Moon Dance

by Angela Knight

  Elena took the clipping from her friend’s hand and studied it. Candice was right—Lucas looked formidable, but what interested her most was the focused intensity in his gaze. It was pure Alpha male. Pure warrior. Deep inside her, something clenched and heated in response—the Burning Moon reminding her of its presence. She cleared her throat. “He does look like he could give Stephen a run for his money.”

  “And he’s a cop in Harrisville.” Harrisville was one of the larger towns in upstate South Carolina, just a three-hour drive from the Livingstons’ Charleston mansion. Elena had driven through the area during her frequent trips to Charlotte, North Carolina. “What’s more, he hasn’t been Direkind long enough to be willing to look the other way for the Chosen. I don’t know of anybody else in three states I can say that about.”

  Elena studied her, interested. “How did you meet this guy?”

  “I ran into him a few months ago at a Direkind clan gathering. Fell instantly in lust.”

  Candice fell instantly in lust on a regular basis. “I’m surprised you didn’t snatch him for your very own.”

  “I did give it some thought. Then I decided you needed him more than I did. I . . .”

  “Shh!” Footsteps on the stairs—ones grown all too familiar. “Oh, hell, that’s Stephen. You’d better go, Candice.”

  “Shit!” Her friend hastily stuffed the clipping back in the envelope and handed it over. “Oh, listen—I also printed out the directions to the Harrisville PD, where Lucas works. I put those in the envelope, too. I want you to think about this, Elena. And fast. You’re running out of time.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Elena folded the envelope and slid it into the pocket of her jeans, then hurried to escort Candice to the door.

  When she opened it, she found Stephen towering on the other side, tall, blond, and icily handsome. He watched Candice slip past, his eyes narrow with disapproval. “What’s she doing here?”

  “She’s a friend, Stephen. My father still allows me to have friends.”

  The sarcasm, not surprisingly, flew right over his head. “Well, I don’t want her here again.” Stephen glowered, his gaze deliberately challenging. He was broad shouldered and long-legged in a way that should have made Elena’s Burning Moon hormones hum. Yet he left her literally cold. There was just something off about him. Even his handsome face reflected a subtle wrongness. Despite the precisely chiseled features that were the hallmark of the Chosen, his eyes were just a fraction too close together, and his lips were just a little too thin.

  Centuries of inbreeding at work, Elena thought. Yet another argument for Lucas Rollings. . . .

  “You know, you really do smell delicious.” Stephen shouldered his way into the room and closed the door behind him.

  “Stephen, what the hell are you doing?” The sinister excitement in his cold blue eyes made the hair rise on the back of her neck.

  This was bad. Very bad.

  He inhaled deeply. “Ahh, that Burning Moon. Pheromones and sex, my favorite combination.” His smile turned chilling. “Especially with a little fear thrown into the mix.”

  Definitely not good. She took a wary step back. “My father told me he doesn’t want me alone with any male for the next month.” Never mind that those instructions had pissed her off at the time. Right now, she was grateful.

  Stephen’s narrow mouth curled into a smile. “That order doesn’t apply to me. We just put the finishing touches on the betrothal agreement. You and I are to be married.”

  She’d known it was coming. Why did this latest betrayal have such power to wound? Elena squared her shoulders and met his hot gaze with her best Ice-Bitch glare. “And I’ll tell you what I told him—I will not marry you.”

  “He’s your Alpha. You’ll do as you’re told. And if that’s not enough, he’s dying.” Nasty anticipation lit those cold eyes. “Surely you wouldn’t refuse a dying father’s last wish?”

  The thought of Richard’s death shot a little sliver of pain into Elena’s heart. It saddened her that her grief was less for the man himself than for the relationship they’d never had. To Richard Livingston, she was nothing but the means to carry on Wulfgar’s line.

  But he had also taught her that being the descendent of the Direkind’s greatest hero was a responsibility as well as an honor. Her few happy childhood memories involved sitting in Richard’s lap, listening to the legends of her ancestor’s heroism.

