Jaylin didn't call or text. It wasn't that he hadn't tried, but fear coiled around him every time he scrolled to Quentin's name in his contact list. Fear that he wouldn't answer, fear that he would. Fear that he'd have to acknowledge the kiss while he was already so haunted by the electricity behind it.

Two—nearly three months had passed and still, he felt the current sometimes. The buzz in his blood that hit him like a fever every time he laid awake at night. That phantom tongue against his own, burning him up so unfairly hot beneath his sheets.

Alex kept him updated on most things in Quentin's absence. Lisa had taken up a job as a wedding coordinator—said the house felt too empty without Quentin in it. Too quiet without his wolves around. When he asked about Felix, Alex said he'd never lived in any of the Sigvard's surfeit of rooms. He came and went as he pleased. Slept in the beds from time to time, but never claimed one as his own. And since Quentin's departure, his visits had stopped. Alex didn't know where he went or what he called home. No one did.

As far as Quentin himself, Alex heard from him sparsely. Brief calls to check in, he'd said.

He's always too tired to talk for long. He does ask about you. I just never know what to tell him. You should call him yourself sometime.

He should have called, he should have asked all those questions he had about what he was and what it meant—hell, he should have hit the call button the moment he received that acceptance letter. He should have thanked him for that—for somehow pulling all the right strings. For giving him one last reason to make his mother proud. But he didn't. He should have asked his questions, but he didn't. And because of that, he was starting to feel blind to everything he was. Everything that was coming to him.

But Jaylin had forgotten how deeply integrated wolves were in the human society. He'd been attending his biochem lectures for a week before he finally spotted a head of red hair and two brilliant blue eyes in the back row.

Izzy was more than thrilled to fill him in on all she knew. She said Qamar had returned home to talk to her council. She was deciding whether or not Ziya's treachery was worth raising her flags of war. Jaylin didn't understand what her council was or why she needed one. He wondered if Ziya had a council too, or if she did whatever she pleased. It couldn't have been too handy, that council, because Qamar still had yet to make a move. "She doesn't seem in a hurry, that's for sure," Izzy had said. "She's called a meeting at the next Exposition. I guess we'll know her decision then."

It was excruciating to know that Ziya was still out there somewhere. To know that she could come back at any time, that she could steal him away and lock him behind glass walls again. And this time, Quentin wouldn't be here to protect him from all her wicked intentions. From the very beginning, that was all he'd ever tried to do.

Now it was his family that he was protecting, and as much as Jaylin wanted to spite him for leaving, he could never hate him for that.

"We'd know," Izzy promised him. "You can feel the presence of a queen from miles away. We've all been instructed to send out an alert if we catch so much as a whiff of her or her wolves. Don't worry, Jay. If you haven't noticed by now, we're everywhere."

He hadn't noticed. Not until she said it. But over time, Jaylin felt a sixth sense slither up every so often. It was a cold breeze, like a bad karma. He'd started to feel it every time he approached Izzy. He felt it when he brushed by the buzz-cut blond in his physics class and the quiet Korean woman who walked her dog across campus every day at noon. Even the barista at the coffee place nearby. He was innocent enough, with a friendly smile and a dimpled chin, but Jaylin felt that cold crawl up his flesh every time he stepped foot inside. The fact that he knew his name without ever asking—the way his head shot up and his eyes found the door each time Jaylin walked through it. He was a wolf. He and so many others.

He'd never thought to ask how many wolves existed here. Not patrols or sentinels, but simple wolves. People like him, going to school, working a part-time job—living their lives like normal people. How had that thought become so foreign to him? A normal life, being what he was.

Maybe that was why he refused to call. Because Quentin was synonymous with the abnormal. Because if he pretended none of this had ever happened, his life would go back to normal. If he never hit that call button, he'd live a happy, normal life.

"Jay, you hear what I said?" Matt gave his seat a kick and Jaylin felt himself spin on his swivel chair until he was staring into those freckles and the hazel flecks in his molasses eyes.

