Blue Moon: Blood Moon Trilogy #3

by A. D. Ryan

  “And if the ones who bit them find them first—or worse, after us? What then?” Jackson was always pooping on the party.

  “Then we try to reason with them. We make them see that our territory is not up for grabs.” Another pang in my stomach made me hunch over, and Samuel woke up at the sudden movement.

  Jackson, being closer, took the baby from me, and Nick rushed over to help me to a chair.

  “Brooke, are you okay?” Nick’s voice inflected with worry.

  I shook my head and breathed through the final pinches. The baby stretched again as though annoyed with the sudden inconvenience. “Yeah. I’m good. I think I just need to shift. It feels like the tension pangs I get when I go too long between runs.”

  Nick knelt at my side. “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “This seems like more to me.” His hands moved gently over my belly. “Layla said you’re weeks away from delivering, but that you could realistically go any time.”

  Denial swept over me, washing away his nonsense. “You’re insane,” I told him, trying to stand up when my belly tightened again, rendering me immobile as I clenched my teeth through the pain.

  Nick’s head whipped toward Jackson. “Find a way to get Layla back here,” he ordered. “She and Vince went for a run.”

  “I’ll send someone. Maybe Alistair could send out one of his magical doo-dads to contact them first.”

  “Do whatever you have to,” Nick commanded, turning back to me and holding my gaze; I was suddenly scared. We weren’t ready for this to happen tonight…or even in the very near future. What were we thinking? I knew I couldn’t do this.

  “Hey,” Nick said, centering my focus. “Don’t freak out. Just breathe.” The way he was staring at me told me I’d just said everything I was thinking out loud, and he was now working hard to calm me back down. “You were there when Layla had Samuel. Everything is going to be okay.”

  I let his words sink in, closing my eyes and allowing myself to believe them. The contractions happened sporadically, and while we waited for Layla to return, Nick helped me up to our room and into bed.

  “You really want me to do this here?”

  “It’s just a bed,” he told me, tugging our comforters off and tossing them on one of the chairs by the window. “I just want you comfortable.”

  I stared at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re being awfully sweet right now. You wouldn’t be trying to stock up on brownie points for when you refuse to get up in the middle of the night to change a diaper, would you?”

  His mouth fell open in shock. “Wha—? Baby, please.”

  I pressed my lips together. “Mmm hmm.”

  Roxanne and Alistair came jogging into the room, and I smiled when I noticed him place a hand on her lower back. I had recognized the attraction between them when they first met, so it thrilled me to watch as their relationship changed over the months.

  After news of what Alistair had done to Bobby on the night of the battle had made its way back to his sect, he had been cast out and forbidden to return. I owed him my life and the lives of my pack, so I offered him a place to stay, and he has been maintaining our barrier spells in return. We’d managed to maintain a symbiotic relationship, and the Pack was better for it. Stronger and better equipped, even.

  “I managed to link minds with Layla and Vince, telling them to return,” Alistair informed me. “Is there anything else we can do?”

  I shook my head, rubbing my hands over my stomach during this moment of calm. “No. Thank you, though.”

  Alistair looked toward Nick, then me. “Something to numb the pain, perhaps?”

  “Like drugs?” I queried.

  “Yes and no,” he said. “I could cast something to relax you enough that you won’t feel the pain, but you’d still experience the birth.”

  “Like a mystical epidural,” I stated, intrigued. Another contraction hit, and I fisted the sheets at my side. Alistair’s option was more appealing by the second, but when the pain ebbed, I ultimately decided against it.

  Over the months, I’d come to accept the pain I endured as part of the journey. The pain was only temporary and served to remind me that I was alive. It took me to where I needed to go, and often the reward was worth it.

  Like now. Having this baby was reward enough.

  Layla burst into the room, pulling her shirt on the rest of the way. “Sorry! Sorry!” she huffed, coming to a full stop next to me.

  Respectfully, Roxy and Alistair wished me luck and exited the room, leaving Layla, Nick, and me alone. Layla did a quick check of my abdomen before asking me to change into something a little less restricting than my yoga pants. While I changed, she and Nick worked together to put down protective mats and extra towels and sheets.

  Within the hour, my water had broken, and my labor progressed rapidly. I didn’t realize that the contractions I had been feeling before were mild in comparison. Nick sat by, trying to coach me, but ultimately feeling pretty damn helpless as I went through this.