  Remembering those stories, Elena knew what she had to do. “I know my duty, Stephen.” She also knew what he was capable of, but she curled her lip and met his eyes anyway. “And my duty is to make sure that the blood of a self-serving bully does not run in my son’s veins.”

  Stephen’s head rocked back as if from a physical blow. “You little bitch.”

  She’d just declared war on the Direkind’s most dangerous man. It was oddly freeing. “And you have no business leading the Chosen.”

  He smiled coldly. “Not just a bitch, but a stupid bitch. Richard warned me you’d take this attitude. That’s why we’re not going to wait.” Slowly, Stephen began to stalk her, his big hands curling into fists.

  Her pounding heart turned to ice. “What are you talking about?”

  “No point in waiting until after the wedding when you won’t be fertile again for another year.” He bared his teeth. “So Richard told me to get you pregnant now. He wants you nice and round before he kicks off.”

  If she’d needed proof of how little she meant to her father, this was it. “So you’re just going to rape me?”

  “You’re in your Burning Moon. I doubt there’ll be much rape involved. Though if you want to play rough . . .” Magic rose, surging around him, glowing to Elena’s senses. Mystical energies twisted bone and muscle, sending a wave of golden fur across his skin. When the forces finally died, something not even remotely human towered over Elena, almost seven and a half feet of golden fur, massive muscle, and razored claws.

  Fangs gleamed as he grinned at her, and his pointed ears brushed the ceiling. “Now, you’re welcome to shift, too,” Stephen said, in a deep, growling voice that sounded nothing like his own. “I’d be more than happy to demonstrate just what little chance you have against me in a fight.” He spread his fingers, making his claws flex. “Though it’s safe to say you won’t enjoy the demonstration nearly as much as I will.”

  Elena backed away, silently cursing both him and her father. At least they’d made her decision easier. If Stephen would do something like this to her—a woman he was supposed to marry—anybody was fair game. He had to be stopped, whatever it took. Even if it meant risking the life of an innocent man. “Where’s your Chosen sense of honor, Stephen?”

  “Where’s yours? Your Alpha gave you an order, and you refused to obey.”

  Her Burning Moon temper exploded. “It’s my body. I have a right—”

  “To nothing!” Stephen roared back. “You are not some human female who can put on a pretense of equality! You’re a Direwolf. You obey your Alpha. And as of tonight, that’s me.”

  She bared her teeth, refusing to cower. “You’re not my Alpha!”

  A clawed hand flashed out and wrapped in the tough blue fabric of her polo shirt, jerking her closer. “I say I am. And I say we’re going to fuck. Now. Tonight. Tomorrow. Every damned day for the rest of the month until you’re pregnant!”

  And this will be the rest of my life, Elena thought. Being bullied by this vicious prick simply because he’s bigger and stronger. By God, I don’t think so. “No!”

  Stephen shoved his fanged muzzle inches from her face. “You’ve got a choice, bitch. Either we can pretend we’re civilized and do it like humans, or I do you as a Direwolf until you bleed. It’s fine by me either way!”

  “How about none of the above?” Magic poured over her in a hot, foaming wave, searing muscle and bone as it twisted
and reformed her body. But not into Direwolf form.

  Elena became a wolf.

  Stephen had obviously assumed she’d Change to Direwolf. When she became so much smaller, he lost his grip—exactly as she’d hoped.

  Elena hit the ground and darted away as he snatched for her, cursing.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, bitch?” Flexing his clawed hands, he stalked her. He could disembowel her with one swipe. Given his mood, she wouldn’t put it past him.

  Fear iced her veins, but she ignored it as she danced around him, snapping at his muscled calves like a dog teasing a bear. He grabbed at her, but she was low-slung and nimble on her four legs, and he missed.

  With a taunting flick of her tail, she headed for the French doors and their wrought-iron grillwork. He followed, snarling like a chainsaw.

  Stopping directly in front of one door, Elena feinted a lunging snap at his balls. Come on, you big ox. Take your shot.

