Bite of the Moon: Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance Boxed Set

by Michelle Fox

  He had to look away. “You should go light on the drinking—if at all. A car on the rocks and scotch on the rocks don’t mix.” This could get bad fast. How the hell would he resist the temptation to deliver a second bite and formally claim her as a mate? He didn’t know the first thing about her, nor she him. Okay, that wasn’t completely true—he knew her age and where she lived. He loved her smile and knew she felt like sin in his arms and smelled like vanilla. She’d not mentioned a husband or a boyfriend to contact, nor any children, but it didn’t mean there weren’t any. Bottom line, she wasn’t some stray pet he was entitled to keep.

  He pulled up to the front of the Sierra Portal ranger station. A single light burned on the porch. Turning off the engine, he set the brake. “We’re here.” He hoped he sounded more composed than he felt. “I have a radio. We can call dispatch and give them your information. Is there anyone you need to check in with?”

  “Nope.” She released the seat belt. “That’s funny, the bruises on my side don’t hurt nearly as much. Wow.” She touched her ribs. “The ride couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. No one heals in that short a time. How is that even possible?”

  He stepped out of the cab and shut the door. “Let me help you.” Rushing around the front of the truck, he strode to the passenger side. With a chivalrous gesture, he opened the door and offered his outstretched hand. “Go slow.”

  Clasping his hand, she turned and looked directly into his eyes. The sparkle that shone in their depths left him breathless. “Are you always such a gentleman?”

  He broke the gaze. What sort of ‘gentleman’ bites a woman and then hangs back like a hungry hyena waiting for her to transform into what he is and then go into heat? “You’ve had a bad day. A little kindness is the least I can do.” Taking hold of her arm, he guided her toward the porch. A curl of dark smoke from the chimney confirmed the fire remained lit. “Watch your step.”

  She leaned against him and patted his arm. The telling gesture conveyed trust. He sensed she liked him too. Poor thing had no idea.

  Turning the knob, he pushed the unlocked front door open and motioned for her to enter. The station’s sparse décor was purely utilitarian but cozy. Bookshelves and a sturdy secondhand leather couch and comfy reading chair dominated the living space. The radiant-heat iron stove glowed against the far wall.

  “Oh, it feels so good in here.” Andi made a beeline toward the stove, holding her hands in front to soak up the warmth.

  “I’ll find you something dry to wear.” He ducked behind the partition that separated his bed from the rest of the cabin. Riffling through a chest of drawers, he located a pair of flannel pajamas he’d brought to the station and forgotten. Returning to the living area, he handed the nightwear to her. “You’re in luck.”

  She accepted the offered garments with a smile, running her fingers over the royal-blue fabric. “Ah, I haven’t worn fuzzy PJs since I was a kid. I usually just sleep in a T-shirt.”

  “To be honest, I’ve never even worn them.” His face heated at the thought of curvaceous Andi wearing only a tissue-thin layer of cotton with all the sweet treats showing through. “I sleep in boxers.”

  “Oh.” She blanched.

  “Not that I’ll be sleeping in boxers tonight.” An awkward silence hovered between them. “I’ll keep my pants on.”

  “You don’t have to.” Her face flushed. “Oops, that sounded awkward. I just meant, this is your place and I don’t want to put you out. Please feel free to do what you would normally do.”

  He knew he was staring, but couldn’t look away. The side of her fair cheek was embellished with a smattering of bronze freckles that looked exactly like the constellations Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. Just a crazy coincidence, or was he losing his mind? He almost said something, but thought better of it.

  Andi glanced around. “Where can I…?”

  With flourish, he pointed toward the bathroom. “Second door. The first door is a closet.”

  “Ever walk into your closet at night by mistake?”

  “I have.” He laughed.

  A shy smile crossed her lips. “I could really use a drink.” She opened the bathroom door and disappeared. The sounds of running water and a faint moan were followed by, “Good lord!”

  Alarmed, he stepped closer. “Are you okay?”

  “The bite looks awful! It’s doing something weird.”

  He shuddered.

  “Do you have any antiseptic? Get it now.”

  He darted to the station’s mudroom, which doubled as equipment storage, and searched the shelves for the big red box. “I have a first aid kit.”

  “We‘re going to need it.”

  After pulling the kit from beneath a stack of woolen blankets, he carried the steel box into the living area and set it on the veneered surface, which performed the dual duties of kitchen table and work desk. Opening the kit, he removed a tube of antibiotic cream, cotton swabs, and breathable bandages and set them in a neat row. He stared at his meager supplies in despair. All of it was literally just superficial dressing. Nothing in the kit could make a dent in the deeper issues at hand. Events had been set in motion. In a moment of abandon, his lonely inner bear had lashed out at a female stranger and started the process of creating a mate, without consent. In many ways, he’d been victimized too. Years of isolation, denial, and finally, fleeing to the mountains to live apart from temptation had come to this—the bear in him went behind his back and chose a mate for them.

