up to.

  The future queen chanted in an ancient tongue, and the glow of energy began to pulse in tune to her voice. She could sense the barriers between worlds beginning to peel away like an onion. It was starting to work.

  Lissa raised her bleeding palms to the sky and the glade flashed a brilliant crimson, matching that of the moon high in the sky above.

  Soon, very soon, the spirits of this place would answer her and then she would...

  “You know, you might want to put something on those cuts.”

  The witch spun toward the gravelly voice but saw nothing except the brush at the edge of the clearing. “Who’s there?”

  “All I’m saying is that isn’t very sanitary. You could get an infection, contract a flesh-eating virus, get your head bitten off. Stuff like that.”

  A pair of yellow eyes appeared between a gap in the trees. Lissa sensed a powerful body beneath them, barely hidden by the shadows. One of them had found her. “Come out now and I might let you live.”

  The eyes blinked once then changed, becoming smaller, more human. A young man in his twenties stepped out from the tree line. He was shirtless and shoeless, wearing nothing but a pair of ripped jeans beneath the washboard abs of his stomach. One side of his mouth was raised in a half-grin. “Such generosity humbles me, especially coming from the mouth of a silly little girl trespassing where she clearly does not belong.”

  He wasn’t half-bad looking, for a filthy beast anyway, but the witch quickly pushed that thought away. After all, one did not consort with pets. One either assumed dominance over them or had them put down. It was up to him which of those two it would be. “This is a place of power. My people are attuned to them, as you well know.”

  “A pathetic excuse, nothing more.” He crossed his muscular arms. “As you well know, these woods have already been claimed.”

  “Perhaps I know no such thing.”

  “Then you’re either playing dumb or really stupid, but I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume the former.”

  “And why is that?” The witch forced her voice to remain calm, but she began gathering her energy, sensing how this was likely to play out.

  “I’ve seen stupid. Lord knows I have plenty of family who fall into that bucket. Believe me, I know the look. You don’t have it.”

  “Too bad I can’t say the same.”

  He put a hand over his chest and gave her a pained grimace. “Oh, you wound me so with your words, princess.” At her surprised look, he smiled. “Yes, I know who you are. I’ve heard all about you. The Princess of Peaches or something dopey like that, isn’t it?”

  “Monarchs,” she snapped.

  “Oh yeah, that other is from a video game. I always get the two confused.”

  “Maybe I should educate you as to the difference.” A wave of energy surged through the young witch, unraveling her hair and letting it fall loose where it began to glow as if aflame. She held up a hand, and a ball of fire appeared above it.

  If the shirtless man was alarmed, he gave no indication. “And here I was hoping it would be a mushroom.”

  “Pretend it is,” she replied. “Just like you’re pretending to lead your people to a new future when all you’re marching them toward is their destruction.”

  “I see my reputation precedes me.” The man bowed before her, the impish grin never leaving his face.

  It infuriated the witch, partly because she could imagine all the girls who’d probably fallen for his charm. Weak-minded fools. Not her, though. “It’s a reputation that could easily get you killed.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I don’t have any plans for tomorrow.” He looked up longingly at the full moon, bathed as he was in the glow still emanating from the glade. “Tonight, however, I’m all booked up.”

  “Oh? Am I keeping you from humping someone’s leg?”

  “Close. I have to teach a spoiled little brat a lesson she’ll never forget, assuming I actually let her walk away.”

  “I’ll do more than walk, wolf.” The ball of flame above Lissa’s fingers grew in intensity, changing color from orange to blue. “Maybe I’ll find a nice spot in my bedroom for your pelt. I could use a new throw rug.”

  “First humping and now your bedroom?” he replied with a wink. “Who would have
thought the princess of buttercups would be such a flirt?”

  She gritted her teeth. “Monarchs.”

  “As you wish.” He smiled at her and his teeth became noticeably longer. “Pity for you I’m more Dread Pirate Roberts than Westley.”

  “Who?”

  A look akin to horror appeared on his face. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “About what?” she asked.