  “Oh, cunt, I’m going to enjoy putting you in your place!” He drew back a huge fist and swung at her with all his considerable strength. She ducked. His punch grazed the tips of her pointed ears and slammed into the door, which exploded outward from the force of the blow. Glass flew and iron shrieked, the sound competing with Stephen’s shocked yelp of pain.

  Bet that hurt, dumbass. With a triumphant bark, Elena sailed through the opening, dashed across the balcony, and leaped neatly over the railing. Stephen, trapped in the mangled remains of the grill, could only howl in frustration as she changed forms and ran to the Ferrari in the driveway.

  Just in case, she’d left the car unlocked and the keys in the ignition. Now she started the engine and floored the Ferrari down the drive.

  “Elena!” Stephen roared after her. “Come back here, or I swear, I’ll rip out your guts!”

  She ignored him. She didn’t have much time to find Lucas Rollings.

  CHAPTER 2

  Elena barreled down I-26 as fast as she dared, flicking constant glances in her rearview mirror. No sign of Stephen’s big black Hummer. Maybe she’d lost him the last time she’d doubled back, though how he could miss a candy-apple-red Ferrari was anybody’s guess.

  A green highway marker drew her attention. Ten miles to Harrisville, South Carolina.

  Ten miles to safety.

  She scooped up the ragged newspaper clipping from the passenger seat and darted it another glance. Candice was right—Lucas definitely looked as if he could set Stephen back on his heels.

  The question was, did Elena have the right to ask him to do it? Stephen didn’t play around, and he was obviously out for blood even before he knew Lucas was in the picture. Once he did . . .

  Take two Alpha males, add a female in her Burning Moon, and you had a prescription for bloodshed.

  Dammit, Elena thought, disgusted with herself, she was a descendent of Wulfgar. If she had half the guts she was supposed to, she’d leave Lucas out of it and find some way to take care of Stephen herself.

  Trouble was, Elena was simply no match for an Alpha. For one thing, she didn’t have the combat skills, despite her earlier success. Stephen would mop up the floor with her, and he’d do it with no compunction whatsoever. Even aside from the effects of the Burning Moon, she’d disobeyed her father, the Alpha of the Livingston clan. In Stephen’s eyes, she deserved whatever he did to her. Most of the Chosen, male and female alike, would agree.

  The rest of the Direkind might have a different attitude, but they also wouldn’t involve themselves in Chosen business. The Direkind’s aristocracy kept to themselves and policed themselves, and those of the lower classes kept their muzzles out of it.

  Hopefully, Candice was right and Lucas would feel differently.

  Elena drummed her fingers restlessly on the wheel. What if Lucas turned out to be too much a concerned Alpha? What if he refused to accept the role she had in mind for him and sought to dominate her as Stephen had? The last thing she needed was another male trying to force his will down her throat.

  One problem at a time, Elena. If Lucas tried to give her a hard time, she’d find a way to deal with him, too. She was through being a victim.

  A flash of movement in her rearview mirror. Elena shot it a look and breathed a curse. Something big and black, coming up fast from behind.

  Stephen’s Hummer.

  “Dammit,” she swore, and stomped on the gas. “Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

  Elena swerved around an aged blue Geo Prism barely doing the speed limit, then flashed past an eighteen-wheeler. The Hummer shot after her with a sinister roar.

  Bloody hell, she’d hoped to have time to approach Lucas before Stephen caught up to her, but it looked as if that wasn’t going to happen.

  Her only chance now was to head for the Harrisville Police Department and pray the presence of all those humans would give Stephen pause. It was strictly forbidden to use Direkind powers around humans. Disobeying that taboo was grounds for execution.

  Zipping into the left-hand lane, Elena floored the Ferrari, which responded with a deep growl of power. Daring a glance in her rearview mirror, she saw the Hummer lumber after her.

