Starfall

Book 3: Darkborn Legacy

by Michael Griffo

Genres: Young Adult

Synopsis

In the newest book in Michael Griffo's mesmerizing Darkborn Legacy series, a small Nebraska town becomes a battleground in a fight between light and dark--and one girl must look to the stars to reclaim her life. . . Dominy Robineau will never be just a girl again. At sixteen, a curse awakened the animal inside, and now every full moon transforms her into a creature of terrifying power. But she is not alone. Dom's enemy, Nadine--a descendant of Orion, the Hunter--won't hesitate to kill to increase her strength. There's a new arrival in town too, and shifting alliances that will bring even more secrecy, mystery, and death to Weeping Water. Dom's relationship with her boyfriend Caleb, her connection to her best friend Jess, and everything she believes about her family and her past is about to be put to the test. The only way to keep herself and those she loves alive is to strike a bargain that may destroy the last shreds of her humanity. . . "A compelling werewolf story." -- Booklist on Moonglow

Release date: May 1, 2014

Publisher: Kensington Teen

Print pages: 384

Sample

Something is coming.

I know it. I feel it. I feel it as strongly as I feel the transformation that is beginning to take over me. The knowledge is in my bones and in my thoughts and in my soul. It doesn’t have a name, but I know that something is coming that will change all the rules yet again. Everything that I’ve learned, everything that I’ve grown to accept and understand and hate about myself is going to be erased, because the world around me is on the verge of an evolution. Whatever this thing is, when it comes I’m going to have to forget everything and learn how to be something new, learn how to be something else. But all that will have to wait because right now I have to give in to the full moon looming over my head, the full moon that is ripe and silver and commanding. The time has come for Dominy to disappear and for the wolf to take her place.

After all this time, after all these countless transformations, I’m still fascinated with the moon. In these last moments right before the change, I’m still compelled to look up, marvel at how something so ignored, so common, so insignificant in the sky can cause such frenzy down here on the ground. The moon is so far away and yet it’s so close; it’s buried underneath my skin, tethered to my soul, joined to me with a lock that has no key. I am the moon and the moon is me. And after all this time I’m still finding out new things about myself just by lifting up my head.

My breath catches in my throat instead of releasing itself into the warm night air because it doesn’t want to leave me. It knows that despite everything I say and everything that I tell my friends, I’m still afraid of these transformations, and now when I look up at the moon, I’m more frightened than I’ve ever been before because I can see my true self.

Looking into the face of the moon, I see a face that is cold and empty and filled with darkness, and I feel as if I’m looking into a mirror. I shudder because I don’t want to be like the moon and yet I know that’s the truth; that is what I am. The only reason I can be seen now is because I reflect the light; I’m being shined on by other forces. The moon and I have no light of our own; we are both born of darkness.

Was my life before turning into a werewolf nothing more than an illusion? Was it something that was only mine to borrow, to be returned when the moonclock started ticking? Was my goodness before the curse kicked in just on loan? If that’s the truth, then that’s the cruelest trick of all, crueler than anything Luba could ever conjure up, because now that it’s gone, now that the goodness and the light have been ripped from me, the only thing I’m left with is the memory of how precious they really are. And the realization that sin, like Luba, will never be that far from me.

All I have to do to find proof is look to the left. It’s there floating in the sky next to the moon, Orion’s three stars staring down at me like three angry eyes. Luba, Nadine, and her unborn child. The first two stars shine bright, their light overpowering, overwhelming, while the third star—the one that used to belong to Napoleon before Nadine killed him—is dim. For the moment this third star is as empty as I am, but it won’t stay that way for long; soon it will be filled, brimming with evil, and together the three stars, and the three witches, will be more powerful than ever before.

Maybe that’s what’s coming. The arrival of Nadine’s baby will change everything, make my life even more miserable than it’s already become. Is that even possible? Could things actually get worse? My laughter decimates the sounds of the night until it’s all that I can hear, and I know that the answer is yes; things can always get worse.

