Touched by Moonlight

by Bonnie Vanak

  TOUCHED BY MOONLIGHT

  Shifters Wild & Free Reverse Harem #2

  Bonnie Vanak

  Contents

  Blurb

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Blurb

  TOUCHED BY MOONLIGHT BY BONNIE VANAK

  COPYRIGHT 2019 BONNIE VANAK

  A fiercely independent Fae princess on the run finds erotic passion with three sexy, mysterious biker werewolves who want to claim her for their own.

  A powerful Fae princess…

  Sienna is laying low and pretending to be human as she hides from the enemy who wants to kill her. When she encounters three strong, sexy werewolves determined to protect her, the mutual attraction is powerful.

  A pack of werewolves at her back....

  Grayson and his beta wolves want to claim her for their own, as she finds pleasure and passion in their beds. But can she trust them to keep her safe? Or are they just as dangerous as the creatures who hunt her?

  A trap closing...

  As her enemies close in, Sienna must decide who she can trust, A wrong choice will lead to her death and allow her magick to destroy all living creatures…

  Prologue

  Sienna, three years ago

  I never anticipated dying like this at 21.

  Then again, I never thought my own people would turn on me like a werewolf pack bringing down prey. We are Elven Fae and the most power of all Fae – Fionn – proud, aloof, protectors of the forest and nature, and consider ourselves above shifters.

  But damn, today I could have used fangs and claws.

  Blood trickled down my neck where the ringleader, Kallan, used his gloved hands to slash me with an iron blade. The cut burned like fire. Every part of my body ached. I struggled to stand as they formed a circle around me. The pretty white robe my mother had spent countless hours embroidering hung in shreds on my battered body. It was all I had left of her memory. I wore it every year on this day.

  “Happy birthday to me,” I whispered through cracked, bleeding lips.

  The Fae around me laughed. Pointed. Lusted for what I refused to share. They tried to beat it out of me.

  “Give us your power, Sienna, and we shall allow you to live. Perhaps we shall not torment you anymore.” A lie, for Kallan’s smile hinted of pleasure at the sport. Kallan, once my adored mentor.

  He traced a rune in the air with the iron dagger. “But live here anymore? I think not. You are a freak.”

  I didn’t know what hurt more – his cruel words or my aching bones.

  “You’re so afraid of what you are. You don’t belong here. Magick is wasted on you.” Lily smirked and flicked out her hands. Energy escaped her fingertips. It lashed the bare skin of my legs, scoring my flesh, making me stumble as I stood.

  Lily’s words caused my chest to squeeze tight. Once my best friend, she had listened as I shared the secret of the shadowy wolf shifter who shared my dreams since the day a wolf had rescued me in the forest when I was seven and couldn’t find my way home. Lily and I had roamed the mountains of Oregon, plucking rich, ripe fruit off vines to eat, healing the earth. We giggled as we pretended to be human college students hiking in the mountains, checking our cell phones every five minutes for texts that did not exist.

  And then as I approached my birthday, my magick surged, like a nuclear power plant going online. I was no longer like my people.

  I could not even heal myself. If I released even a tendril of my newfound magick, they would siphon it away and suck on it like liquid through a straw. If I died, the magick escaped into the air, and they would absorb it, fighting for each particle of power.

  There remained only one alternative. Use it all in one forceful blast.

  My people, the ones I had laughed with, cried with, who had hoisted me on their shoulders when I was little, and taught me about the forests and glens, coveted what I had.

  They must not have any of my magick. I knew what they desired to do with my power, power I didn’t want.

  Power I had never asked to have.

  Movement to my left. I turned and the circle around me parted. The king of the northwest Fae emerged from the hidden lair underground we called home. He led an army of our people.

  Rescue at last! “Father,” I cried out.

  But he lifted a hand. “Take her away. Destroy her. Do what you must.”

  Staggering back, I put a hand to my chest, unable to breathe. My own sire, turned against me. Warriors marched forth, clad in leather armor, spears at the ready.

  Kallan retreated to give them space, but the others remained. Eyes shining with greed, Lily watched, rubbing her hands.

  Too many of them. Gasping for breath, I summoned the last ounce of courage.

  “Come at me fuckers.” I gestured to my father’s army.

  They rushed at me.

  “Let us have it,” Lily screamed.

  I let them have it. And then the world exploded around me.

  Chapter 1

  Sienna, present day

  The bar crowd was drunk and having a good time. I just wanted to be left alone to guard my secrets and hide from my enemies.

  Hard to do when one of them sat sipping a beer directly across from me.

  Being Fae and bartending in a room filled with werewolves, werebears and other shapeshifters is like a chicken hanging out with a den of foxes. Still, I had done such great job pretending to be a psi human that even the smartest shifters never realized I was a powerful Fae princess.

  No worries.

  Except tonight when an Elven Fae decided to waltz into the club. On a busy Friday night, when I was slammed with orders, I didn’t need this new threat.