  “You mean you’ve never seen...?” He trailed off, glanced at the moon again, then turned back toward her. “What? Were you raised in a closet under the stairs? No. On second thought, don’t answer that.”

  “Are you finished?”

  “Sorry, but that’s a serious mind-blower to me. I mean, I was just going to kill you, but now I’m wondering if I should take you to a movie first so you don’t die culturally bereft. Seems the least I can do.”

  The witch made a derisive sound. “Nice try, but the only date you’re getting is with your destiny.”

  “Ooh, more clever than I gave you credit for, princess.” He blinked and his eyes turned yellow. “Still, I think you’re right. An evening like this is made for destiny. What do you say? Shall we see whose ends here tonight?”

  For a moment, the two stared at each other, neither moving a muscle in the reddish glow of the enchanted glade.

  “So be it.” The witch unleashed the stored energy of her spell in his direction, but in her haste, she telegraphed the attack.

  At the last second, her would-be target dodged out of the way, his muscles already rippling with the change, growing larger with each step.

  He leapt at her, claws at the ready, but in the blink of an eye she brought up a defensive shield to ward off his strike. The werewolf hit it, bounced off, then skidded to a halt facing her.

  The first blows struck and rebuffed, the future queen and alpha circled each other in the center of the clearing, power from the interrupted ritual surging around them.

  With magic crackling off her fingertips and a snarl on his lips, they came at each other again – both intent on finishing their respective foe there and then.

  What they didn’t realize was that they were only partially correct. Destiny was about to change, but it wouldn’t be for just one of them. It would be for both, and in a way neither would have ever guessed.

  All things were possible beneath a blood moon, and that was especially true when it came to the extraordinary.

  CHAPTER 1

  Present Day

  I lay staring at the ceiling, listening with dread to the horrific ruckus which drifted through the walls, wishing it would stop.

  Cries for mercy which were ignored; the slap of flesh striking flesh; a low, desperate grunting which gradually gave way to something akin to a snarl – as if a wild animal had been let loose into the fray.

  After a while, I tore my gaze away from the ceiling, its white exterior – the color of innocence – a mockery of what I knew to be happening just down the hall. I turned toward Riva, my oldest friend. Her brown eyes were open wide like mine, as if refusing to believe this was happening.

  But it was.

  Again I prayed for it to end, for blissful silence to return, so that I could fool myself into thinking that I was just hearing things – that none of this was real.

  Yet still the torment continued, ceaseless in its fury.

  How much of this punishment could they take?

  It was a question I didn’t want answered. Not now. Not ever.

  Sadly, it seemed fate was not in a merciful mood this evening. No reprieve was offered. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The snarling became louder, more pronounced. There came a crash from somewhere close by, and it was as if the whole structure shook.

  Something tumbled off the shelf next to my head and clattered to the floor. It was the trophy I’d won a year earlier – second place in the Pennsylvania state wrestling finals. So close to grabbing the top prize, yet forever out of my reach.

  It landed on the carpet with a heavy thud, and I looked down to find that one of the metallic laurel wreaths adorning it had snapped off.

  Son of a...

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” I jumped to my feet and began pounding on the wall, making almost as much of a racket as was already going on. “There are kids trying to sleep in here, you know!” I turned again to Riva, the grin on her face making me want to pop her one. “My parents are so freaking twisted.”

  “Are you kidding? This is great.” She sat up and muted the TV, upon which The Howling played unwatched. “I only hope my S.O. has this much stamina when I’m their age.”

  “Ugh! It’s bad enough that those two are going at it like rabbits. I don’t need for you to be their cheering section, too.”

  “Aww, what’s the matter?” Her voice took on a childish tone. “Does widdle Tam-Tam need to have a talk about the birds and the bees?”

  I glared daggers at her. To everyone else I was Tamara Bentley – Bent to a few close friends. Riva had been the one to pin that particular nickname on me, back in third grade before either of us realized it had a somewhat salacious undertone. Regardless, my father was the only one allowed to call me Tam-Tam, a holdover from my toddler days. At least, he was the only one who called me that and still kept their teeth.