In response to my laughter that ripples through the darkness the third star twinkles; its already faint light trembles, then disappears quietly, the same way Napoleon died. I can’t stop my laughter even though I know it’s incredibly inappropriate, even though my body is burning and breaking and barely recognizable. I just hope that Napoleon understands I’m not laughing at him or at his death, I’m laughing because I’m aware that, no matter where I turn, death is a heartbeat away, and I don’t have the strength to cry. I don’t have any strength at all at the moment because the wolf is taking it from me. Along with my voice.

A familiar howl escapes from my still-human lips that is part groan, part shriek, a sound that I’ve grown accustomed to because, as unnatural as it is, it’s mine. The echo rams into my ears even as I begin to shrink inward, even as I’m being pulled from the world so the wolf can emerge victorious, and the echoing howl stays with me long after the girl has ceased to exist. Underneath the thick mane of fur, inside the belly of this ferocious animal whose claws and fangs crave destruction and domination, I can still hear my voice, because no matter how hard I try, no matter how hard I want to, I cannot fully disappear. I’m still here.

The wolf and I are no longer separate entities; we’re fusing together to become something new like when water and dirt combine to form mud. It didn’t happen immediately; for a long time one controlled while the other waited, a stagnant pool of water resting within a mound of dirt. But slowly both sides began to shift, to weaken; water flowed into dirt and dirt burrowed into water to create something new, something that could only be born from the two original elements.

When the transformations first started to take place, the wolf took over completely because the girl was frightened and the beast was stronger. Then as the girl understood what was happening and realized she couldn’t stop it, she bartered for her salvation; she agreed to swap places with the wolf, allow him to come alive to feed and hunt, and the wolf agreed to retreat once his primitive hunger was satisfied. But now the wolf and the girl are entering a new phase where boundaries are blurred, and they’re being molded together to create a new being, a creature who shares qualities of them both. It’s not what I want; I want there to be a clear separation, but I don’t have a choice. Like I have no choice now but to feed.

The thing that we’ve become spies the raccoon, just a few hundred yards away, sleeping or resting or waiting to be devoured. The urge to feed can’t be resisted because if I do I’ll bring this unstoppable hunger with me to my human self when the full moon fades away. But strangely I have no desire to resist, to stomp out this all-consuming hunger; I only want to give in to it. The new me wants to pierce the raccoon’s flesh with my fangs that are wet with saliva; the new me wants to taste this inferior animal’s raw flesh. The new me wants to feed. And so the new me does.

Leaping into the silent air, this new thing that I’ve become invades the tranquility of the night and lands inches from the petrified prey. Before it can move or cry out, my front paws have grabbed it by its neck and back and my fangs have snuggled deep into its stomach. The raccoon writhes valiantly, but since my paw has crushed its throat it isn’t making a sound; to an unsuspecting eye it could appear that the raccoon is being tickled instead of eaten. The world is so easily fooled. The world maybe, but not a mother.

I look up, a thick string of blood connecting me to my feast, and see the raccoon’s mother staring at me. Her eyes are vacant; they aren’t judging me; they aren’t pleading with me; they have been ripped of all feeling because she knows no emotion will change the fact that her child is lost to her forever. Her quiet acceptance makes me think of my own parents.

Crouched on all fours, my snout stained with the remnants of my kill, I pause as human memories fill my mind. I think of my father, who knew from a very young age that he would ultimately lose his firstborn to the clutches of this preordained curse. I think of my mother, who knows that she has lost her children forever, but is still dreaming of a reunion that will never take place. Deep in their hearts burns the agonizing acceptance of their fate. I’ve placed the same fate on the head of this raccoon staring at me. Despite everything that I know, I’m letting the cycle continue.

Resigned, the dead raccoon’s mother bows her head—perhaps in prayer? Do animals pray?—and slinks into the night, swallowed up by the shadows, and I want to follow her. I want to peel back that curtain of darkness and let it envelop me so I can remain there until the sun returns. But this new me won’t allow it. The wolf can’t take over or let me borrow its strength. The girl can’t retreat into nothingness until the dawn breaks no matter how desperately she wants to, no matter how desperately afraid she is. And there is so much to be afraid of; there is so much to fear. Especially now that the something I’ve been waiting for is getting closer.

Instinctively, I crouch lower, my belly pressing into the earth, and growl. The wolf may have abandoned me, but its skills are now mine; I know how to act when I may have to strike back and defend myself. I know how to kill.

