Dark
Moon Wolf
(Calling
the Moon, #1)
By
Sarah E Stevens
Genre:
Paranormal
227
pages
Publication:
February 22nd 2017
By
The Wild Rose Press
Dark
Moon Wolf
(Calling
the Moon, #1)
By
Sarah E Stevens
Genre:
Paranormal
227
pages
Publication:
February 22nd 2017
By
The Wild Rose Press
Amazon
Dark Moon Wolf (Calling the Moon, #1)
Julie
Hall thinks the hardest part of single motherhood is
sleep deprivation and the
constant search for dropped
pacifiers, until her four-month old baby transforms
into a wolf pup.
How could Carson be a Werewolf? He hadn’t been bitten.
Not by a Werewolf, not
by a dog, heck, not by a mosquito.
Julie sets out to find Carson's father and
demand some
answers. Instead, she discovers a Werewolf pack haunted by
a grisly
string of murders--and soon realizes she and her
baby are the next targets.
Well
that was definitely one hell of a book. However it is not
a
romance. It is more of a paranormal mystery. It is so well
written
but it's a little sad too so be prepared. But I certainly
plan
to read more books in the series. I hope to see where
Julian
Carson and up next. This was one hell of a mystery,
with
lots of twist and turns.
This
story is about Julie and her little boy Carson. Who won
night
on the full moon turns into a little wolf pup. So cute and
furry
in his crib, Julie's not sure what to do when she finds
a
wolf pup in the crib. When she comes to terms that her
son
is a werewolf, she decides it's time to find the father.
After
several attempts to get in touch with Mac and failing,
she
travels to his hometown seeking his parents to help her
to
get in touch with him. That's where things take a turn for
the
worse. Have the tissues ready because when you find
out
what's going on in this town you are going to be
thoroughly
upset. That is when decided that to find out what
happened
to Mac. But she soon finds she and her little one
are
in trouble. You won't believe who's behind it all. It was
a
surprise and when you she finds out that her best friend
has
a secret Julie truly has her world turning upside down.
Now
before I ruin this for you I will leave off here. I hope
you enjoy this
book as much as I did. If you do like this
book, please
consider leaving a review. The Authors really
like
it when you do; they value your opinions too.
I
peered down over the crib rail and, at that moment, the clouds moved so
moonlight clearly illuminated the creature in my son’s crib. A wolf,
unmistakably a wolf pup, with grayish-silver fur standing fuzzily askew,
black nose questing in the air, tawny eyes framed by perfect black eyeliner.
When the pup saw me, he gave a happy little wriggle and whined more loudly.
The
wolf pup’s gaze met mine and, in an instantaneous rush, I knew him and I
understood somehow this was Carson. This wolf was Carson. Here was my Carson,
here was a wolf pup, here was my baby, and he started to whine more desperately
and paw at the crib slats. Everything else shut off—the questioning, the
panic—in the face of my baby’s need.
So I
picked him up. He snuggled against me happily, nuzzling me with his wet nose,
breathing in my scent, licking absently at the sleeve of my nightgown. My mind
froze in panic, but my body functioned on autopilot. I walked around the room,
bouncing him gently, singing a bit of a lullaby, just as usual. And, just as
usual, his eyes grew heavier and his body soon felt lax with sleep. When he was
well and truly out, I carefully laid him back in his crib and tiptoed from the
room.
As I
closed the door behind me, careful not to make the slightest noise, the pent-up
adrenaline left my body and I started to shake, my muscles weak and watery, my
head whirling. I slid down the wall, hugged my knees to my chest, and focused
on not hyperventilating. I pressed my forehead to my hands, feeling my palms
break out in a cold sweat. After a while, I stood up gingerly, opened the door
to Carson’s room, and looked in.
No,
I wasn’t insane. A wolf lay in Carson’s crib. Carson was a wolf. Carson was a…
I glanced up at the moon, framed perfectly in the window, and silently
closed the door again.
I
walked down the hall to the bathroom, poured myself a glass of water, and
stared at my reflection in the mirror. Yes, still me. I picked up my glasses
from the bathroom counter and the room snapped into clearer focus. My eyes
stared back at me from within the green frames, looking about as shocked as I
felt.