  Fae usually avoided shifter establishments the way shifters avoided Fae colonies. None had ever visited in the weeks I’d worked here. It made me wonder if my luck had finally run out.

  Most of the shifters eyeballed the pretty exotic dancer on stage. Four argued about hierarchy in their pack. Those four looked ready to fight. Typical Friday night at the Crossroads Gentlemen’s Club. But my magick kept flaring, like a beacon in the distance. Probably thanks to that damn Fae.

  You wouldn’t know he was a Fae unless you’d been around them before, and most of the shifters in this club were too drunk to notice.

  The Fae sipped his beer and stared at the stripper grinding away on the stage. Sweat poured down my spine. The newcomer had the forest-rich scent and shoulder-length ash brown hair of a woodland Fae. Woodland Fae were mild and mostly harmless, except if you threatened to chop down trees.

  Put any Fae near me and my pulse jumped from normal to erratic.

  “Sienna, gimme another round.” Nathan slammed his mug on the counter. Golden beer sloshed over the side.

  “Say please,” I shot back. Nathan was an arrogant beta wolf from a pack fifty miles from Cheyenne. Without his alpha around, he acted like a big shot. Everyone knew he
was all bluster and no action.

  “Pour me another or I’ll bite.” He grinned, showing pearly whites sharp enough to make the bravest dentist quiver.

  “Bite this.” I flipped him the finger.

  Snarling, he seized my wrist. “Gimme a beer NOW.”

  Fingers wrapped tight around my skin suddenly fell away. Nathan released a loud howl of pain as threads of pure lavender glowed.

  Not on the hand that held me captive, but on Nathan’s groin. Despite my relief, I winced. That had to hurt.

  “Leave her alone, needle dick,” snapped Cass, the senior bartender and my savior. She set down the wand used for containing shifters like Nathan. The wand acted like a magick stun gun, scrambling shifter senses and making them feel as if a thousand biting ants crawled under their skin.

  I nodded thanks at Cass, poured the beer, the point having been made for the whimpering Nathan. He was just another punk shifter, throwing his considerable weight around.

  Nathan slunk away, hand still on his groin. He didn’t know I didn’t need the wand or Cass. I had enough power to slam him against the far wall and break his neck with just a flick of my pinkie.

  I don’t do magick anymore if I can help it. Because of this, I’m more vulnerable at the club than any other employee. Not for the first time I regretted this second job that helped pay the rent on an apartment I planned to vacate soon.

  The Fae’s expression remained inscrutable. What did he want? Woodland Fae preferred the lush quietness of their homes, not rowdy shifter bars. Most shied away from cities. It was one reason I had moved across the country from city to city in the three years since I’d fled my home and my colony.

  As much as my spirit longed for the outdoors and nature, I stuck to buildings and concrete, even avoiding city parks.

  The woodland Fae finished his beer and gestured to me. As I approached, he touched my hand. My skin tingled a little. Shit.

  But the Fae didn’t notice. He slid a Jackson across the counter. “Another one, please. Keep the change.”

  Polite. Good tipper, giving me twenty for a $4 beer. I looked at the bill as if it were crawling with maggots and beckoned to Cass.

  “I’m busy,” I muttered, scurrying to the bar’s other end to tend to the orders.

  No indication he knew what or who I was. Didn’t matter. The Fae could be the nicest guy in the world and I’d never relax around him.

  Never trust him.

  Near the cash register sat a potted ivy no one bothered watering in two weeks. I had deliberately let the leaves wither and droop. It served as a canary in a coal mine. No Fae could resist tending to a dying plant.

  Except me.

  As Cass poured his beer, I returned and watched the Fae. His gaze went from the stripper on stage to the plant. He frowned. “Your ivy needs water.”

  Pulling out the cheapest bottle of gin, I dumped a shotful into the plant. The Fae winced. “You’re killing it. I shall make amends.”

  I pushed the plant a little closer to the woodland Fae. Frowning, he stood up and sent a flicker of green energy at the plant. It immediately grew lush and green again.

  About to slam his beer on the counter, Cass withdrew it instead and returned his twenty. “That’s it. No unauthorized magick in the bar.”

  She pointed to the sign.

  “I was only trying to help your plant grow. She was deliberately trying to kill it,” the woodland Fae whined.

  “Rules are rules. Get out.”

  Pouting, the Fae took out a cell phone and dialed. He skulked off and slammed the door behind him, talking as he left. Only then did I sigh with relief.

  “Was he a shifter? I’ve never seen magick like that before.” I pretended ignorance with Cass to get answers.

  “Fae.” Her pert nose wrinkled. “Judging from the reek, one of the forest dwellers.”

  “What was he doing here?”

  She shrugged and grabbed the vodka. “Probably passing by on the way to his colony. There’s a few of them in Colorado.”

  I knew this, which was why I had moved to Wyoming. My people prefer mountains and forest, not wide, sweeping plains.

  And then there was no time for more questions, because a dozen orders were shouted at the bar. I paused only for a minute to stare at a bear shifter licking salt from two empty margarita glasses someone else left on the bar.

