Isabelle Rose is the author of Naughty Fairy Tales and Under the Moonlight. She currently resides in Delaware with her husband Kurt. She loves reading fairy tales and finding new ways to twist them. She has always enjoyed reading erotic fiction and fantasy novels. When she's not writing, she can be found staring off into space daydreaming about what to write next. She's currently at work on a new novel.

About Under the Moonlight: The Novel

In the blink of an eye, Detective Morgan Carbone’s life changes from day to night. Sociopath, serial killer, and charmer David McAllister won’t reveal where the bodies of several young women are located, and Morgan is determined to get answers from him. She gets much more from him during an interrogation, when he sinks his teeth into her hand, causing her to bleed profusely. The bite leaves Morgan with flawless skin as her wound heals quickly and perfectly, and it leaves her with severe bloodlust as she has now turned into a werewolf, like her serial-killing nemesis. This drastic change casts Morgan into an action-packed, dramatic journey as she is pressured (a deadly chip in the brain can do that) by a man to go across the country to kill a vampire that has supposedly killed his sister. Morgan must decide if she will fulfill her goal for him or let her heart fall for the deadly vampiress, who eerily reminds her of her first and only true love – a woman who got away.

From Cacoethes Publishing

All night she dreamt of blood. The crackle and crunch of bones made her uneasy.

Morgan gasped and kicked until she was awake. Her head throbbed. She smelled like sweat and fear and there was something stuck between her teeth. She pried at it unsuccessfully with her fingernails. Frustrated, she threw the sheets aside and ran into the bathroom. She grabbed a bit of dental floss. The thin piece of white string slid back and forth. Morgan let out a sigh of relief when she felt whatever it was come loose.

Probably a piece of chicken from yesterday’s lunch.

She felt large piece of skin between her thumb and index finger. Only it had…ridges. She frowned.

That’s strange.

She went to the living room and put her glasses on. They blurred her vision.

“What the?” she asked as she took them off. She stared at them as though she were looking at them for the first time in her life.

She studied the item she had had lodged in her mouth. Skin. Human skin. She could tell because there was a fingerprint.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

A little bit of bile ran up her throat. She made it to the bathroom before she vomited. She mumbled a prayer as she reached for the knob to flush the toilet. Then she noticed something floating on the water. It was a mix between pink and blue-grey. With a trembling hand she reached in and picked it up.

“Jesus Christ!” she shrieked.

She tossed it. It flew half way across the bathroom. It bounced across the floor. She pushed herself away from it until her back touched the wall. It was a finger… a quarter of a woman’s pinky finger.

She thought about what happened to her two weeks ago.

Morgan arrived at the police station. She got out of her black BMW and slammed the door shut behind her. She pushed the LOCK button on her keychain as she strode into the lobby. She wore a crisp white blouse and a pair of loose jeans. Her gun was in a holster around her waist, slightly covered by the black jacket she threw on just to hide her breasts. It was the one part of her body she was self conscious about. She always thought they were too small.

She grabbed a Styrofoam cup and filled it to the brim with coffee. Even though it burned her tongue and sizzled down her throat, she drank it all in one gulp. She crushed the cup with one hand and tossed it into the wastebasket.

She went into her office. The walls were painted ivory and the only decoration she had in the room that was personal to her was a black and white poster of James Dean. On the wall opposite to it were her diplomas and awards. She sat on the black leather chair and opened her desk drawer. She took out hand disinfectant and a large manila envelope. She placed both items neatly in front of her.

She squeezed the tube of disinfectant and poured a dime size portion into the palm of her hand. She rubbed her hands together until they were dry. She opened the envelope and extracted its contents. She fanned the photos on top of her desk.

More dead bodies. Dead women. Young girls, none of them old enough to drink.

Morgan got up and left her office. She walked down the halls, giving short waves and tight smiles to a few people. She stopped in front of a large metal door. She didn’t want to deal with the man behind it. She didn’t like him at all. But that was normal. She didn’t even like the other detectives. She punched in her code and waited for the soft beep that let her know she could pass. She tied her black hair into a tight ponytail. She took a deep breath and walked inside.