  Riva, however, simply smiled back with the smug look of one certain of their immunity from the righteous beating they deserved by virtue of their status as best friend.

  I flopped back down onto my bed and covered my face with a pillow, wishing to smother myself just enough for sweet unconsciousness to take hold. A small part of me couldn’t wait to get back to college ... and the somewhat more sympathetic friends I had waiting for me there.

  Riva pulled the pillow off and tossed it to the foot of the bed. “Stop being such a prude, Bent. I seem to recall a certain someone who went camping last summer with a boy named Kevin, where they proceeded to...”

  “Kevin aka the minute man, you mean? Pretty sure there’s no comparison to whatever’s going on in there.” I hooked a thumb toward the wall. My parents’ bedroom was actually two doors down, which made it even more insane. Thank goodness for my dad’s office in between because I couldn’t even imagine how crazy it would sound if we were right next door.

  “Guess that’s why rat boy moved down into the basement,” she said, referring to Chris, my obnoxious eleven-year old brother.

  Truth be told, I was beginning to think the little prick had the right idea. Hell must’ve frozen over. Who’d have thought I’d ever consider him the smart one? “I’m pretty sure it was so he could jerk off to his comic books without interruption.”

  That got Riva laughing.

  “Seriously, you couldn’t pay me to go down there without a bucket of hand sanitizer.”

  The pounding against the walls was replaced by the squeak of a bedframe being pushed to its limits.

  “Guess it runs in the family,” she replied with a chuckle.

  “Who knows? There is that whole nature vs. nurture argument.”

  Chris was adopted, brought over as a baby from Vietnam. Normally, that might make for a beautiful Hallmark moment, but the little skeeve was spoiled rotten and usually in desperate need of an ass-kicking.

  Even so, I couldn’t deny he’d been wise in wanting to escape from our parents turning their bedroom into the Bang Bus at least once a week. Still, if there was any justice in this vast universe of ours, the sound was carrying down to him via the heating ducts. If one of us had to suffer, then all of us did.

  Riva chuckled as the sounds became faster, more urgent. She’d slept over many a night in years past, and this wasn’t the first time my parents had mistakenly assumed the upstairs was even remotely soundproof.

  Don’t get me wrong, I would never begrudge them a healthy sex life, gross as that might be, but there were times when their antics got a bit out of hand.

  The snarling coming from my parents’ room became higher-pitched, until suddenly it became almost a howl. “What the fuck?” />
  “Hot damn!” Riva was definitely enjoying this way too much. “Your folks are seriously kinky.”

  The howl rose until it almost sounded as if it were in the same room as us. Then, just as abruptly, it cut off, along with everything else going on down the hall.

  “And the show’s over.” Riva looked down at her phone. “I really should have timed them. That was, what, half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes? I’m surprised your mom can still walk.”

  “Seriously,” I replied, still in shock. “What the fuck?”

  She let out a bark of laughter. “Beats me. Maybe it’s a full moon or something.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Riva was awake and presumably already downstairs when I cracked my eyes open to the sound of my mother shouting from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Tamara! Let’s go. I made eggs. Get down here before your brother eats them all.”

  She sounded way too chipper for my personal edification. But hey, I guess there’d been nobody to interrupt her sleep. Me, it took a while after the festivities died down before I was able to drift off. The horror of what I’d heard kept replaying in my head.

  This summer couldn’t end fast enough.

  I loved my parents, but back at school I at least had the option of finding whoever was performing midnight acrobatics on my floor and threatening to feed them my fist if they didn’t quiet down.

  I hopped out of bed, tossed on a pair of sweatpants, then grudgingly made my way downstairs. As much as I wanted to snap at the first person I saw, I had to admit the smell wafting up from the kitchen perked me up a bit. Go figure. Mom was a freak in bed and a damned good cook. I guess I could see why Dad had married her.

  I entered the kitchen just as my brother was stepping up to the stove, where the last three eggs waited in the frying pan. “Touch them and die.”