Th is is a work of fiction.

All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this

novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

whispers at moonrise. Copyright © 2012 by Christie Craig. All rights reserved. Printed
in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Av-
enue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

ISBN 978-1-250- 01191- 6 (trade paperback)

ISBN 978-1-250- 01192-3 (e-book)

First Edition: October 2012

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 Chapter One

Kylie Galen stood on the porch outside the Shadow Falls office,
panic stabbing at her sanity. A gust of late August wind, still chilled
by her father’s departing spirit, picked up her long strands of blond
hair and scattered them across her face. She didn’t brush them away.
She didn’t breathe. She just stood there, air trapped in her lungs,
while she stared through the wisps of hair at the trees swaying in
the breeze.
Why does my life have to be so damn hard? The question rolled
around her head like a Ping-Pong ball gone wild. The answer spun
back just as quick.
Because you’re not all human. For the last few months, she’d strug-
gled to identify the type of non-human blood that rushed through
her veins. Now she knew.
According to her dear ol’ dad, she was . . . a chameleon. As in a
lizard, just like the ones she’d seen sunning themselves in her back-
yard. Okay, so maybe not just like those, but close enough. And here
she’d been worried about being a vampire or a werewolf because it
would be a little hard to adjust to drinking blood or shape-shifting on
full moons. But this . . . this was . . . unfathomable. Her father had
to be wrong.
2 C. C. HUNTER

Her heart pounded against her chest as if seeking escape. She

finally breathed. In, and then out. Her thoughts shot away from the
lizard issue to the other bad stuff.
Yup. In the last five minutes she’d been slapped with not one,
not two, not even three, but with four oh-crap eye-opening revela-
tions.
Well, one thing—Derek’s confession that he loved her— couldn’t
completely be called bad. But it sure as hell couldn’t be called good.
Not now. Not when she considered them history. Not when she’d
spent the last few weeks trying to convince herself that they were just
friends.
Her mind juggled all four disclosures. She didn’t know which to
focus on first. Or maybe her mind did know. I’m a freaking lizard!
“For real?” she spoke aloud. The Texas wind snatched away her
words. She hoped it would take them all the way to her father—
wherever the dead who hadn’t completely passed over went to wait.
“Seriously, Dad?”
Of course, Dad didn’t answer. After two months of dealing
with one spirit or another, the whole ghost-whispering gift and its
limitations still managed to piss her off. “Damn!”
She took another step toward the main office’s door to unload
on Holiday Brandon, the camp leader, then stopped. Burnett James,
the other camp leader and a cold to the touch but hot to look at
vampire, was with Holiday. Since Kylie couldn’t hear them arguing
anymore, she figured that meant they might be doing something
else—like sucking face, swapping spit, doing the tongue tango. All
phrases her bad-attitude vampire roommate Della would use. Which
probably meant Kylie was in a bad mood. But didn’t she deserve a
little attitude after everything that had happened?
Clenching her fists, she stared at the office’s front door. She’d in-
advertently interrupted their first kiss and she didn’t want to do the
same with their second. Especially when Burnett had threatened to
 W H I S P E R S AT M O O N R I S E 3