  As soon as Layla gave the order, Nick climbed behind me on the bed, allowing me to rest my back against his chest, and he held my hands as I bore down and pushed. The pain blinded me, and I tried to keep myself from crying out, eventually losing that battle toward the end of each contraction.

  Layla assured me that progress was made with each push, and she continued to cheer me on with a chorus of “just one more push, Brooke! Just one more!” She only made herself out to be a liar, eight pushes later.

  I was slowly fading. My energy was running out, and I didn’t know how much longer I could do this.

  Nick pressed a cold cloth to my forehead and offered me some ice chips—I’d never understood this whenever I had seen it on TV, but I did now, and I appreciated how oddly refreshing they were. “You’re doing great,” he whispered, kissing the top of my head. “Just a little longer.”

  “He’s right, honey,” Layla said, looking up at me from between my legs. “I can see the baby’s head. Just one m—”

  “If you say it, I will kick you out of here,” I threatened, only half meaning it. Behind me, Nick chuckled, and Layla tried to suppress a smirk. I prepared to apologize when another contraction started to gain momentum.

  Recognizing this, Nick sat me up, took my hands in his, and I pushed as hard as my body would let me. I could see that Layla was saying something, but I couldn’t hear anything as I focused on the pain.

  Moments later, a flood of relief passed over me. Exhausted and proud of myself, I closed my eyes, laying back against Nick and breathing heavily, mentally preparing myself for the next push…

  …when a baby’s cry filled the room.

  My eyes fluttered open, and I looked toward Layla as she wrapped the baby in a towel and handed it to me. “It’s a girl,” she announced softly.

  Taking the baby from her wasn’t awkward, and I didn’t worry I was going to fumble the way I had with Samuel in the past. This was easy and natural as I cradled her in my arms. She let out a series of whimpers and squeaks as she nestled into my arms, and I craned my neck to look at Nick.

  “She has your nose,” I told him.

  “Poor kid,” he quipped back, leaning forward and kissing me gently.

  As we bonded with our baby, the sky outside cleared up, letting the light of the blue moon filter into the room. Slowly, the rest of the Pack came in to meet our newest member. Colby was the first to ask to hold her. Nick was reluctant to hand her over, which was adorable, but he finally did.

  “What’s her name?” Colby asked, looking at me.

  I looked at Nick. We’d had months to decide on a name, but we weren’t able to agree on anything. The sight of the rare blue moon outside caught my attention, calling to the wolf, and I smiled as inspiration struck. “Azura?”

  Nick contemplated my suggestion before a slow grin spread across his face and he nodded. “I like it.”

  Colby handed Azura back to me, and I kissed her forehead, inhaling deeply and recognizing an intoxicating combin
ation of my scent and Nick’s, yet it was uniquely hers. “Welcome to the world, little one.”

  The happiness in the room was intense. As each member of the Pack became acquainted with the newest member, I looked at each of them, remembering how each one helped me become who I am today, and I smiled.

  I might not have wanted it in the beginning—at least not the way it was given to me—but I was Alpha. This was my Pack—my family. We’d been to Hell and back. We deserved this. We deserved to be happy. While I knew it couldn’t last forever, I would do what I could to make damn sure we rode it out for as long as possible until the next storm hit.

  And with strays out there wreaking havoc in my territory, I knew that could be at any given moment.

  After closing the door as quietly as possible, I turn around and head up the stairs. Having grown up here, I know that the third step from the top has a squeak near the center, and to avoid being caught sneaking by Daddy’s room, you have to basically hug the wall—of course, you could just skip that step, but in my current state of inebriation, I’d probably fall down the stairs, and then all of my stealth will have been in vain.

  I make it to the top of the stairs, smiling and mentally high-fiving my teenage-self for still being able to sneak past my father’s bedroom door at two in the morning, undetected. It isn’t that I think I’ll get in trouble for getting in at this hour—or for being drunk, for that matter, as I am newly twenty-one—I just don’t want to wake him up thinking his house is being burglered...um...burgled? That’s a word, right?

