Blue Moon Dragon

by Shelley Munro

  “I prefer an action man myself,” Jess tossed back, gulping at the spike of sensation that ripped right to her toes. His action was pretty good but she wouldn’t want it to go to his head. He was way too independent for a dream creation. Jess frowned, wondering if she should take this as a sign.

  “Ask and you shall receive.” Brandon’s grin warmed her through and seconds later he penetrated, going deep as he’d promised. The throbbing hardness of him filled her to perfection. She sucked in a wildly excited breath, clawing frantically at his back as he withdrew and thrust deep again.

  “Oh yes. Like that,” she said, releasing a breath on a moan. God, yes. He’d managed the perfect angle. Absolutely perfect. Her heart thundered with each powerful thrust of his body. Jess bit down on his shoulder and felt the corresponding jump of his cock deep inside her.

  His pace increased until her channel tightened and exploded in a series of toe-curling spasms. Jess groaned her pleasure and thanked the gods for sending her the perfect dream lover.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning Jess yanked at yet another weed then sat back on her heels to wipe her brow. The low drone of a motor sent her gaze darting to the driveway. A visitor? Seconds later the mail van pulled up in front of the manor entrance.

  Jess rose and went to greet the postie. A middle-aged woman with steel-gray hair climbed from the van. She waved and walked around to the rear of her vehicle to retrieve a large box and several letters.

  “You must be Jess Whittlebury,” she said. “I’m Lois Marsters, the local postie. I need a signature for the parcel. Guessed you were busy so thought I’d save you a trip into the village.” She thrust out her free hand before handing over the parcel and mail.

  And she wanted to snoop. Jess smiled, shook her hand then accepted the parcel and bundle of envelopes. “Thanks.”

  The woman studied the rose beds, freshly painted wishing well and the trimmed lavender bushes with avid curiosity before turning back to Jess. “Big job.”

  “Yes.”

  The postie’s gaze focused on a spot behind her left shoulder. “Ah, I see you have help.”

  Huh? Jess whirled around and almost swallowed her tongue. Her dream lover stood by the wishing well, a wide grin on his face. Jess’s heart kicked up into a racy beat.

  Her lover. Real?

  The shuffle of feet on the gravel drive reminded Jess they had company and she couldn’t blurt out stunned questions or go into hysterics right then. It would be all over the village before she could take the man to task.

  Jess swallowed. “Um…yes,” she managed.

  The man prowled toward her with the grace of a wild beast. Dressed in faded denims, a sparkling white shirt and boots, Brandon looked good enough to eat. Jess licked her lips. Oh boy.

  She’d practically devoured him during their last torrid session. But he was real. How? Why? She didn’t get it. She fixed him with a steely gaze but instead of appearing chastened, his grin merely widened.

  “I’m Brandon, a friend of Jessica’s.” He picked up the postie’s hand and kissed the back of it with the finesse of an Eighteenth Century gentleman. Then, as a blush settled in the postie’s cheeks, Brandon stepped closer to Jess.

  “Pleased to meet you both. I’m glad you’re not here on your own. You’ve heard about the attacks? There was another one not far from the church. Old Mrs. Cooper was struck from behind and had her purse stolen. They left her bleeding on the ground.”

  “Is she all right?” Jess asked.

  “They had to take her to the hospital.” The postie scowled. “But she’s at home now. You take care.”

  “I’ll be with Jess,” Brandon said, slipping his arm around her waist. “I’ll make sure no harm befalls her.”

  Jess’s breath eased out with an audible hiss. Until he’d touched her she’d still doubted. There was nothing dreamlike about this male. She could feel him. Smell his enticing masculine scent while his husky voice did something to her nether region she wasn’t comfortable thinking about in public.

  She was too astonished for anger, but boy he’d better have explanations. And he could wipe that smirk off his face. Jess pinched him hard on the butt. The wretch barely blinked.

  Yep, A-1 supreme, solid male.

  Brandon stood with his arm curved around Jess’s waist as they watched the postie maneuver her red van under an overhanging oak branch. Elation bubbled in him. The desire to shift to wolf and throw back his head in a celebratory howl clawed at his control.