"What?"

"Ravens, man. Sometimes they live with wolves—piggyback off' them for the scraps they leave behind."

Jaylin wiped his hands up his face, his eyes stinging from hours of staring into textbooks and computer screens. He was thankful that once again they'd allowed him his job back, but Jaylin was so tired of staring at words. Between studying and work, text had become assaulting to his bleary eyes, and all he wanted was a day in the forest, a long walk through the trees. He'd been yearning for the smell of the wild for weeks.

"Matt, I don't know what you're trying to—"

"I just think it's fascinating. Ravens. It's like they know they're nothin' to those wolves. They don't have enough meat on their bones to feed a pack, so the wolves don't bother. And the ravens, they know. They're smart as hell dude. Did you know they can talk?"

Jaylin dropped his heavy head into his arms. "Matt, I haven't slept in like three days and we're closing soon. I'm going to throw up if you keep narrating your animal planet documentaries out loud. Don't you have work?"

"Nah, not today," Matt said, clicking out of the article. "I promised Tis she could come over tonight to use our practice targets anyways." He bounced from his chair and slung his bag over his shoulder, tussling his fingers through Jaylin's hair as he brushed past. "Have fun with mommy."

Jaylin swatted his hand away and surveyed the room for eavesdroppers. Dinner with his mother had become a biweekly event. Every paycheck, he'd take her out to the buffet. They'd eat their fill and stash the extras in Tupperware dishes that she'd snuck inside her oversized purse. At the end of each meal, they'd leave with enough food to get them through the week.

It was mostly for the thrill that they went. To his mother, it was a rush-like shoplifting for the first time. For him, it was time with his mother. A time where the only thing in the world that mattered was the food in front of them and betting on how many rolls they could fit in their jacket pockets. She was the master at it, won every time.

Jaylin looked across the library to the dark lounge chairs by the comics section. Sadie had been sitting there with Alex hours ago, digging through books about different energy crystals. Learning things about chakra and meditation. Jaylin didn't understand what any of it had to do with witchcraft, but witnessing the two of them grow closer was like watching flowers grow from cement. They were a strange duo, Sadie and Alex; two completely different types of people.

But regardless, the bond between them lit the place like a candle—it had to of because that corner felt so cold and dark since they'd left it. And it was only then that Jaylin noticed how empty the library was. There was only a single person remaining, nestled beneath the study lights in the back. A girl with long chestnut hair and thick lashes that cast spidery shadows over her cheeks.

His eyes swept to the seats where Quentin sat all those days he'd been trying to warn Jaylin. All the days he hung around to protect him from the scouts. That desk—this whole place—felt so empty.

Jaylin shut his eyes and exhaled—something stressful tugging at his lungs. It felt like he'd made a mistake somehow by letting Quentin leave. But what else could he have done? And why did it matter so much? There were eyes all around him; every wolf in the state of Washington knew his name. They were on guard, ready to alert the others if Ziya stepped foot in this territory again. He should feel safer than he'd ever been. But he didn't. That safe feeling was gone.

No—not gone. It was in California.

Jaylin pulled up his contact list and found Quentin's name again. Wolfman, it still read. He'd call this time. He'd definitely call.

Maybe he'd call. Or maybe he'd just stare like every time before.

"Excuse me." From beyond the screen of his phone, two gray eyes glistened back at him. The girl from the back of the room had packed up her things, and she stood there now with a book in her hands. "I'd like to check this out."

"Ah, sorry." Jaylin took the book from her—a biography on Frida Kahlo. "Art student?" he asked, sliding her library card through the reader.

"No." She smiled sweetly. "Just a fan."

As he scanned the book into the system, something caught his eye in the pile of returns to his right. The insignia of a lavender flower, ingrained into leather.

The journal went out on occasion—borrowed by a new face each time. People who made his skin crawl with that uncanny chill. It was always returned again a week later, but something about it gripped him now. That sixth sense of his.

And it was telling him to look the other way.