My neck swings heavily to the left, then the right, looking for an intruder, a visitor, a new arrival, but I don’t see anything. I hear a noise, and for a second I think that I’ll see Louis and Barnaby leading the rest of the town vigilantes coming to hunt me down. But could that be? I thought they had both given up their quest and realized their zealousness was nothing more than panic and they were behaving like members of a foolish mob. How could the killer be linked to the full moon? It’s insanity. At least that’s what Luba and Melinda want the two of them to think. But perhaps Louis is coming out of the fog that he was under just as Barnaby has and they have come to the only logical conclusion, regardless of how absurd it sounds: The Full Moon Killer is real and worthy of its name.

And then I see it. So small, so inconsequential that I almost miss it. A spark of light, nothing more, demands my attention, and instantly I realize that the danger isn’t coming from the earth, but from the sky. Orion’s constellation has shifted, and where there were three stars, there are now only two. But the third star hasn’t disappeared; it hasn’t imploded or faded into the black landscape of the night; it’s falling.

I don’t know if Orion has released its grip on the star or if the star has turned its back on its creator; I only know that it’s about to plummet to the earth. And even this new me, this fusion of wolf and girl, knows that can’t possibly be a good thing.

Backing up, my paws dig into the ground and gouge the earth, restlessness turning quickly to anger. This cannot be it! This cannot be how I’m going to die! Not after everything that I’ve overcome, not after everything that my friends and I have confronted and defeated and survived. I refuse to believe that I’ll be destroyed by a falling star! When I hear the buzzing, I know that I’m right. It was a trick; a star hasn’t fallen to the earth; a swarm of bees has come alive.

I hear the bees before I can see them. The buzz, buzz, buzzing sound is soft, comforting, like a mother’s lullaby, but quickly it turns violent. The gentle mother is gone and replaced with something vicious, something that wants to destroy, something wolf-like.

“Jess!”

Her name slams against the buzzing, part-growl, part-yell, and splinters in every direction. Jess will come; she will save me like she always does; I know she will.

Then where is she?!

“Jess!!!”

The noise sounds nothing like her name, but I know Jess will recognize it anyway because it’s coming from me. But why is the night not interrupted by a golden light? Why isn’t the hot August breeze laced with the smell of cherry blossoms? Why isn’t she coming?!

“JESS!!!”

All I see is the black funnel flying toward me, its sound now deafening and filled with murderous determination. I can’t wait for Jess any longer, I can’t wait to be saved, I have to save myself so instinctively my body whips around and I run blindly into the darkness. I picked this place to transform because it was hidden, tucked away in the bowels of the forest and populated with a large cluster of thick trees, perfect for camouflage, but difficult for escape.

This isn’t like the last time I was chased by a swarm of bees. That was a dream; this is real. Then, salvation came when I woke up; now, with my eyes wide open, salvation is nowhere to be found. Running wildly I can feel my body scrape against the trunks of the trees, causing pieces of their bark to be ripped off and fly into the air. I run for a few feet in one direction, but then have to veer off into the other to avoid crashing into a massive rock, and then back to my original direction to avoid getting tangled within the gnarled roots that have grown so immense that the ground can no longer cover them completely. No matter which way I run, there are obstacles preventing me from sprinting to safety, but is there such a place? What place can possibly offer a wolf-girl protection that a bee can’t penetrate?

The buzzing is getting louder and it sounds like someone is pulling the cord on a chainsaw directly behind me. My thick red fur billows from a combination of wind and fear, and I honestly don’t know which is stronger. Why hadn’t a star fallen to earth? At least then I wouldn’t be the only one in danger; I’d have company. When I run through a puddle, the water so cool against the burning, calloused flesh of my paw, I know that although I am alone, salvation has finally arrived.

Inhaling deeply I can smell the scent of fresh water on the breeze, and I turn sharply to the right. I hope I’m going in the right direction, but I don’t have time to contemplate; body trumps mind, and I must keep moving.

The trees finally give way to a clearing, and I can see Weeping Water River less than a mile away beyond a stretch of flat, open land. I fight the urge to turn around and see how close my enemy is, but before temptation grows too strong I see out of the corner of my eye that several bees are flying ahead of the swarm. They may be leaders who have moved forward, waiting for the precise moment to give the order to strike, or they may be rogue bees so anxious to taste wolf flesh that they’ve broken free from the swarm, but whatever they are my response has to be the same; I need to run faster. Need to reach the river now!