  “Bastard,” she breathed, before jerking the wheel to the right. The Ferrari bolted across the right-hand lane and down the Harrisville exit ramp, barely missing the bumper of the eighteen-wheeler. The Hummer’s brakes shrieked an instant later. Elena winced, hoping he hadn’t triggered an accident. Stephen’s Direkind reflexes would keep him out of real trouble, but the humans around him wouldn’t be so lucky.

  She listened as she turned left onto Heron Avenue. No crash, thank God, but no sound of the Hummer’s engine either. With any luck, he’d overshot the exit and would have to backtrack.

  With a sigh of relief, Elena dropped to a more sedate speed and headed for the police department. She really couldn’t afford to get pulled over.

  She’d barely gone two blocks before she looked up to see the Hummer in her rearview mirror.

  Oh, hell.

  Fifteen minutes later . . .

  Lieutenant Lucas Rollings strode from the Harrisville Police Department with a sense of grim satisfaction. There was nothing like snapping the cuffs on a killer.

  Joseph Bishop had gone sheet white when Lucas had confronted him with the evidence that afternoon. The case against Bishop was steel-trap solid, right down to the blood stains in the car trunk and his DNA under his wife’s fingernails. The son-of-a-bitch had known he’d be lucky to avoid the death penalty for Mary Bishop’s death. And Lucas intended to make sure he paid with his—

  “Back off, Stephen!” The female snarl jolted Lucas from his thoughts. He jerked his head around. In the parking lot twenty yards away, a slender woman struggled with a tall, blond man beside a red Ferrari. A huge black Hummer was parked directly behind the sports car, blocking it in.

  Lucas took in the situation with a single experienced glance. Oh, hell. Stalker. This could get ugly. He started toward them.

  The man cooly drew back a hand and slapped his captive hard across the face. Red hair flew as she cried out in pain.

  “Hey!” Lucas roared, breaking into a run as the man grabbed her shoulders. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Get lost,” the stalker snapped, without looking around. “This is none of your business.”

  “I’m the police, jackass. Let her go!” He stiff-armed the man back just as the woman tore free.

  “Forget it, Stephen,” the victim growled. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Her voice was much deeper than it should be, rumbling at a register more animal than human. Yet her face was delicate, fragile, like her lithe, long-legged body.

  The blond pressed closer despite Lucas’s restraining hand, grabbed her by one wrist, and started hauling her backward toward the Hummer. She threw herself back, trying to dig in her s
neakered feet.

  “Are you nuts, asshole?” Lucas slammed a hard blow against the man’s elbow. It should have broken the bastard’s grip, but he held fast and kept going, completely ignoring Lucas. “Let her go!”

  “Stay out of this!”

  Lucas grabbed him by the collar of his expensive shirt and slammed him into the hood of the Hummer.

  “You touch that girl one more time, and . . .” He broke off in mid-sentence. Beneath the scents of toothpaste, the man’s expensive cologne, and the woman’s shampoo lay a familiar scent. A blend of forest and fur . . .

  Deep inside Lucas, something stirred in ancient recognition. Oh, God. Werewolves. Both of them.

  To make matters worse, the female’s scent was also laced with pure sex. Lucas could feel his own body responding, his cock twitching and lengthening as it went hard as a rifle barrel.

  Sweet Jesus, he realized, she’s in werewolf heat.

  Lucas had never encountered a Direkind female during her Burning Moon. It had only been a few years since he’d been Bitten, and there were no other werewolves in Harrisville.

  Still, Ray Johnston had told him enough about the fuzzy facts of life to make clear he’d just stumbled waist-deep into serious shit. The Burning Moon was going to play merry hell with everybody’s temper—including Lucas’s. That big blond male was going to want a fight.

  And considering the bruise he could see blooming on the girl’s patrician cheek, Lucas was in the mood to give it to him.

  “Lucas Rollings?” The redhead’s throaty voice jolted him out of his preoccupation. He met her gaze to find her staring at him with a kind of desperate hope. “Are you Lieutenant Lucas Rollings?”

  She knew him? Comprehension dawned. She came here looking for me.