  Jess could see him. The other woman had seen him.

  He was no longer a transparent entity drifting aimlessly around his old estate. Somehow, a second chance was his for the taking. Brandon didn’t know how long this gift would last, but determination to grasp every opportunity pounded him.

  “Pleasant woman, but a trifle nosy,” he said.

  Jess tugged from his grasp and whirled on him. “You have some explaining to do, mister.” She punctuated each word with an index finger poked in his chest, her brown eyes flashing with fire.

  “Jess, I can explain.” Brandon restrained his chuckle, judging from her expression amusement would be ill-advised.

  Her brow wrinkled in disbelief. “Do it then. Explain to me why I shouldn’t call the local cops and have you thrown into jail.”

  God’s teeth. How did he explain to Jess he was a ghost? And a werewolf if he wanted preciseness. Somehow he thought Jess would want every detail, but would she believe? He sucked in a hasty breath, taking pleasure in the simple act.

  A quick glance at her face started nerves dancing, something he, as the lord of the manor, had never suffered before.

  “Quit stalling. You entered my bed under false pretenses. I have no idea how you did it.” Hot color suffused her cheeks. “I thought I was dreaming.”

  He noticed she didn’t deny she’d enjoyed their lovemaking. “I’m a ghost.” Brandon watched the disbelief leap onto Jess’s face.

  “Pull the other leg. It plays There’s a sucker born every day.”

  He wasn’t used to women speaking to him with sarcasm lacing their words. “I am Brandon Lupinus, born in the year 1701—”

  “You’re wearing jeans!” she said scornfully. “Any idiot knows a male in the Eighteenth Century wore breeches.”

  That he could change. Brandon flicked his wrist toward his body, willing them to the garb of his time—black satin breeches, a gray shirt and a darker gray waistcoat with black and silver embroidery to match his eyes.

  “How’s this? Or would you prefer something more formal?” Another flick of his wrist and his clothes changed to full evening regalia complete with hat. Brandon swept off his hat and bowed deeply, starting to enjoy her reaction, complete with rounded eyes and gaping mouth.

  “I…um…a ghost?” Jess backed up a couple of steps.

  “Too formal for you?” Brandon flicked his wrist again and willed another change. His clothes faded leaving nothing but skin.

  “Will you quit that?” she snapped, taking a bracing breath.

  Brandon watched the rise and fall of her breasts with interest. “I thought you liked me this way.”

  “I do,” she grumbled, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. “You’re exploiting my weakness and that’s got to stop!”

  Brandon arched his brows. “Why?”

  She spluttered unintelligible sounds, her mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry ground. “I need coffee.”

  Jess spun away from temptation and stomped up the path toward the front door of the manor. She resisted the siren urge to glance over her shoulder and ogle the picture of masculine beauty displayed for her viewing pleasure. Not that she needed another look. His image was seared into her brain. Tall. Long, black hair. Broad shoulders. Muscular. Big co…

  A burst of awareness thrummed to life at the apex of her thighs. Jess sucked in a deep breath, causing her nipples to brush against the cotton of her bra. The sensation sashayed straight to her clit and she gasped. Damn! This wasn’t meant to
happen.

  She yanked the door open, shot inside and slammed it after her.

  “Wait for me.” Brandon’s head popped through the closed door, a fierce glower on his face. “God’s teeth.” His shoulders appeared and finally, after a torrid curse, he stood in the vestibule clothed again in the jeans and T-shirt. “That never used to hurt so much. I’ve gained substance but lost the ability to move freely.”

  Jess shook her head, bemused by the fact he really was a ghost. And her lover. “But I thought the ghost was a wolf,” she said suddenly.

  “I am. Brandon Lupinus.” Brandon transformed before her eyes into a huge black wolf. He prowled toward her, the nails on his paws clicking on the old tiled floor.

  All the better to eat you with, my dear.

  The words from the fairy tale popped into her mind and she backed up rapidly. The wolf followed, its moist breath burning her leg right through her jeans. Jess found herself trapped in the corner with the coatrack. Brandon, the wolf, kept coming. He jumped up on his hind feet and balanced with his paws on her shoulders. All she could see were teeth.