resign from Shadow Falls. Surely Holiday could change his mind.
Couldn’t she?
Besides, maybe Kylie needed to calm down. To think things
through before she ran to Holiday in bad-attitude hysterics. Her
thoughts shifted to her latest ghost issue. How could a ghost of some-
one who was alive appear to Kylie? A trick, right? Had to be a trick.
She glanced around to make sure the ghost had really gone. The
cold had vanished.
Turning, she shot down the porch steps and headed around to
the back of the office. She started running, wanting to experience
the sense of freedom she got when she ran, when she ran fast, ran
non-human fast.
The wind picked up the black dress she’d worn to Ellie’s funeral
and sent the hem dancing against her thighs. Her feet moved in
rhythm, barely missing the Reeboks she usually wore, but when she
arrived at the edge of the woods, she came to an abrupt halt—so
abrupt that the heels on her black dress shoes cut deep ruts into the
earth.
She couldn’t go into the woods. She didn’t have a shadow—the
mandatory person with her to help ward off the evil Mario and his
rogue buddies if they decided to attack.
Attack again.
So far the old man’s attempts at ending her life had proved futile,
but two of those times had resulted in the death of someone else.
Guilt fluttered through her already tight chest. Fear followed it.
Mario had proven how far he’d go to get to her, how evil he was when
he’d taken his own grandson’s life right in front of her. How could
anyone be that wicked?
She stared at the trees and watched as their leaves danced in the
breeze. It was a completely normal slice of scenery that should have
put her at peace.
But she felt no peace. The woods, or rather something that hid
4 C. C. HUNTER

within, dared her to enter. Taunted her to move into the thick line
of trees. Confused by the strange feeling, she tried to push it away,
but the feeling intensified.
She inhaled the green scent of the forest, and she knew.
Knew with clarity.
Knew with certainty.
Mario wouldn’t give up. Sooner or later she would face him
again. And it wouldn’t be serene, tranquil, or peaceful. Only one
of them would walk away.
You will not be alone. The words echoed deep within her as if
to offer her peace. No peace came. The shadows between the trees
danced on the ground. Calling her, beckoning her. To do what, she
didn’t know.
Trepidation took another lap around her chest. She dug the
heels of her shoes deeper into the hard dirt. The heel of her right
shoe cracked— an ominous little sound that seemed to punctuate
the silence.
“Crap!” She stared down at her feet. The one word seemed yanked
from the air, leaving nothing but a hum of eeriness.
And that’s when she heard it.
Someone drew in a raspy breath. While the sound came only at
a whisper, she knew that the owner of this breath stood behind her.
Stood close. And since no chill of death surrounded her, she knew it
wasn’t from the spirit world.
The sound came again. Someone fed life-giving air into their
lungs. Odd how she now feared the living more than she feared the
dead.
Her heart thudded to a stop. Much like the grooves left in the earth
by her three-inch heels, her growing dread left ruts in her courage.
She wasn’t ready. If it was Mario, she wasn’t ready. Whatever it
was she needed to do, whatever plan or fate she was destined to fol-
low, she needed more time.
 Chapter Two

“Are you . . . okay?”

The voice. Not Mario. Derek’s voice.
His familiar tone had her initial panic fading, but only for a
second. I’m in love with you, Kylie. The words he’d spoken less than
fifteen minutes ago flowed through her head, bringing with them
another emotional storm that made her mind and heart spin. Derek
loved her. But what did she feel?
She shifted slightly, and the heel from her right shoe fell off,
making her off balance. That’s how her life felt— as if it had lost a
heel, and her only choice was to limp along.
“What’s wrong?” His voice rang with concern.
I’m fine. The words perched on the tip of her tongue, but she
swallowed them. Derek, half-fae, could read her. To lie to him about
her emotional state was futile. So she turned around and faced
him.
“What are you doing here without a shadow?” Derek asked. “You
know you’re not supposed to be without a shadow in case that freak-
ish rogue returns.”
Meeting Derek’s gaze, she spotted the panic brightening his
eyes. She knew the panic she saw was her own as well. When she
6 C. C. HUNTER