At the end of the grey room sat a tall, thin man with one hand cuffed to the table bolted to the floor. He smirked at her.

“Detective Carbone, how nice of you to come and see me. Always a pleasure, naturally,” he said.

David McAllister. Sociopath. Serial Killer. Charmer. He had long blond hair. Cornflower blue eyes. Chiseled chin and a wicked smile. But Morgan remembered the body he left under the bridge. A young girl torn to shreds. Her intestines spread out across her abdomen.

Morgan closed her eyes and tried to think about something other than the photographs. The girl, Maggie Fletcher, was nineteen years old. She had been on her way to her mother’s house. One image in particular refused to leave Morgan's thoughts. Maggie, staring at the sky, her mouth agape as though trapped in an eternal scream. Her bright blue eyes filled with horror. Morgan wondered why no one had the decency to at least close her eyelids before snapping the photograph.

“Where were you on April 21^st at midnight?” she asked.

“Watching you fall asleep, like I do every night,” he replied with a wolfish smile.

“Did you follow the victim home that night?” she asked ignoring his comment, no matter how much it sent chills down her spine.

“How were the strawberries you had for breakfast this morning?” David asked.

She frowned for the second time that day.

There’s no way he could’ve known that.

“Were you anywhere near the bridge the victim was found?” Morgan asked.

“And how was your lover last night?” he asked.

She felt her cheeks getting warmer. She couldn’t help it. She knew what he was referring to.

“I get to ask the questions around here. Not you.”

“His musk is still all over you. He wears cheap cologne and smokes cigarettes. You deserve better than that. I don’t think you enjoyed it. I can tell,” David said.

She couldn’t help but admit to herself that he was correct. Sex with her boyfriend had become more of a routine with every passing day. It didn’t change the fact that he was a good guy. But she wanted…more from him. She shook her head.

“Oh really?” she asked as she pulled out some documents from a manila envelope. She glanced up at him and arched her eyebrow.

“Yes. You’re wearing the same pair of jeans you wore yesterday. There’s a hint of latex, but none of your cum on them,” he said.

She took a deep breath and exhaled it as calmly as she could. She reminded herself that she was a cop. She couldn’t let him get her all riled up.

“Do you know anything about these missing girls?” she neatly spread black and white photos of pretty young women on top of the table.

David licked his lips.

“You know…. if you were my woman, we’d fuck everyday.” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “Mmm, I get hard just thinking about it,” he growled as he grabbed his crotch with his free hand.

Morgan pinched the bridge of her nose. She wished she could empty her gun into his face.

“Where are these girls?” she asked.

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“If they’re dead at least tell me where they are so we can give them a proper burial.”

“You’ll never find them.”

Morgan glanced at the giant mirror on the wall. She knew her partner Jason was checking up on her. She blinked twice. That was their signal. In a few moments he would come into the room and switch places with her.

She turned her gaze back to the suspect.

Morgan's eyes widened in disbelief as she watched David break free of his handcuffs. Morgan pulled out her gun. In a split second David leapt over the table. He opened his mouth wide and sank his teeth into her gun-hand.

Morgan dropped her gun and screamed in pain as her blood gushed out of the corners of David’s mouth.

She grabbed a fistful of his hair and kicked him several times in the stomach, but he wouldn’t release his grip on her. She might as well have tried breaking down an iron wall with a sack of feathers.

“Somebody get this motherfucker off me!” she shouted.

David released her the moment the doorknob turned. He pushed her down onto the floor and kissed her cheek, leaving a bloody smudge on her skin. Morgan panted through clenched teeth. She heard the steel door open and half a dozen officers ran into the room, some with guns drawn.

“I’ll see you soon, beautiful,” he whispered.

He pushed all of the guards out of the way. Once he was in the hallway, he jumped out an open window, falling silently into the arms of the dark night.