“Maybe…”
I thought and went back to Carson’s room with my glasses on. A sneak peek,
however, showed me nothing had changed. I could just see the sleeping pup a bit
more clearly from the door.
“Okay,
Julie,” I said aloud in the hallway. “You haven’t gone crazy. Unless talking to
yourself makes you crazy. But everything else seems pretty normal. You’re not
sick, no fever. You’re not dreaming. So Carson is…Carson is…” I raised my hand
to rub my forehead, closed my eyes for a moment, lowered my hand, and said it.
“Carson is a Werewolf.”
The
words echoed in my head and I suddenly burst out laughing, the kind of laughter
that has a sharp, maniacal edge—the kind of laughter that, if I didn’t keep it
in check, might yet convince me I was crazy. I couldn’t control myself, though,
and after several minutes I sat on the floor, gasping for breath, tears
streaming down my face, unsure whether I still laughed or had moved on to
crying.
A
Werewolf. Carson. Me, Julie Hall, librarian, single mother of a Werewolf. Was
it possible? An hour ago, I would have said no. As much as I loved the idea of
the fantastical, as much as I devoured books about magic, Dragons,
Were-creatures, Vampires, the Fae, as much as I spent time wishing such things
were true and I’d glimpse a Brownie or a Phouka creeping about the town, I
now realized deep down, really deep down, I thought all such things were the
stuff of make-believe. But it seemed I was wrong. At least about Werewolves,
because clearly a wolf slept in the crib. The moment after Carson was born, my
entire being flushed with pride and exhaustion, our bodies still connected by
his umbilical cord, my doctor placed Carson into my arms. My baby looked right
up at me with those huge blue-brown newborn eyes, alert, wide awake though
silent, and in that instant, I felt a surge of insight and love, as if I’d
known him all my life and had been waiting for this moment of revelation. Just
now, when his eyes met mine in the crib, I felt the same thing. I had no doubt
this was my Carson. Every atom of my being told me so.
Occam’s
razor: Carson was a Werewolf.
My
God. Was this real? I checked on Carson one more time. No change, just a small
gray wolf curled in his crib.
I
went into the kitchen and put on the teapot. A few minutes later, I filled my
favorite blue mug with a generous dollop of honey, a chamomile teabag, and hot
water. My hands icy despite the warm June night, I warmed them against the mug
as I sat and thought.
I
knew nothing about Werewolves. That is, nothing about real Werewolves. Some
part of me gibbered at the thought of making a distinction between fictional
Werewolves and real Werewolves, but I told that part to hush while I thought
about this logically. The gibbering part screeched again at the thought of
logic and Werewolves, then fell silent, perhaps in exhaustion.
The
fact remained: I knew nothing about werewolves. Obviously, that old bit about
the full moon held true. I hoped that meant I wouldn’t have to worry about
Carson turning into a wolf at any old time, just once a month or so. But what
else did I need to know? Would silver hurt him? Would he have uncontrollable
rages and run through the woods like a wild animal? Would he be violent? Would
he have any extraordinary abilities? Vulnerabilities? Were there medical ramifications?
I thought back to his doctor’s appointments so far, all of which had gone quite
smoothly. Now that his Were-self had manifested, could he continue to get
vaccinations? I stopped the cascade of questions running through my mind, aware
I degenerated into the trivial as a way to avoid the central question.
Why
was he a Werewolf? How had he become a Werewolf?
In
all the tales I’d read, people became Werewolves after being bitten by another
Werewolf. Carson was only four months old and I could vouch for the fact he had
never been bitten. Not by a Werewolf, not by a wolf, not by a dog, heck, not
even by a mosquito. I had absolutely no idea how this had happened.
But
I knew someone who must.
How could Carson be a Werewolf? He hadn’t been bitten.
Well
that was definitely one hell of a book. However it is not
a
romance. It is more of a paranormal mystery. It is so well
written
but it's a little sad too so be prepared. But I certainly
plan
to read more books in the series. I hope to see where
Julian
Carson and up next. This was one hell of a mystery,
with
lots of twist and turns.