He left the book beneath the scanner and stood from his chair, following the bend of the counter, all the way to the far side where books sat on display and college pamphlets shown in neon colors, organized alphabetically and tucked inside their appropriate sleeves. But something else awaited him on the counter top—something that wasn't usually there. A chill bristled his arms as he walked to it, feeling along the sharp edge of the wood. The closer he neared, the more unmistakable it was.

A plate with six carefully-wrapped eclairs and a note taped on top. Jaylin, it said, written in that elegant, hand-drawn cursive.

Jaylin slipped out from behind the counter, cut through the empty tables and the scattered chairs and he tossed open the library doors to stagger out into the cold. His breath stuck to the air in front of him and he spun to the left and to the right, looking every direction for Quentin. Once, then twice, then three times he turned on his heels, seeking the shadows and the streets for the sight of him. But Jaylin couldn't see him and he couldn't feel him—there was only empty sidewalks and lonely streetlights.

Maybe normal was what was best for him. Maybe it was what he needed. A normal life, free of wolves and witches and Bad Moons. But normal didn't feel normal anymore. It felt empty.

There were magics in this world, whether he wanted them or not. There were curses and queens and monsters. Monsters not like himself, but like Ziya. There were bad people in this world. People who only did good for the sake of themselves. And then there were people like the Sigvards, like Matthew and Tisper and Sadie—people who'd leap headfirst into danger to help the ones they loved.

Maybe it was selfish in a way, but it was still good.

Jaylin stared down at his phone, the word Wolfman and the seven digits beside it. A number he had burned into his brain from hours of working up the courage to call. There were good people in this world. Broken, beautiful people. Quentin had made him see that. He didn't want to go back to the way things were. Back when good people didn't exist.

His thumb moved through the selection, over to the call button and Jaylin brought the phone to his ear.

It rang three times. Each more agonizing than the next. And finally, it stopped ringing.

"Hello." It only took his voice. Only the sound of him to bring that buzz to Jaylin's blood again.

"Quentin." He wiped the cold from his nose and leaned anxiously from foot to foot, jittery fingers stuffed in the pocket of his sweater. "I... have questions."

It was quiet on the other end. Then he spoke, sounding faintly like he was smiling, "It's late."

"Just give me three."

There was a crackle on the other end. Movement. Then the sound of sheets whispering as they were tossed away. Ten at night—it was ten at night. Wherever he was, whenever he'd dropped off the eclairs—however he'd done it, he was in bed now. He must have had them delivered. He must still be in LA. Jaylin shifted again, swallowed that dry feeling in his throat.

"Alright," he heard Quentin say. "What's your first question?"

Jaylin inhaled, the night air harsh against his teeth, and watched the cars pass by. He let the sounds of the city quiet, before he asked, "How have you been?"

There was a gentle laugh on the other end, then the sound of a sliding door opening. "I've been good, Jaylin. How've you been?"

Jaylin took a seat on the front steps, the cement ice beneath him. "I've been... I've been alright."

"Just alright?"

"You don't know how good alright is."

Quentin's breath husked through the speakers—a deep tired sigh, the sound of traffic in the distance. He should let him sleep. He could call in the morning or text at any time of the day, but Jaylin couldn't pull away from the sound of him. He wouldn't.

"You haven't had a lot of alrights, have you?" Quentin asked and Jaylin felt the personal question sink to the rawest part of him.

"No," he admitted. "But neither have you, huh?"

"I've had a lot of them. Just not lately. Not before..."—he paused then, a heavy kind of silence. "I haven't had them in a long time," he recast.

"But good? You've been good?" Jaylin tried not to, but his smile broke through anyway. He was sure Quentin could hear it in his voice.

Again there was a sigh. This time not tired—not rugged with sleep, but weightless. Relief. "I've been good."

"How's California?"

"It's nice. It's not home, though."

"Quentin," Jaylin brought his legs up, looking to the tattered hole in the knee of his jeans. He ran his fingers along the threads for something to ease his nervous fidgeting. There was a kind of weight in every word he spoke—reluctance that made them hard to get out at all. But he managed. "You're not in LA, are you?"