The buzzing is so relentless and strong it feels as if it’s taking up residence inside my brain. Involuntarily, I shake my head to loosen its hold, but it’s a stupid thing to do because it only slows me down and gets me off balance so I collide right into the stinger of one of the wayward bees.

The pain is slight and oddly comforting because it’s confirmation that this isn’t a normal bee. I see a stream of silver light trailing from my body, and I know these bees are connected to Orion, his constellation and his intention. A star might not have fallen, but these bees have come from the heavens to kill me.

I have no choice. I have no other chance, so I take one deep breath and plunge into the river. The cold water is shocking and heavy and divisive; it’s making the wolf come back alive and the girl drown. Wrestling with each other, the wolf and the girl struggle to get control, but what does it matter? If the wolf wins he and the girl will break through the surface of the water and into the waiting, angry swarm. If the girl wins she’ll force them both to stay underneath the water until their breath abandons their body and they drown. Either way the outcome is the same: They’re going to die.

Looking up through the opaque, gurgling surface of the water, I see that the swarm is relentless; it isn’t moving, but something about its shape has changed. It’s parted; it’s created an opening in its center to make way for something, the queen bee perhaps? The true leader of the swarm, the bee that will wait until the thing below can no longer hold its breath and gives in to the natural desire to breathe? No, the swarm has separated because something stronger has entered the pulsating crowd—a butterfly.

Less than an inch below the water, I can see the black mass of the swarm, but it’s as if they’re miles away; there’s only one thing taking up my vision: this beautiful butterfly. Its delicate wings are golden yellow, a flutter of sunlight amidst the dark night, and I know that this butterfly isn’t real; it’s a sign. A combination of Jess and Napoleon, my best friend and the grandson of my enemy, come together to offer me a way out. No! That isn’t it! They’ve come together to remind me that I can get out of this on my own.

I may not have my own light, my own spirit may have been ripped from me, but I have Jess’s light within me. She cut open my human flesh and poured some of her own golden magic into me so I would always carry her within me, so no matter where the journey of my life would bring me, I would never have to travel—or fight—alone.

Following pure instinct I open my mouth under the water, but the wolf is frightened; the wolf doesn’t understand that Jess is going to help us, and he shuts his mouth tight. I can feel the water around me ripple and undulate, and it takes me a moment to realize that I’m causing the movement. My body is shaking violently because my paws are clutching at my snout, trying to open my mouth, and the wolf is fighting me.

A knife-sharp fingernail separates my lips and cuts my tongue. Blood seeps out of my mouth, and I watch the water around me change; streams of crimson liquid loop and dance and swirl around me as if firelight has ignited underwater. My eyes are entertained, so my body can take action.

Finally my paws rip open my mouth with such force I think I may see my severed snout floating amidst the bloodstained water. Instead I see a golden light, a light that emanates from deep within me, from my soul, impale the water. It cuts jaggedly through the swarm of bees, causing them to scatter, and then the light bursts open triumphantly, like the first light of a newborn star, to blind the bees. They don’t know what’s happening; they don’t know if the yellow light is friend or foe, but they don’t wait around to find out. Immediately, cowardly, they retreat back into the sky where they came from.

On the banks of the river I pant and gasp while air swirls around and inside me and I am grateful that my paws are touching dry land. The butterfly’s wing flaps next to my ear, its gentle breeze like a tidal wave of love. I bow my head to it in an offering of thanks, and when I look up it’s gone; the only remnant of its existence is a cluster of leaves still fluttering on a branch high above me and the vision of its beauty engraved onto my memory. Turning to the right I see the last of the black swarm disappear and fold into the dark, bleak sky, but when it vanishes completely, I don’t celebrate; instead I beg God to bring it back because in its place is something even more frightening: Nadine.

The werewolf and the witch stare at each other, two cursed creatures forever joined at the soul. Similar and yet so very different. I know that with my wet, matted fur and shaking limbs I must look bedraggled and weak, while Nadine with her curved belly filled with both promise and danger looks commanding and strong. Roughly I shake the water that’s still clinging to me off of my body in an attempt to appear aggressive, but Nadine only smiles. Until she opens her mouth to scream.