  He blushed and shrugged. “I have a salt deficiency. Long hibernation.”

  “It’s summer.” I grabbed the glasses and dumped them into the sink as he slunk off, hanging his head.

  Pouring drinks for shifters was so not how I envisioned my life. When I was younger, I had thought about leaving my Fae colony to live among humans, but never imagined I’d be here mopping up beer or chasing away bear shifters from empties.

  Then again, I never thought I’d be responsible for my best friend’s agonizing death.

  Life has a funny way of laughing at plans.

  The show on stage ended. The four arguing werewolves started boasting about who had the largest penis. Next thing they’d start sending dick pix to the strippers. Nice.

  Fast rap music played, accompanying Kelly, the next stripper on stage. Milling about the crowd was Dante, the owner of Crossroads. Dante was a powerful alpha wolf. No one messed with him. He was tough, but fair. The alpha was sexy as hell, as lickable as chocolate.

  And taken.

  He only had eyes for Peyton, his mate. His expression, usually serious, turned into pure joy each time she entered the room. I’d heard some rumor about how human psychic Peyton had mated with not only Dante, but his two betas Alexander and Gabriel. Seemed odd, but if Peyton was happy, and the guys were good in bed…

  My hands glowed a soft pink. Damnit!

  Fumbling for the bag I kept under the bar, I found the black leather gloves and slid them on. Made of calfskin and infused with a special spell cast by a 100-year-old witch, the gloves calmed my power and kept it at bay.

  Usually I could contain the power. Thinking of sex had released the magick.

  Best case scenario for tonight? No thoughts of sex and hot, hungry males in bed. I could control this. Had to.

  But life taught me never to hope for the best possible outcome. I’ve been on my own too long, a lone Fae who doesn’t dare get close to anyone.

  Or I’ll hurt them.

  Or kill them like I did Lily.

  Someone opened the outside door, releasing a blast of chilly air inside the club. Although it was late spring, it felt like winter tonight.

  The door slammed shut behind the newcomer. Everyone fell silent. You could have heard a whisker drop. Or the collective heartbeats of the shifters in the room.

  My palms went damp and it felt like a hand closed around my throat. At the same time, my lady parts shouted hurrah. I could feel the heat of magick rising from my hands, and now other areas of my body.

  Three werewolves entered the bar, their stance bristling, aggression rolling off them in waves of scent and pure power. The one at the center, flanked by his betas, posed the biggest threat to the others here.

  Grayson Smith. Alpha werewolf of the Timber Wolf pack in northern Colorado. Frequent visitor here for the past six weeks.

  If Dante was lickable chocolate, Grayson was the finest imported whisky, burning as it slid down your throat. Curly black hair was cut short. He stood well over six feet and at first glance, looked like a nice enough guy. His chiseled face hinted of aristocratic breeding, but it, as was the case with many adult shifters, it was difficult to determine his age. He could have been thirty, or two hundred.

  A little muscled beneath the tan suede jacket he wore over a flannel green shirt. Nice ass covered by brown cords that hugged thighs hinting of power.

  One glance at those lean hips and firm ass and a woman envisioned him thrusting into you deep, gripping that fine derriere as he rode you hard and fast.

  With the smooth contours and planes of his face, he was good-looking enough to be a model on a magazine. Those lips
were kissable, until you realized they seldom cracked into a smile.

  But the aquamarine blue eyes told the whole story. The shifter crackled with quiet power, glowed with it. Sexual power that had the few ladies in the bar humming with desire… alpha power that had the males giving him a healthy distance.

  There was something about Grayson and the shadows dancing behind those eyes warning everyone to stay away. Ever since meeting him here in the club, I wondered if he was the wolf shifter who dreamwalked with me. Those memories were faint and cloudy now, and the possibility Grayson being that same werewolf was as likely as finding a four-leaf clover in a meadow.

  My hands tingled. I knew if I removed the gloves, they would glow red with the passion of arousal, not the faint pink Dante had caused.

  At his side were his two ever-present betas, who scanned the room in silence as if assessing threats. Stephan Aragon was cute, slimmer and shorter, with a wiry toughness, ordinary straight brown hair cut short and sensitive blue-green eyes. He wore hiking boots, jeans, a denim jacket and a black T-shirt with a Punisher logo on it. The logo made me smile. Stephan loved that movie. He told me last week that he admired the Frank Castle’s toughness and beneath it, his fierce love for family.

  “That’s pack life, Sienna,” Stephan had said. “Wolves are the same. We fight to protect our own.”

  Stephan was much younger, seemed more human and friendlier than most shifters I’d met here. He was into movies and video games, and bragged about his motorcycle. Yet beneath the cheerful attitude lurked the heart of a wolf. People used to treat him like a friendly puppy, or even bait him into fights, which he good-naturedly refused. Everyone took him for granted until the day he beat up a man who’d threatened one of the strippers. The man laughed when Stephan told him to knock it off.