  Big. White. Sharp. Jess swallowed.

  “He is a ghost,” she muttered. “He can’t hurt me.”

  Brandon’s mouth opened wider, revealing even more teeth. A long pink tongue snaked out and slapped her on the cheek. Tasting…ready for dinner. Fear made Jess’s heart stall for an instant. She trembled and closed her eyes, unable to look danger directly in the face for a second longer.

  But instead of a hungry bite, Jess felt a gentle nibble. Her eyes flew open to see Brandon in his human form grinning down at her. Jess’s knees buckled with relief and he hauled her up against his chest.

  “I haven’t eaten anyone before.” He playfully nibbled at her chin. “You’re the only woman who’s ever tempted me.” The grin left his face and the color of his eyes changed to pure silver. “You make me hunger.”

  The sensual heat in his eyes lured Jess. Oh she hungered too. Suddenly it didn’t matter if he was different—a werewolf ghost who haunted her manor. She was also different—marching out of step with every man she’d ever met.

  Jess inhaled, sucking in his spicy scent as she decided to take a leap of faith. She drew his head down and kissed him. Slowly. Lingering. And with no hidden agenda. This was sex. This was mating, and Jess thought it might even be the first stirrings of love.

  They finally drew back, both breathing heavily. A teasing glint entered his eyes and Jess grabbed his wrist, reading his mind with ease.

  “Oh no you don’t! I can’t concentrate when you’re naked.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “I want to know why you’re a ghost.”

  The humor left his face, showing Jess another side of him. Tough. Determined. Strong. “I was cursed by a witch.”

  Jess took his hand and led him through to the kitchen. The hall was no place for a conversation like this. She pushed him into a chair at the wooden table she’d set up at the far end of the kitchen and went for drinks before changing her mind. This seemed like a brandy or port kind of discussion, despite the time of day. Jess removed a decanter of port off the sideboard along with two glasses. She plunked them down in front of Brandon. “Pour.”

  The scent of robust fruit rose into the air as it sloshed into the two glasses. Brandon replaced the glass stopper and slid a glass in her direction.

  “It’s not a pretty story.” His glance held trepidation and self-loathing.

  Jess reached for his free hand and squeezed in silent support. “Tell me.”

  “I was part of a group. A gang you’d call it now. We played hard. Drinking. Gambling. Whoring. We were wild and out of control, and no one was willing to stop us because we were the sons of gentry. I think the knowledge of the power we held over the community made us even more dangerous.”

  Brandon paused to take a sip of port. He snorted. “Last time I tried that, the bloody stuff poured out my ears. I don’t know what you’ve done to me but I like it.” He took another sip, seeming to savor the tart fruitiness as it slid down his throat.

  “And?” Jess asked, prodding for more.

  “The last time we were together there were six of us. We drank steadily all day. The women we’d arranged to visit never arrived so my friends needed another distraction. We went hunting. For women. We mounted our horses and rode through the village rounding up every young maiden we could find.”

  Jess took a rapid sip of her port, not liking the way his story was heading. Her stomach twisted as she steeled herself to hear the entire tale.

  “At first I thought it was funny, but then I saw how terrified the maidens were and how set my friends were on having them.”

  “Rape?” Jess felt sick to her stomach, the port sliding around uneasily.

  “Aye, rape. It was wrong, dammit,” Brandon’s voice cracked, and he gulped at his port before speaking again. “We’d locked them in a stable stall and gone to the adjoining coaching house for ale and sustenance. I started having second and third thoughts. Dammit, what we did was wrong. The women were terrified. I’d had sex with some of them before. They had been willing, but that didn’t make what we were doing right. I pretended I wasn’t feeling well, and once my friends were settled in drinking, I crept out to the stables and freed the women. Unbeknown to me, one of my friends suspected and followed. He grabbed one of the women. Elsa.” Brandon’s face was pale, his hand wrapped around his glass so tightly it was a wonder the crystal didn’t break.

  “You tried to help.” Jess felt his pain along with lingering horror at the situation he described.