  I press my face into my hand, ashamed that this is what has suddenly caught hold of any working brain cells that aren't currently bobbing in a pool of beer and tequila. I open the door to my room, closing it softly as well since it’s right across the hall from Daddy’s, and I begin to take my clothes off. I’m far too unbalanced and drained to go through my bag to find my pajamas, so I crawl beneath my blankets in just my bra and panties and relax into my single bed, instantly met with the fading, yet familiar and comforting, smell of the fabric softener my dad uses...but there’s something else too—something equally familiar that awakens something in the recesses of my brain. I can’t quite put my finger on it as my eyes drift shut and sleep sets in; all I know is that I like this particular smell. A lot.

  With the amount of alcohol flowing through my veins, my dreams start off strange and confusing, but eventually they change into welcome—and somewhat erotic—images. Okay, so “somewhat” might be an understatement. What can I say? I’ve been sexually repressed for the last few months. The last guy I dated was really sweet, but we just grew apart over the six months we were together. It’s unfortunate, because the sex was pretty great.

  God, I miss sex.

  The way a man’s hands would move over my body, up to my breasts as he lowered his face to take a pert nipple into his mouth… Or how about the way his tongue would flick the sensitive nub before he grazed his teeth over it? It was enough to drive me wild with desire.

  My dream slowly morphs from the crazy, psychedelic happenings of leprechauns and unicorns racing down the rainbow path and into one where I’m lying in a king-sized bed with a faceless man who smells absolutely amazing—all sex and deliciousness—and my body begins to warm.

  While I can’t hear them, the ocean waves are crashing onto the shore of a tropical beach while my mystery man and I lie in a four-poster bed, the sheer white fabrics hanging from the bedposts blowing in the breeze. It’s all very unrealistic, but I refuse to wake myself up.

  There aren’t any other people around as he grips my hip and pulls me to him. His hand is like warm honey as it trails down my thigh, his fingers hooking behind my knee and pulling it up over his hip. I can feel the hard bulge of his erection press between my thighs, and I whimper, cupping his jaw in my hands and drawing his face to mine for a searing kiss.

  His tongue breaches my lips and meets mine halfway; he’s an amazing kisser—which only makes sense since my brain made him up, and why would it betray me with someone who absolutely sucked? It would be cruel and quite possibly terms for electro-shock therapy to see if I could fix the glitch.

  Mystery guy—who’s actually beginning to show a few features, like the blond-and-coppery color of his hair, the shape of his nose, the angular cut of his jaw, and the laugh lines around his eyes—lets his hand move up from my thigh until he’s palming my breast over the bra I still wear, and my nipples strain against the fabric. I moan into his mouth when he hooks his fingers into the top of the cup and pushes it under my breast before rolling the taut nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I thrust my hips toward him, feeling his dick tease my sensitive and wanting flesh. Goosebumps arise all over my body when he abandons my chest and moves his hand quickly down my body and between my thighs. His fingers easily glide back and forth through the wetness that has accumulated there, and I shift my hips in time with his movements. The minute he sinks his fingers into me, I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and weave my fingers into his soft hair. The sensation of him pumping his fingers in and out of me brings me closer and closer to the best orgasm I think I’ve ever had.

  This. Dream. Fucking. ROCKS!

  “Yes,” dream-me moans, breaking our kiss and throwing my head back to catch a breath. “Oh, god, yes...”

  His hand begins to move a bit faster, thrusting a little harder and pressing his thumb against my clit to push me over the edge. Then he speaks for the first time. “That’s it, baby,” he says hoarsely, his hot breath tickling the skin below my ear as he peppers it with open-mouthed kisses. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”

  Mixed emotions run through me immediately; while I don’t want this dream to end until I’ve come, I also realize that something is amiss. Something feels—

  Holy shit! I know that voice!

  While he has been the object of many fantasies over the last five years, something in my brain tells me to push him away, and when I do, I fall off the edge of the bed. Instead of meeting the warm sand on the beach, however, I meet the cool wood of my bedroom floor. My eyes snap open when I bang my elbow on the edge of my bedside table, and I look up toward my bed to find that it’s not empty.

  In it, sits Owen Cavanaugh…my dad’s best friend.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A.D. Ryan resides in Edmonton, Alberta with her extremely supportive husband and children (two sons and a stepdaughter). Reading and writing have always been a big part of her life, and she hopes that her books will entertain countless others the way that other authors have done for her. Even as a small child, she enjoyed creating new and interesting characters and molding their worlds around them.

  To learn more about the author and stay up-to-date on future publications, please look for her on Facebook and her blog.

  https://www.facebook.com/pages/AD-Ryan-Author

  http://adryanauthorblog.wordpress.com