December's Moon

25| DECEMBER

| DECEMBER |

December trailed his left hand along the cool, damp wall of the tunnel as his bare feet traced over the dirt floor. He took each step with caution, testing the ground before placing his weight in anticipation of any unexpected rises or falls in the ground.

"Check the other wall in case there's an offshoot from this tunnel," he told Aurora. "We don't want to miss anything."

"Okay," she responded.

The cool air thickened as they descended, and the blare of the smoke alarm faded, leaving nothing but its ghost ringing in December's ears like the whine of a mosquito. He focused on his steps, keeping his grip on Aurora's hand firm as his pulse thudded in his neck.

The sound of their breathing distorted as it bounced up and down the tunnel. December's body itched to shift to his wolf form and survey the surroundings, but he pushed the urge down. It was dark anyway, so he would only gain the heightening of his hearing and smell, which wouldn't do him much good in this tunnel anyway.

"You took the serum, right?" Aurora asked, her voice a whisper.

December's heart quickened, and the pain from the wound in his chest flared with the increased blood flow. "Yes," he lied.

The unopened vial of poison sat like a smoldering ember in the pocket of his jeans. He was planning to inject it, just . . . not yet.

He told himself it was because it would only last for a limited time, but in his gut, he knew that wasn't the real reason. Once that serum entered his bloodstream, he would be almost completely defenseless.

The past year, December had pushed himself far beyond his limits training to make his human form stronger, but he knew no matter how hard he worked, he would never be able to fully compensate. He tried not to think of himself as less than others, but at times, it became impossible not to. The fear of not being good enough pressed in on him like it did in his darkest nightmares.

Aurora's grip on his hand tightened, and he squeezed her back. As angry as he'd been about what she'd done, he couldn't stop the way he felt. He still cared about her, and feeling her there next to him gave him strength.

"I see something up ahead," she whispered, her voice breathy, like a single hiss of wind could extinguish her like a candle and leave December alone in this tunnel for eternity.

"What is it?"

"Glowing . . ." her voice trailed off, and her hand jerked at his, pulling him back.

December halted in place. The air shifted. It was heavier, like being submerged underwater. Beyond the scent of mold and decay that permeated the tunnel—permeated the entire academy when it rained—the faint trace of burning drifted towards him.

There's a door down there. Aurora's voice came to him through the mind link. An open door. And . . . flames . . . Someone's lit candles.

Do you see anything else? December asked.

No, we need to get closer. Follow my lead . . . quietly.

December kept his footsteps light, as did Aurora next to him. Ahead, the pop and crackle of fire hissed like angry tongues of serpents.

Another few steps.

What do you see?

No answer. Were his thoughts not going through?