“It’s here!”

Her voice is voluminous, and just like the roar of thunder, it produces silence. It takes the earth a moment to respond, but when it does, even though the reply is soft, it is even more dangerous. The snap of a branch, the click of metal. Slowly, I crane my neck around and see Officer Gallegos staring at me, a thick stream of sweat dripping down the left side of his face, introducing a pungent, musky scent into the humid August night. Louis and Barnaby may have given up the quest to find the Full Moon Killer—I really can’t be certain—but there’s no doubt that Gallegos is still on the prowl. He may be acting alone or within a larger group, whatever it is I can’t speculate about that now because I’m under attack. His one knee is bent and pressing into the ground; his right arm is extended straight out so that the gun in his hand, pointing at my body, can be as close to me as possible. I don’t know if he’s under Nadine’s spell, if he’s a witch, or if he’s just a cop hunting down a killer, but I don’t have time to figure it out, because without blinking, without his body flinching, he pulls the trigger.

Springing low and to the right into empty space, I feel the bullet whip past the crown of my head. It feels the same as the butterfly’s wings did; how amazing that beauty and death are so alike, almost as if they are one and the same. If Gallegos has his way, they will be.

I don’t have to turn around to know that he is up and running toward me; I can hear the grass bending underneath his pounding feet. He shoots again, once more. Both bullets are wild shots and don’t land anywhere near me, but he isn’t giving up, and once he controls the adrenalin racing through his veins, he’ll shoot with more accuracy. I can’t wait for that to happen. Unfortunately, I may not have the chance to prevent it.

Just as I see that the ground is about to dip, I extend my front paws, but instead of slamming into dirt, I slam into air. For a few seconds I’m flying, graceful and disconnected from everything around me, but without warning I’m tumbling down an unexpected hill, rocks and twigs and unruly mounds of earth assaulting my body, making me twist and turn in all directions. The sharp edge of a protruding rock slashes into my back, and I look up to see Gallegos lying facedown on the wind, falling a few inches above me. His face is not contorted by surprise, but by a serene mask of hate.

Even in midair his gun is pointed at me; he might have lost his footing, but not his determination. I watch his finger pull back on the trigger once again. I hear the click of the gun, and I brace myself for impact.

My mind races, the mind that’s being shared by both the wolf and the girl, and I realize that in the morning my secret will finally be out; everyone will know that Dominy Robineau is the Full Moon Killer; everyone will know that monsters are real. I don’t know if I feel more sorry for myself or for them. But there is no bullet; there is no invasion into my body; the gun barrel is empty. The only impact is when my back crashes into the rocky earth and Gallegos’s body smashes on top of mine.

When the blurred image comes into focus, it isn’t Gallegos’s face I see inches from my own, but Nadine’s triumphant smile peering down at me from the top of the hill. One hand rubbing the orb that is her belly, the other waving at me in a perfect imitation of a friendly greeting, her actions proof that she is a sick, twisted girl. Growling and shrieking at the same time, I want to jump up and strike her with my claws, slice the smile off of her face with my fangs, but I can’t move because the dead weight of Gallegos’s body is pinning me to the ground.

Just as I begin to shove him off of me, his eyes flicker. Recognition gives way to terror, but in seconds both are overcome by purpose. Glaring into my blue-gray eyes, Gallegos raises the gun over his head; it may be empty, but it’s still a deadly weapon. Good thing that so am I.

His blood tastes like mercy, a gift for the agony I’ve lived through tonight and these past few years, and I want the sweet, red liquid to fill me up until it spills out of me. If Nadine weren’t staring down at me, gleeful at the prospect that I could so easily and so joyfully kill, I might do just that, but I can’t let her win. She and Luba have already taken too much from me.

Howling madly I shove Gallegos’s writhing body off of me and watch him roll several times before stopping. I can hear his heart beating and his panting breath from where I am, so I know that he’s bruised, but alive. Just like me.

I look up expecting to see Nadine watching the scene with disgust, but she’s gone. Makes sense since the entertainment is over; why should she stay any longer? And what would I do if she were there anyway? Now that my mind is free from the bloodlust, I know that I can’t kill her while she’s carrying a child; I can’t be that much of a savage. Can I?

