Moonbound (Moonfate Serial Book 1) by Sylvia Frost

Chapter One
     
    “Can a monster love?
    This question haunts every account, every myth, every dream humanity has ever had about the creatures known as werebeasts. Even our very first story—the tale of Adam, Eve and the shifter named Lucifer—is plagued by this mystery.
    Was Lucifer a demon determined to ruin Eve and spawn a species of monsters? Or was he a fallen angel so in love with a human woman he destroyed paradise for a kiss?
    We will never know. And perhaps we shouldn’t ask why Lucifer tempted Eve at all, but another question:
    Why did she give in?”
    Beasts, Blood & Bonds: A History of Werebeasts and Their Mates
    By Dr. Nina M. Strike
     
    When I was fifteen, I swore I’d never buy a gun. Mom and Dad believed weapons only made problems worse, and after the attack I wanted to honor their memory. But it’s been seven years of running since then, and I think if I ever want to stop, I’m going to have to admit that my parents’ view of the world may have died with them.
    So here I am waiting at the counter of Edward’s Arms and Ammo, mustering the courage to ring their customer service bell. Its curved surface warps my reflection so my face flickers between Marilyn Monroe look-alike and chubby twenty-something and back again as I shift from foot to foot. Looking at it makes me wish I could be one of those girls whose biggest demon is her dress size.
    Ding.
    Two minutes lurch by, then three, and my only company remains the stuffed wolf’s head snarling at me from above the cash register. I don’t feel alone, though. I never do. Not when I know that somewhere out there is a beast searching for his one true mate. Searching for me.
    I worry the bandage on my wrist and try again.
    Ding. Ding. Ding.
    “Heard ya. Just cleaning out the back.”
    I jump.
    A middle-aged man wearing red fatigues and holding a box of magnets emerges from the shadows. “Scared ya, didn’t I?” He smirks to himself.
    “No, it’s fine,” I say, even as my skittering heartbeat disagrees.
    The shopkeeper steps behind the counter and drops the box onto it. A magnet jumps out and spins across the counter toward me. Instinctively, I pick it up and start to hand it to him. Then I see what’s on it.
    Oh.
    A shard of longing pierces my gut, and the edges of the world seem to fade and twist until the image on the magnet fills my whole sight. It’s something I haven’t seen in seven years. My parents’ faces.
    The picture is from Christmas. Dad’s wearing a goofy smile, Mom’s trying to pose glamorously in front of the tree, and thirteen-year-old me is grinning, oblivious to how frizzy her blonde hair is and the fact that her Gryffindor t-shirt is inside out.
    I stroke the magnet’s cool, smooth surface with my thumb. I never thought I’d see this picture again. The Federal Bureau of Supernatural Investigation confiscated everything after the attack. As I caress it, my thumb moves from the top of the magnet to the bottom, and I notice a sentence written above our heads that I didn’t see before.
    May the Williams family be always in our prayers and may justice rain down upon their killers.
    Holy shit. This shopkeeper has turned my parents’ murder into some kind of anti-were movement centerpiece and is using our old Christmas card picture as propaganda for the cause.
    “Where did you get these?” I thrust the magnet into the shopkeeper’s face.
    “Made ‘em myself.” He grins, exposing his tobacco-stained teeth. “Found the picture online from a news story and added the words. Magnets were a big seller for a while, but they’re just takin’ up space now.”
    I clench the magnet in my fist until it hurts.
    “Pisses ya off, too, doesn’t it? What those monsters did to that poor family?” His nametag glints. Edward.
    “Edward—"
    He holds up a hand. “I know what you’re gonna say. I think we shoulda rounded ‘em up, and their dirty mates, too. Put ‘em in camps. Not just tagged ’em. But that’s why I sell these.”