  “I didn’t do enough. Gerald, the leader of our group, raped Elsa, forcing me to watch.” Brandon shuddered. “There was blood. So much blood from her broken nose. A couple of the others took turns before Gerald decided I should be next.”

  “God, Brandon.”

  His eyes glinted with emotion and his hand shook. “I refused. Elsa struggled and fought them. By that time the escaped women had alerted the blacksmith. He was armed and shot Gerald in the chest. Elsa was already dead. Strangled. My other friends died that day. Everyone except me. I was shot but only wounded with a bullet through the arm. Elsa’s friends told everyone I’d tried to help but the rumors of previous pranks had spread. God’s teeth, I wish I’d acted like a man and tried to stop them earlier. They wanted to hang me, but Elsa’s mother arrived and said she had a more fitting punishment in mind. She cursed me to wander alone. My father, the last remaining Lupinus died, and the manor was sold.” Brandon forced a carefree smile even though it was obvious he bled inside, that the past haunted him grievously. “I’ve been a ghost werewolf ever since.”

  Jess scooted her chair closer to Brandon and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “What sort of curse? Surely a curse can be broken?”

  “The exact words are branded in my mind. Walk the ghostly world. Howl at the moon. Alone Brandon Lupinus until need forces you to act as a decent man should.”

  “Have you tried doing good deeds?”

  Brandon snorted. “I didn’t eat you.”

  “Be serious.” Jess punched him on the arm. “Good deeds always work in the movies.”

  “Throughout the years I’ve tried everything to break the damn curse. Nothing works. You and the woman are the only ones who have seen me since the day of the curse. I can’t leave the estate grounds to do good deeds. Whenever I try to leave I get sucked back to the manor house.”

  “But I’ve heard a wolf howling out in the woods.”

  “The woods are part of the estate. If I try to go farther, I end up back here. It’s hopeless.” Brandon shot to his feet and strode across the tiled floor between the table and the kitchen counters. When he ran out of clear space, he turned and repeated the move in reverse.

  Jess watched him prowl and tried to concentrate. Difficult given the way those jeans hugged his butt.

  “And the werewolf thing?” She might as well know everything while she was asking questions.

&n
bsp; “My family name is Lupinus. What else would I be? A pussycat?”

  “Put that way, I guess it makes sense,” Jess said dryly, eyeing his fierce scowl as he prowled her kitchen. The man was definitely not a domestic tabby.

  “Many werewolf families used to live in the village. Over the years they’ve died or left, apart from me.”

  Jess nodded thoughtfully. This explained the number of local werewolf legends. Her gaze drifted to Brandon. Tavistock Manor might harbor a ghost but the ghost bore his own scars. Jess replayed the agony she’d heard in his voice as he’d recounted his tale. There had to be something they could do to break the curse. Then a traitorous thought crept stealthily into her mind.

  Her dream lover was real.

  If the curse remained intact, he would stay with her. Jess stood abruptly. “Enough feeling sorry for yourself. I need to finish the gardens, and since it appears you’re no longer ghostly you can help me prepare for the first guests.”

  * * * * *

  Later that night, they sat down to dinner in the kitchen. Or rather, Jess did. Brandon merely sipped a glass of port since he didn’t require food.

  Her hair was windblown and sticking up at the back. A faint dusty mark marred the tanned smoothness of one cheek. Brandon thought she was beautiful. His cock jerked at the idea of loving her tonight. He hoped she was agreeable. During the years as a ghost he’d lived alone. Spending time with her was a gift.

  “What?” she asked, pausing with a forkful of potato halfway to her mouth. Her brown eyes sparkled with silent laughter as if she could read his thoughts.

  “Have you come across the plans my father commissioned for the garden and grounds?”

  She set her fork down. “There are original plans?”

  He nodded. “Probably in—”

  A ghostly howl cut through the darkness.

  “What the hell?” Brandon leapt to his feet and headed for the front door.

  “A relation?” Jess asked, hurrying after him.

  “I am the last of my line. The English gray wolf is extinct. That, madam, is someone playing a joke.” Brandon faded through the door and strode outside toward the woods. Jess opened the door and ran to keep up with him.