hurt emotionally, he hurt. When she experienced joy, he lived it,

too. When she feared something, he feared it for her. Considering
her emotional state these last few minutes, he must be in hell.
His chest expanded behind the fitted dusty green t-shirt. He held
a hand over his hard stomach as he sucked air into his lungs. His
dark brown hair appeared windblown, and his bangs clung to his
forehead. A drip of sweat rolled down his brow. For a second, all she
could think about was falling into him, letting his calming touch
chase away the apprehension inside her.
“Is it . . . what I said?” he asked. “If it is, I’ll . . . take it back. I
didn’t tell you that to tear you apart inside.”
One couldn’t take back an admission of love, she thought. Not
if he really meant it. But she didn’t say that. “It’s not what you said.”
Then she realized that, too, was a lie. His confession played havoc
with her emotions. “Well, it’s other stuff, too.”
“What stuff ?” His words came out breathlessly. His eyes searched
hers and she saw the gold flecks in his irises brighten. “I sense you’re
terrified and confused, and—”
“But I’m okay.” She noticed again his winded state, as if he’d
just run a mile to get to her. Had he? “Where were you?”
He took in another deep gulp of oxygen. “My cabin.”
Over a mile. “You felt my emotions that far away?”
“Yeah.” He frowned as if he hoped she didn’t blame him. She
didn’t like that her emotions were an open book for him to read,
but she didn’t blame him. He’d told her once that if he could stop
reading her, he would. She believed him.
“I thought you said it was lessening,” she said. “Does it still make
you crazy?”
His left shoulder shifted upward a couple of inches. “It’s still
strong, but it’s not overwhelming like before. I can handle it, now
that I . . .”
Now that he’d accepted he loved her. That’s what he’d told her.
 W H I S P E R S AT M O O N R I S E 7

That’s why their link had grown so strong. Her chest grew heavy
with indecision again. It was a good thing that one of them could
handle it. Because she wasn’t sure she could deal with this. Not with
him loving her. Not with any of the revelations she’d been given. At
least right now.
“What’s wrong?” He stepped closer. So close she could smell his
skin— earthy, honest, real.
The temptation to walk into his arms washed over her. She longed
to feel the up and down motion of his chest as he breathed, to let
what was in the past be what was in the future. Closing her hands
into tight fists, she limped past him with her one broken heel, went
to a tree, and lowered herself down to the ground. The earth felt
cooler than the heat in the air. The blades of grass tickled the back
of her legs, but she ignored it.
He didn’t wait for an invitation; he lowered himself beside her.
Not close enough that they touched, but close enough that she
thought about touching.
“So it’s more than one thing?” he asked.
She nodded and the decision to confide in him seemed already
made. “My dad appeared to me.” She bit down on her lip. “He told
me what I am.”
Derek looked puzzled. “I thought you wanted to know.”
“Yeah, but . . . He said I’m a chameleon. As in, a lizard.”
His brows pinched and then he chuckled.
She didn’t appreciate his candor. Her panic came back three-
fold. She’d wanted to know what she was so the others would accept
her, so she would fit in, but what if she ended up being something
that honestly made her a freak?
“I hate lizards,” she blurted out. “They’re right up there with
snakes— evil little bug-eyed creatures scurrying around in the dirt
and eating creepy-crawly things.” She stared out at the woods again,
imagining a brigade of lizards staring back at her. “I saw a program
8 C. C. HUNTER

once that showed a long-tongued lizard eating a spider in slow mo-

tion. It was gross!”
Derek shook his head, all shades of humor fading from his eyes.
“I’ve never heard of supernatural lizards. Are you sure?”
“I’m not sure of anything. That’s what’s so scary. Not knowing.”
She shivered. “Seriously, devouring blood is preferable to having one
of those long tongues and dining on insects.”
“Maybe he got it wrong. You said ghosts have a hard time com-
municating.”
“At first, yes, but now my dad makes perfect sense.”
Derek didn’t look convinced. “But what do you think a chame-
leon supernatural is, or does? All I think they could do is change
colors.”
Kylie let his words run around her brain for a second. “Maybe
that’s it?”
“You can change colors?” Doubt showed on his face.
“No. But maybe I can change my pattern. Like how my grandfa-
ther and aunt appeared human. And like how I appear human now.”
“Or . . . maybe your father’s having a relapse and he’s just con-
fused. Because I’ve never heard of any supernaturals who could
change their brain patterns.”
“What about me?” she asked. “What about my grandfather and
aunt?”
He shrugged. “Holiday said it was probably a wizard who cast a
spell for your grandfather and aunt.”
“Did he cast it on me, too?” Kylie asked.
“No, but . . . Okay, I don’t have the answer.” He frowned. “And I
know that frustrates you. But didn’t you tell me that your real grand-
father was coming to visit? I’m sure he’ll clear it up.”
“Yeah.” She bit down on her lower lip.
Derek studied her. “There’s something else wrong, too?”
 W H I S P E R S AT M O O N R I S E 9