Another gust of air—humor, maybe. "No, Jaylin. I'm not."

"You're here, aren't you?"

"In Seattle."

Excitement lurched deep in his chest and Jaylin gripped the phone a little tighter. "Can we talk in person?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Jaylin."

All that joy in him sunk down like an anchor. "Why not?"

"I only came back for today—to check on things. I'm flying back at four in the morning."

It wasn't a real answer at all and Jaylin couldn't help the scoff that slipped through. A deep, disappointed exhale. "Sure."

"It's not that I don't want to see you," Quentin said. "It's hard enough leaving this place." Jaylin didn't respond, and for another brief moment, silence consumed the line between them. Then Quentin spoke, so much softer than before, "If I see you now, I won't be able to go back at all."

He hadn't been expecting it and Jaylin felt his face ignite. He thumbed at the loose threads of denim stringing over his knee and listened to the silence on the other end, until Quentin spoke again, "You've asked more than three now," he said. "I should go."

"Yeah. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

"Quentin," Jaylin hurried his name before the line could go dead. "I'm sorry. For shrugging off all of the warnings... and all that stuff about the oleander."

"Don't be." There was a sound in the distance—a horn bellowing, the grind of late night traffic. Then his voice, deep and tired, grated through the speakers, "I think in the end, I was the one who ate the oleander."

The metaphor muddled Jaylin and he paused before asking, "What do you mean?" But there was only silence on the other end. No cars, no horns, just silence. "Quentin?"

Jaylin pulled the phone from his ear to find the call already ended. He snapped the screen shut and wedged the small device into his pocket, and he lingered there on the steps, wishing his heartbeat would steady. It wasn't fair to be so swooned by a simple phone call.

"Excuse me?" a voice asked from the doors. "My book...you never finished."

"It's fine," Jaylin said, not looking back. "Take it."

She paused for a moment, and then he heard her footsteps bounce down the steps beside him and she walked off to the only car parked along the curb.

Jaylin took in the night air, cooling all the burning feelings inside of him. And though it disappointed him that he wouldn't see Quentin—that he'd be gone again to a world so far from his own—Jaylin had to smother his smile in his sleeve to keep from grinning like an idiot.

If I see you now, I won't be able to go back at all.

He wondered if some time in California would do Quentin good. If even an alpha could lead a relatively normal life for a while.

And as if his thoughts came alive, an officer strolled past him on the sidewalk and Jaylin felt the chill shiver the marrow in his bones. The man tipped his hat as he passed, giving a sly crescent smirk that wrinkled the edges of his handsome eyes, and Jaylin had to shake himself from the fascination of it all just to smile back at the man. They really were everywhere.

The world was full of it wolves. Full of magic and witches and wicked things. And as much as it feared him at first, Jaylin missed the strength that curse had given him. He missed the power, the hunger—that creature inside that willed him the strength to bend bars and scale walls and survive bullet wounds. For a while after, he craved normal. He feared the unfamiliar. But more than ever, he loved night sky too much to fear the monsters in the shadows. The monster inside of himself.

Things would never be normal.

For now and always, he belonged to the Bad Moon.

Thank you for purchasing and reading BAD MOON! If you can take the time to provide some feedback on the story using this form, it would be much appreciated.

Acknowledgements -----------

I owe this dedication to my readers.

I really struggled during my time spent on this story. I have thought about giving up, about putting this book on hold. I'd considered taking it off of Wattpad completely because I wasn't ranking for so very long. I was disappointed by contest results and heartbroken that I could never hit the top 1,000. And though the situation was resolved by Wattpad, it's you guys that I really owe my thanks to.

You have been incredibly supportive this whole time. The comments you've left me, the messages you've posted on my wall—they were honestly the only reason I'm able to post this. You guys made me realize that ranking—being a Wattpad star, even—would never feel as good as the heartfelt support you've given me.

Sincerely, thank you.