She tried to remember details of her nightmare. Pain. The smell of sweat. Fear. The look of surprise on the young woman’s face. The woman’s brown eyes widening as a scream escaped her lips. The scream turning into a gurgle as Morgan bit into the woman's ivory throat. Her warm, liquid life force trickling out of the corners of Morgan's mouth and slithering like a crimson snake down her neck.

“Oh my God. What have I done?” she whispered.

She removed the bandage from her right hand. The wound had completely healed. There wasn’t a scar. Her skin was perfectly smooth.

“This is impossible,” she whispered.

She got on the internet and spent most of the afternoon researching werewolves.

A drop of sweat fell on her wrist. Her hands began to tremble. Little bits of dark fur sprouted on her knuckles.

Morgan looked out the window. It was night. The sky was a velvety blue and the stars shimmered behind drifting silver clouds. The moon was full. Her blood burned, pulsating through her veins.

“Oh God,” she moaned.

She gasped as she ripped off her clothing. Her skin was covered with goose bumps. Her mind went blank. She forgot everything she'd read about werewolves and the guilt she felt about the woman from the night before. She smiled as she basked in the moonlight. She stood up and twirled on the tips of her toes as she felt her body change.

She threw her head back and howled a mournful song to the moon.

The black wolf leapt off the balcony and crept out of her neighborhood. When she reached the park she stopped. She sniffed the air, she smelled water. There was a lake nearby. She would go there and stretch her limbs.

The bright neon light hurt her eyes.

Too much light and noise. Need to get away.

Morgan ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She was amazed that she wasn’t out of breath when she reached her destination. She lowered her mouth at the lake's edge and gulped wholeheartedly. She sat and enjoyed a moment of peace and quiet. She could hear crickets, the hooting owls, and the soft rustle of a deer’s footfalls.

This is what it’s like to be free.

The scent of saliva and wet fur reached her nostrils. Her throat rumbled. She didn't want to give herself away, but as the odor became stronger, the rumbling became a full growl.

She pulled her lips back and bared her fangs. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She spun around and saw a white wolf behind her. His eyes were bright blue. He was lithe and had long legs.

David.

He snapped his jaw several times, almost as though he were trying to laugh at her. He took off. Morgan growled and flashed her fangs at him. Saliva fell from the corners of her lips. She chased after him. She was amazed at how fast he was. All she could see was a white blur speeding away from her in a zigzag pattern.

She stopped when she reached a clearing. His scent was everywhere, but she couldn’t see him. Her ears quivered with anticipation as she waited to hear movement. The moment Morgan moved a padded foot forward, David leapt through a bush and landed on top of her. She strained her neck to try and bite him but he wriggled away from her snapping jaws.

He opened his mouth wide and gripped the scruff of the neck. She let out a high pitched yelp. She could feel his fangs digging into her skin. She could smell her own blood. Her heart quickened when she felt his erection. She fought even more when she realized what he wanted to do. She twisted and kicked her hind legs until she managed to get herself free.

Hurt him. Make him bleed. Kill.

David licked his lips. His long tongue grazed his nose. He let out a huff of air and dashed off into the woods. Morgan chased after him. How wonderful it would be to turn his pale hair the color of liquid garnets. She searched for him until her lungs gave out. By then she had lost his scent. He was gone.

Morgan awoke in the middle of the playground a mile away from her neighborhood…naked. She smacked her lips as she stretched. She ran her tongue over her lips and tasted dried blood on the corners of her mouth. The sky was still dark, but she could already see light blue and orange streaks staining the clouds.

She checked her answering machine. There were twelve messages from her partner. Each message was a different version of “Where the hell are you?”

Morgan pressed a red button.

The automatic voice from the machine said, “All messages have been deleted.”

She got in the tub and turned the shower on. As the scalding hot water ran across her skin she replayed everything that had happened the night before.