She sighed. “When I asked my dad what it meant about being a

chameleon, he said we’d figure it out together.”
“And that’s bad because . . . ?”
Kylie stated the obvious. “He’s dead, and he’s limited to earthly
visits, so does that mean that I’m going to die soon?”
“No, he didn’t mean that.” Derek’s tone deepened with con-
viction.
She started to argue that he couldn’t say that with certainty, but
because she wanted to believe him, she bit back the words. Taking a
breath, she stared down at the grass and tried to find peace in know-
ing that her grandfather was going to come in a couple of days. Tried
to find peace in having spilled her troubles. And she did feel slightly
better.
“Have you asked Holiday?” He leaned in and his shoulder
bumped into hers, his warmth, his soothing touch chasing away some
of her angst.
She shook her head. “Not yet. She’s still in the office with Bur-
nett.” And Kylie still hadn’t mulled over the whole ghost issue. If
someone’s ghost appeared to you when they weren’t dead, what did
it mean? The possible answers started her heart shaking.
“I think this is kind of important,” he said.
“I know, but . . .”
“There’s something else, isn’t there?”
She glanced up. Was he reading her emotions or her mind?
“Ghost problems,” she said.
“What kind of problems?”
Of all the campers, Derek was the only one who didn’t run away
at the mention of ghosts. “This person isn’t dead.”
“So it’s not a ghost.” Derek looked confused.
Kylie bit down on her lip. “Yes . . . I mean, at first the spirit had
the whole zombie thing going on—hanging flesh, and worms—but
10 C. C. HUNTER

then it changed. And when it did, the face turned into someone
I know.”
“How could that be?” he asked.
She paused. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s a trick.”
“Or not,” Derek said. “You don’t think someone’s going to die?”
Not anyone else, she wanted to scream. “I don’t know.” She
yanked a few blades of grass from the ground.
“Who is it?” he asked. “Not someone here, is it?”
Kylie’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to say it—afraid that if
she said it aloud, it would make it so. “I just need to think it through.”
Derek paled. “Oh, crap! Is it me?”
“No.” She tossed the blades of grass and watched them whirl in
the wind on their descent.
When she looked back at him, she could feel him reading her
emotions, deciphering their meaning. “You care a lot about this per-
son.” His brows pinched. “Lucas?” She heard the pain in his voice
from just saying the name.
“No,” she said. “Can we drop it? I don’t want to talk about it.
Please. ”
“So it is Lucas?” Derek asked.
“What’s Lucas?” A deep, irate voice suddenly spoke up.
Kylie looked up and saw Lucas step out of the trees. His eyes
were an angry orange color. She flinched with guilt for a just a sec-
ond, then fought it back. She hadn’t been doing anything wrong.
“Nothing,” Derek bit out when Kylie didn’t speak. He stood up
and took one step toward the office. Pausing, he looked back at her,
and then glanced at Lucas. “We were just talking. Don’t go all were
on her.”
Lucas growled. Derek walked away, appearing unaffected by
Lucas’s anger. Kylie grabbed another handful of grass and yanked it
from the ground.
“I don’t like this.” Lucas stared down at her.
WHISPERS  AT  MOONRISE

BUY  THE  BOOK  NOW

Amazon
Barnes  &  Noble
IndieBound

LEARN  MORE  ABOUT  THE  BOOK

macmillan.com