This
story is about Julie and her little boy Carson. Who won
night
on the full moon turns into a little wolf pup. So cute and
furry
in his crib, Julie's not sure what to do when she finds
a
wolf pup in the crib. When she comes to terms that her
son
is a werewolf, she decides it's time to find the father.
After
several attempts to get in touch with Mac and failing,
she
travels to his hometown seeking his parents to help her
to
get in touch with him. That's where things take a turn for
the
worse. Have the tissues ready because when you find
out
what's going on in this town you are going to be
thoroughly
upset. That is when decided that to find out what
happened
to Mac. But she soon finds she and her little one
are
in trouble. You won't believe who's behind it all. It was
a
surprise and when you she finds out that her best friend
has
a secret Julie truly has her world turning upside down.
Now
before I ruin this for you I will leave off here. I hope
you enjoy this
book as much as I did. If you do like this
book, please
consider leaving a review. The Authors really
like
it when you do; they value your opinions too.
I
peered down over the crib rail and, at that moment, the clouds moved so
moonlight clearly illuminated the creature in my son’s crib. A wolf,
unmistakably a wolf pup, with grayish-silver fur standing fuzzily askew,
black nose questing in the air, tawny eyes framed by perfect black eyeliner.
When the pup saw me, he gave a happy little wriggle and whined more loudly.
The
wolf pup’s gaze met mine and, in an instantaneous rush, I knew him and I
understood somehow this was Carson. This wolf was Carson. Here was my Carson,
here was a wolf pup, here was my baby, and he started to whine more desperately
and paw at the crib slats. Everything else shut off—the questioning, the
panic—in the face of my baby’s need.
So I
picked him up. He snuggled against me happily, nuzzling me with his wet nose,
breathing in my scent, licking absently at the sleeve of my nightgown. My mind
froze in panic, but my body functioned on autopilot. I walked around the room,
bouncing him gently, singing a bit of a lullaby, just as usual. And, just as
usual, his eyes grew heavier and his body soon felt lax with sleep. When he was
well and truly out, I carefully laid him back in his crib and tiptoed from the
room.
As I
closed the door behind me, careful not to make the slightest noise, the pent-up
adrenaline left my body and I started to shake, my muscles weak and watery, my
head whirling. I slid down the wall, hugged my knees to my chest, and focused
on not hyperventilating. I pressed my forehead to my hands, feeling my palms
break out in a cold sweat. After a while, I stood up gingerly, opened the door
to Carson’s room, and looked in.
No,
I wasn’t insane. A wolf lay in Carson’s crib. Carson was a wolf. Carson was a…
I glanced up at the moon, framed perfectly in the window, and silently
closed the door again.
I
walked down the hall to the bathroom, poured myself a glass of water, and
stared at my reflection in the mirror. Yes, still me. I picked up my glasses
from the bathroom counter and the room snapped into clearer focus. My eyes
stared back at me from within the green frames, looking about as shocked as I
felt.
“Maybe…”
I thought and went back to Carson’s room with my glasses on. A sneak peek,
however, showed me nothing had changed. I could just see the sleeping pup a bit
more clearly from the door.
“Okay,
Julie,” I said aloud in the hallway. “You haven’t gone crazy. Unless talking to
yourself makes you crazy. But everything else seems pretty normal. You’re not
sick, no fever. You’re not dreaming. So Carson is…Carson is…” I raised my hand
to rub my forehead, closed my eyes for a moment, lowered my hand, and said it.
“Carson is a Werewolf.”
The
words echoed in my head and I suddenly burst out laughing, the kind of laughter
that has a sharp, maniacal edge—the kind of laughter that, if I didn’t keep it
in check, might yet convince me I was crazy. I couldn’t control myself, though,
and after several minutes I sat on the floor, gasping for breath, tears
streaming down my face, unsure whether I still laughed or had moved on to
crying.