She got out of the shower dripping wet. She didn’t bother with a towel. She slipped on a pair of jeans, picked up the first blouse she saw, and put it on without buttoning it. Her black hair dripped water across her chest.

Hungry.

She searched for food in the refrigerator. Milk? No. Salad? No. She growled in frustration.

Morgan got in the car and drove to the supermarket. She walked to the back where the deli was and ordered two pounds of steak. No one noticed that half her chest was exposed and that she was also barefoot.

She went through the self-checkout machine and paid for her meal. When she got into the car she pulled the steak out of the bag. With one hand on the steering wheel, she kept the other one busy feeding herself.

Delicious.

After her belly was full, it was time for her to start working.

Time for me to practice.

Morgan hadn’t slept in weeks. Every time she closed her eyes all she could see was the face of the woman she'd killed. She forced herself to quit her job. She could smell every single person in the building. She couldn’t concentrate on her cases. She didn’t see the point of going anymore. She already knew how David had killed the girls and was almost certain that he had eaten their corpses. Probably burnt the bones or buried them somewhere. She would never find them, even if she wanted to. Besides, she had other things on her mind. She was working on changing parts of her body at will.

There was a sharp knock on the door. She pulled her lip back and bared her teeth as her throat rumbled. She sniffed as she walked to the front of her house. She knew who it was before she even turned the knob. It was Roger, her boyfriend.

She hadn’t returned any of his phone calls. It was only a matter of time before he showed up. She opened the door. Her heart jumped when she saw his face. He had closely cropped blonde hair. His bright green eyes reminded her of leaves during spring. She couldn’t believe that in one month she had forgotten how handsome he was.

“Morgan? Where the hell have you been? Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?” he asked.

“Most people start by saying ‘Hello’,” she replied.

“You look terrible.”

“Not sleeping well,” she admitted.

“I heard you quit your job.”

“It’s none of your business what I do with my life. You need to go home and forget me.” She couldn’t guarantee that she would be able to control herself around him.

“Morgan, can I come in? Can we talk?”

“Leave.” She closed the door.

He put his foot by the frame and stopped it from closing all the way.

Morgan saw red for a split second as the wolf pushed itself into the fore-front of her mind.

How dare he? This is my home. Enemy. Kill.

No. Don’t hurt him. He doesn’t know. He’s just a foolish man. Just make him go away.

Her body trembled as she tried to regain control of her mind.

“Morgan…talk to me,” he begged.

“Please leave right now.” Her voice cracked.

“I’m not leaving until you explain what's going on.”

“Fine,” she snapped.

She opened the door, grabbed him and pulled him inside her house. He stumbled into the living room.

“Did I ever tell you about David McAllister?” she asked.

“The serial killer you were questioning?”

She nodded.

“What about him?”

“He bit me.”

“What?”

“He. Bit. Me.”

“So, what… did he do? Give you rabies?”

“He claimed to be a werewolf,” she said.

“Oh, come on,” he laughed. “You don’t really believe that do you? Is that why you quit your job?”

“It’s true.”

“Ha, ha, ha, really funny.”

“I’m not joking,” she growled. “David was right. You do smell like cheap cologne and cigarettes. I never noticed until now.” She wrinkled her nose.

“My God, Morgan…your eyes,” he whispered.

She felt the darkness take over as her eyes turned black. Her nails slowly extended into claws. She inched her way towards him with a grin on her face. She knew exactly what she wanted from Roger. She pressed herself against him. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest. Her breathing quickened at the thought tearing off his clothes. Without hesitating, she used her claws and ripped his grey t-shirt off, revealing a smooth, rock hard chest.

Morgan lifted her face and leisurely licked his lips.

Stop. You know how this is going to end.

Shut up. Keep going.

This isn’t who you really are. You’re becoming a monster. Do the right thing, let him go.

The right thing never got us anywhere. You were nothing but a goody two shoes and a clean freak.