Gallegos’s body starts to move, and I know that in a few moments he’ll be awake, consumed with conviction, and ready to strike again, ready to win this fight against me. But I’ve had enough fighting and adventure and surprise for one night. It’s time for me to return to the safety of the woods, back to the shadows where I belong. Where I can be alone in the darkness to wait for this thing that I know is coming. This thing that I know will change not only my world forever, but the world of everyone around me.

Where is the sun?

Lying in my bed it’s like I’m still shrouded in the bushes, still blanketed in a smooth sheet of blackness; I still feel like the wolf. Glancing at my arms I see skin and not fur, so I know I’ve changed back, but why do I feel like a full moon continues to hang in the night sky? Outside the wind gets a little rowdy, and in response the window rattles just enough to get my attention. On the other side of the glass the sun is shining; I can see its rays, a collection of yellows, reaching out in every direction except in mine. It reminds me of Jess.

Where was she last night when I needed her? I cried out for her, and she ignored me, and it isn’t like she even has to hear me shout her name for her to know that I’m in trouble; she can read my mind. That is if she wants to. Maybe she has better things to do than always rush to my side when I’m in trouble and need her help, which I have to admit is starting to become more and more often. Maybe I’m wrong; maybe something isn’t coming; maybe something is ending.

No! I can’t imagine a world without Jess. I know that most everyone else has accepted that she’s gone, including her family. Why should I think I’m so special that I should be able to keep her around long after she died?

Because remember, Dominy, you are special.

Possibly. Not better than anyone, but I guess this thing I become once a month does make me special. Then again continuing to see Jess after her death could be my penance. Maybe she’s remained in my life because I’m the one who killed her. Let me get used to feeling I defied the odds and that our friendship, our connection will last for eternity, so our inevitable separation will be that much harder to handle. Because when I desperately needed my friend, she stood me up.

I fling the covers off of me and jump out of bed. Of course, when I try to shove my feet into my fluffy fake-fur red slippers (a fun and very unsubtle Christmas gift from Arla), my feet flatten out the heels, so I have to bend down to run my finger along the length of the inside of the slippers so it doesn’t feel like I’m wearing clogs, which for some stupid reason totally annoys me. Oh yes it’s going to be one of those mornings when everything gets on my nerves. Like looking outside to find out that it’s going to be a beautiful, sunny day.

The sun wants to pour into my bedroom; it’s aching to cover me in its golden glow, but the curtains are drawn, and the thin pink cloth is a barrier against the majestic star’s yearning. Reaching up I grab the curtains and then stop myself from ripping them from the rod, because I’m reminded of my parents. These are the curtains I had in my old bedroom, almost the same shade as the color of the paint on the old walls, This Little Piggy. When I moved here into Louis’s house, I needed something reminiscent of my old home and my past so I put up these curtains as a reminder. Since then I’ve conjured up a fantasy that my mother had picked them out special for me and my father watched her string the curtain rod into the hole at the top of the material while he painted my room. Who knows? It could be an accurate recollection of the past, my parents as a young couple setting up their firstborn’s nursery. Their firstborn child who bore the brunt of Luba’s curse.

Well, even though that child has grown up, and may still need to be comforted by things from her past, she also knows how to live in the present. Pushing the curtains to the side, I brace myself for the onslaught of sunshine, and I’m not disappointed. The light and heat and smell of the sun wrap themselves around me like an old friend. I close my eyes and get lost in the embrace, allowing myself to give in to the familiarity and accept its goodness. This is what an old truck must feel like when it pulls up to a gas station; it knows it’s going to be rejuvenated. But, unfortunately, the feeling doesn’t last very long.

The central air conditioning in the house is doing its job against the oppressive August heat. So while the sunlight remains in the room, its rays reaching out to dance on the ceiling, lounge on my unmade bed, and stretch to the far side of the room to shine some light onto my collection of stuffed animals, the heat and smell of the sun are quickly overtaken by the man-made power of the AC. Even here in my bedroom, sunshine cannot win.

I shake my head and feel the material of the curtains become twisted in my clenched fists because everything in my life really does venture back to