A
Werewolf. Carson. Me, Julie Hall, librarian, single mother of a Werewolf. Was
it possible? An hour ago, I would have said no. As much as I loved the idea of
the fantastical, as much as I devoured books about magic, Dragons,
Were-creatures, Vampires, the Fae, as much as I spent time wishing such things
were true and I’d glimpse a Brownie or a Phouka creeping about the town, I
now realized deep down, really deep down, I thought all such things were the
stuff of make-believe. But it seemed I was wrong. At least about Werewolves,
because clearly a wolf slept in the crib. The moment after Carson was born, my
entire being flushed with pride and exhaustion, our bodies still connected by
his umbilical cord, my doctor placed Carson into my arms. My baby looked right
up at me with those huge blue-brown newborn eyes, alert, wide awake though
silent, and in that instant, I felt a surge of insight and love, as if I’d
known him all my life and had been waiting for this moment of revelation. Just
now, when his eyes met mine in the crib, I felt the same thing. I had no doubt
this was my Carson. Every atom of my being told me so.
Occam’s
razor: Carson was a Werewolf.
My
God. Was this real? I checked on Carson one more time. No change, just a small
gray wolf curled in his crib.
I
went into the kitchen and put on the teapot. A few minutes later, I filled my
favorite blue mug with a generous dollop of honey, a chamomile teabag, and hot
water. My hands icy despite the warm June night, I warmed them against the mug
as I sat and thought.
I
knew nothing about Werewolves. That is, nothing about real Werewolves. Some
part of me gibbered at the thought of making a distinction between fictional
Werewolves and real Werewolves, but I told that part to hush while I thought
about this logically. The gibbering part screeched again at the thought of
logic and Werewolves, then fell silent, perhaps in exhaustion.
The
fact remained: I knew nothing about werewolves. Obviously, that old bit about
the full moon held true. I hoped that meant I wouldn’t have to worry about
Carson turning into a wolf at any old time, just once a month or so. But what
else did I need to know? Would silver hurt him? Would he have uncontrollable
rages and run through the woods like a wild animal? Would he be violent? Would
he have any extraordinary abilities? Vulnerabilities? Were there medical ramifications?
I thought back to his doctor’s appointments so far, all of which had gone quite
smoothly. Now that his Were-self had manifested, could he continue to get
vaccinations? I stopped the cascade of questions running through my mind, aware
I degenerated into the trivial as a way to avoid the central question.
Why
was he a Werewolf? How had he become a Werewolf?
In
all the tales I’d read, people became Werewolves after being bitten by another
Werewolf. Carson was only four months old and I could vouch for the fact he had
never been bitten. Not by a Werewolf, not by a wolf, not by a dog, heck, not
even by a mosquito. I had absolutely no idea how this had happened.
But
I knew someone who must.
·٠•● Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ●•٠· Sarah E Stevens ·٠•● Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ●•٠·
Hi folks! Thanks for visiting. My first book Dark Moon
Wolf will be released 2/22/2017. I’m hard at work on editing
book two, Waxing Moon, and writing book three, Rising
Wolf. There are several books waiting in line behind these three!
I live and work in Evansville, IN with my husband Gary, our
three kids, three cats, some fish and some hermit crabs. In
addition to being a writer and a voracious reader of all things
fantasy, science fiction, and paranormal, I’m a board game
geek, an artist, and a dabbler in making chain maille jewelry.
My whole family is unabashedly geeky: Gary designs board
games, we have family D&D night on Thursdays, and we just
spent 24 hours gaming for Extra Life.
I love to write about strong women and their friendships–
combined with magic and love, of course.
Twitter | FaceBook | Website | Goodreads Author Page
Hi folks! Thanks for visiting. My first book Dark Moon
Wolf will be released 2/22/2017. I’m hard at work on editing
book two, Waxing Moon, and writing book three, Rising
Wolf. There are several books waiting in line behind these three!
three kids, three cats, some fish and some hermit crabs. In
addition to being a writer and a voracious reader of all things
fantasy, science fiction, and paranormal, I’m a board game
geek, an artist, and a dabbler in making chain maille jewelry.
My whole family is unabashedly geeky: Gary designs board
games, we have family D&D night on Thursdays, and we just
spent 24 hours gaming for Extra Life.
combined with magic and love, of course.
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