Moonlit Sin (Tangled in Darkness Book Two)

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

“Just a minute!” I bellow.

I snag my bra off the back of the sofa, slingshot it into the bedroom, and slam the door shut. Then I do a frantic spin, scanning the tiny apartment for anything else deemed “unacceptable” by some people’s standards.

Nope. Scratch that—everyone’s standards.

My eyes slide over to the kitchenette, and I cringe. I’m not entirely sure how a kitchen without a stove could get this bad. In a stroke of genius, I snatch a stained dish towel from the counter and artfully drape it over the leaning tower of crusty plates.

“If they really wanted this place to be spotless, they should have equipped it with a dishwasher,” I huff, smoothing the towel over the wobbly porcelain. “...and a maid.”

I plaster on a winning smile and throw the door open. “Hey, Vi! What brings you to my corner of the pack house on this fine day?”

But it appears my plaster has far too many cracks. Violet already isn’t buying what I’m selling.

“I have news.” Her smile wilts a little more with every step as she ventures deeper into my lair. “The crafting cabin is a madhouse. The pups are doing science projects, and they’re short-staffed. Most of the helpers will be at the training demonstration today, so they could really use some help.”

I don’t like the direction this conversation is going. Me? Around impressionable children and flammable materials?

“I don’t know, Vi… that sounds like a class-action lawsuit waiting to happen.”

She waves a hand dismissively, her eyes tracking a fruit fly. “It’s just a solar system project, and you’ll probably just be a go-fer anyway. They barely need supervision as it is, and they’re especially good during crafting time.”

But who’s going to supervise me?

While I work on mounting a proper argument, Violet completes the three-step journey to the sink, most likely led by that damn fruit fly. In the world’s worst magic trick, she yanks the dish towel away, revealing a mountain that is in no way, shape, or form magical.

“And what,” she asks, her nose wrinkling at the fermentation process happening before her eyes, “is this?”

I snatch the dish towel from her hand and re-hide my shame. “Science!” I reply, securing the towel to the edge of the sink with my hip. Something pokes me, and I do my best to ignore the sensation. “It’s a growth study. Very cutting-edge stuff. It’s all the rage.”

Violet snorts, and her scary-ass eyes flare brighter with amusement. “Yeah, okay. Just clean it up before someone else sees it and condemns this entire wing. Luca is still traumatized over the paper towel cramming incident, but if I have to, I will recruit him.”

“Don’t threaten me with help,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And for your information, I was giving the man a purpose, other than you. He should thank me for giving him something that actually required cleaning. Besides, Mason saw the worst of it the other day. This is practically showroom quality right now. He’ll be mildly pleased.”

“Wait—it was worse?! Erica, if you get booted, I’m going with you,” she warns, crossing her arms, “and I actually like it here. I feel like I’m finally in my element.”

“And that’s why they’ll keep me,” I say, pointing in her direction as I back into the bedroom. “They need you, and I happen to be your emotional support baggage. They know the repercussions.” The door stays cracked just enough to keep her in sight while I strip. “Do I need to bring anything? Goggles? A hazmat suit? The fire department?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake—” Her voice is suddenly very loud.

“Ah! Boundaries!” I yelp, doing an awesome spin-jump. I immediately begin herding her out with an armful of laundry. “I’ll be just a minute! Go! Shoo! Skedaddle!”

“Erica!” She plants her feet, rooting herself in the threshold. “How on Earth did it get this bad? You’ve only been here for a week!”

“Living out of boxes is an art form, apparently,” I sniff lamely.

If she thinks this is bad, she really doesn’t want to check the closet.

“I haven’t gotten around to unpacking since I’ve been so busy looking for ways to help out. I can’t do ‘idle,’ Vi. You know that.”

“We’re not getting anywhere with this,” she breathes. “You’ll be helping with the pups until further notice. I’ll get it set up for you. Tonight, you can start cleaning. Please? For me?” She gives me those glowing puppy-dog eyes. They’re not as effective as they were before all the glow, but I won’t tell her that. She’s still the same Violet, more or less. Definitely less, but I love her anyway.

“Fine,” I groan. “Now scram so I can put on some pants. Just because you’re a nudist nowadays doesn’t mean that I am.”

“Why not? You’ve got the body for it,” she says with a chuckle, finally leaving the room.

I shake my head, locking the bedroom door. These tiny apartments are basically halfway houses for us in-betweeners until more cabins open up. Yep—a highly supervised, supportive, and sober environment. Meaning, there’s absolutely zilch to do. That’s how I got into this mess in the first place. I need to distribute the garbage evenly. I cannot be contained.

After setting the world record for fastest dresser, I step back out into the miniature living room to find Violet hanging out by the sink. She’s obviously trying to satisfy a morbid curiosity as her hand hovers over the dish towel.

“All set!” I shout at her back.

Violet nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Dammit, Erica!” She spins around, clutching her chest. “You know I scare easily!”

My smile widens.

“C’mon, I’ll head over there with you now. Harold wants me to meet him at the training cabin today, and it’s just down the path.”

My face falls. I can’t help it. “You’re not joining me today?”

“We’ll do lunch,” she promises, ushering me out. “Wait—actually, no.”

She gives me a sheepish look, a slight blush painting her cheeks.

“Sorry. Harold is having lunch brought to us today. He plans for the demonstration to be messy. Ari is one of the trainers, so I imagine we’ll be holding him together with tape and a prayer by the end of it.”

Great. Another day without a friendly face.

Aside from Violet and Ari, my only friend now lives under a dish towel. My last attempt at socializing ended in the Great Medical Wing Fiasco of Day Two. Turns out, werewolves don’t have a great sense of humor, and they definitely don’t appreciate “that’s what she said” jokes when they’re getting their junk poked during a physical. Needless to say, Harold won’t let me help him anymore, and that’s where Vi is when she’s not with Luca. It’s not my fault I have terminal foot-in-mouth syndrome, for which there is no cure. Harold’s a doctor. He should be more understanding.

And even after all that, they’re leaving me alone with children?

Oh well. At least I’ll have company. How bad can a few kids with some paint be?

Famous. Last. Words.

An hour later, I’m standing in the epicenter of a crafting disaster. It’s not just messy; it’s atmospheric. A thick, iridescent glitter cloud is permanently suspended in the air while three volcanoes hemorrhage fizzy lava all over the floor. Somehow, feathers and glue found their way into the mix, and now the blue carpet has way more visual interest than necessary. I’m not sure which planets in our solar system are feathered or require the type of volcanoes these kids whipped up in the blink of an eye, but here we are now. There’s no going back.

Moral of the story: don’t leave me alone.

Sure, I might’ve told the other helpers I could hold down the fort while they helped set up lunch, but this level of trust is unacceptable. Other people’s version of “one second” is vastly different from my own. This has been the longest twenty minutes of my life.

Another volcano erupts with a violent hiss. Panicked, I grab a bowl of plastic beads and shove it beneath the flow. It doesn’t help. Not even a little bit. It just overflows onto the carpet in a multicolored beaded slurry.

The door creaks open. “We’re ba—”

The sentence dies a horrific, strangled death as the group of helpers stands in the doorway, staring. Every pair of eyes is on me—on my knees, hands dripping with red, feathered foam. Their jaws practically drag across the stained carpet as they cautiously step further inside.

The lead woman, a redhead whose name I’ve already forgotten, looks at me with what one could only describe as pure horror. I offer a weak smile in return, raising a feathered hand in a wave while a warm, fizzy stream of vinegar trickles down my arm and drips onto my jeans.

“Great news!” I squeak. “We finished the solar system!”

But it’s all a lie. We didn’t even make it past the sun.