Morgan was fighting with two different sides of her mind. She didn’t know who to listen to. She pushed Roger against the wall. She licked his neck. Her teeth were barely an inch away from his skin. She could smell the fear and cold sweat that glistened over his skin. The salty flavor seeped into her tongue. The temptation to bite him was far too great. She stifled a cry and pulled herself away from him. She slid to the floor and crawled to the corner of the living room. She pressed the palms of her hands against her temples.

“Why didn’t you leave, like I told you to!” she shouted.

He approached her.

“Stay away from me,” she said as she dug her nails into his arm. Roger cried out as blood trickled down his arm. Morgan smiled. She took her index finger and swiped a sample, leaving a smudge on his skin. She closed her eyes and tasted. She inhaled and exhaled.

“You taste…good,” she whispered.

“Oh, God,” he moaned.

She tilted her head to the side.

The champagne walls and the mocha carpet in the living room were dark red by the time she was finished with him.

It was two o’clock in the morning. The full moon wouldn’t appear for another week. But Morgan didn’t think that was going to be a problem. She studied her living room. She looked at the mess she made. She found Roger’s body sprawled on the couch, his half-eaten intestines gathered between his thighs. Poor Roger. She had tried to warn him.

She made her way outside. She stepped on Roger’s severed thumb. She picked it up and popped it in her mouth. She chewed on it a few times and then frowned. She didn’t like that it was cold. She spat it out when she walked out to her backyard.

She studied the sky while she waited for David. She could catch hints of his scent here and there when the wind was in her favor.

The heavens were the color of tar. A few shimmering stars were found but the only thing that made Morgan’s heart sing was the waxing moon. She took a deep breath. Morgan had the scent of the evening trapped inside her lungs. Ozone, wood, grass, pine needles, dried blood, and sweat. She could already smell him.

“Hello, Beautiful,” David said as he emerged from the shadows.

She yawned in response. She stretched her jaw until it popped and twisted her neck.

“I see you’ve grown accustomed to your Change. Not many people survive becoming a wolf. But I knew you would.”

Morgan threw her head back and laughed.

“What are you doing?” he asked as she got on all fours.

Morgan growled at him. He wanted to own her. David thought that changing a woman into a werewolf would guarantee him a partner…not a cold blooded enemy.

She grinned when she saw the horrified look on his face.

“Fucker,” she growled as she stood up.

She wasn’t just a wolf. She had become something in between. She was taller, her arms covered in dark fur. Her nails were razor sharp. The tips of her ears were pointy and pressed against her skull. She chuckled. Then she pounced on him.

He struggled, but all he could do was scratch her with his half grown claws. Her wounds healed within moments.

In response, Morgan brought her mouth down and ripped off a large piece of his neck. Blood gushed and spilled onto the dark brown soil. She swallowed his raw flesh whole. She rested beside him and gnawed on his exposed spine. Every time she nibbled, his legs twitched. She found that greatly amusing. She continued to do that until his body grew cold. Her throat rumbled as she ran her tongue against his bloodied bones. She tasted the metallic bittersweet crimson that oozed out of his body.

She stared at his pale skull. His eyes were open wide and his mouth was agape. His final facial expression. She picked up his head between her jaws and threw it up in the air. She whooped with delight as his head spun above her. Blood sprinkled her face.

Morgan threw David's body into the lake. She picked her teeth with the nail on her pinky finger. With her tongue she played with a piece of skin. She spat it out and watched as it hit one of the blades of grass. It slid down slowly, leaving behind a trail of her saliva.

“Hello, David,” she said as she held his face in front of hers.

She placed her thumb over his bottom lip and moved it up and down. She giggled.

“I’m sorry, I was such an asshole,” she said, mimicking his voice.

“You should be,” she replied.

“Did I at least taste good?”

“You were too salty,” she admitted.

She tossed his skull into the lake and with a light splash all of his remains were gone.

I need to get his taste out of my mouth.

She turned her gaze up to the sky. She threw her head back and sang a haunting tune to the moon.

The night is still young.