  A sliver of hope remained—self-control. If he avoided flirting, bonding, or God forbid, sexual contact coupled with a true claim bite to seal the deal, Andi might escape transformation and live a normal existence. If not, the unwitting beauty standing in front of his bathroom mirror was in for one hell of a life-changing surprise.

  “Hurray!” She squealed with joy behind the closed door.

  A nervous laugh broke free. “What’s that for?”

  “Your pajamas don’t fit. They’re way too big for me. I’m rolling up the cuffs. Jeez, how tall are you?”

  “Six-four.”

  “A tower of power. I like tall men.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and tried his damnedest to tune out the encouragement he heard in her voice.

  The bathroom door opened. Andi stepped out, looking radiant with her cheeks flushed rose. Her damp hair had been finger combed away from her face and fell in a graceful wave, obscuring one eye. The deep V-neck of his pajamas exposed a glimpse of shadowed cleavage.

  She glanced at him.

  He stared at her. A moment of tense silence reigned, interrupted only by the crackle of wood in the iron stove. For a few seconds, he found it difficult to breathe and wished a divine hand would scoop him up and carry him far, far away from temptation.

  With a hip-rolling gait, she headed straight toward him. “Let’s get the hardest part over with. I know I’m going to whimper and moan.” Perching on the edge of the table, she gathered up her hair to bare her throat. “Do it, Mac, before I dread it.” She heaved a heavy sigh that lifted her bosom. “Clean the bite.”

  He gazed at the bite with concern. In contrast to her fair skin, each tooth mark was a vivid russet hue and glowed like a firebrand. For certain, the internal clock of bear transformation had been primed and mustn’t be set off.

  “Ready?” Soaking a cotton pad with sharp-scented antiseptic, he pressed it to the wound.

  She winced. “Oh! That’s cold. It smells worse than Lysol.”

  “The alcohol will evaporate.” Dabbing the pad against her skin, he thoroughly cleansed the bite until the cotton dried. He reached for a fresh pad, doused it, and repeated the process. “This should have been done immediately. I’m sorry we waited.”

  “Don’t be sorry. The bite’s not your fault. Blame it on the big bad bear. I still can’t get over the fact I was bitten by a wild bear and lived to joke about it.”

  With a fresh pad, he cleaned the slight wounds on her arm and the scrape on her forehead. Tossing the u
sed cotton onto the table, he looked her in the eyes. “Anyplace else?”

  “Here.” She tugged the pajama collar aside, revealing the top of a lush breast. “I may have actually clawed myself trying to release the seat belt. I barely scratched the skin, but it’s a little red. I think we should clean it just to be safe.”

  Drawing a tense breath, he leaned over to bathe the faint abrasions, trying like hell not to think too much about how close he and Andi were. Everything about her pleased his senses. “Even after a dunk in the river, you smell nice,” he blurted.

  She balked. “How can you tell over this nasty stuff?”

  “I have a good nose.” The bear in him could smell an open tube of toothpaste a quarter of a mile downwind. “Your skin has a smoky vanilla scent.”

  “That’s my mother’s perfume—Tahiti Royalé. She loved its earthy vibe. I wore it today in honor of her. God, I feel so awful her ashes are still in the car.”

  “Try not to worry. As soon as daylight comes, I’ll check your SUV.”

  “Thanks, Mac. You are so kind.” She looked at him and smiled, provoking a jolt of conflicting emotions. He wanted to pull her close. Ride her hard, treat her tenderly, but most of all, he wanted to run for his life before things got any more complicated than they already were. What the fuck had he set in motion?

  He forced himself to pull away. “Where are your wet clothes? I’ll run them through the dryer.”

  “Where is my scotch?” She giggled. “I’m joking. The wet clothes are in the bathroom, hung over the tub.” Standing, she took a shaky step. “I’ll get them.”

  “Wait.” He took hold of her arm. “Why don’t you sit on the couch and relax. I’ll collect your wet things and get you a drink. Okay?”

  Nodding in agreement, she allowed him to lead her to the couch. She plopped onto the leather cushions. “That wasn’t very graceful was it? I’m sort of lumbering around. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  “Don’t move.” He rushed into the bathroom and gathered her belongings from the floor. “This will just take a minute. I need to change out of my damp clothing too.” Crossing the floor, he approached the iron stove.

  “My boots can’t be too close to the fire,” she called.

  “I know.”

  “Of course you know. Jeez, I’m being an idiot. I’m just used to being the boss and making sure everyone knows what to do.”

  He loosened the laces and set her boots a safe distance from the stove. “What do you do?”

  “I manage a chain of boutique hotels.”

  With long strides, he headed toward the cabinet where he kept the scotch. “I’m a ‘sleeping bag and tent’ kind of guy. What makes a hotel ‘boutique’?”

  “Boutique is a code word for a high-quality, small hotel with decor that won’t leave patrons feeling seasick from all the mismatched patterns.” She paused. “Big headboards too. For some reason, every room has a massive headboard.”

  He pulled a pair of clean jam jars from the cabinet and set them on the countertop. “Do you like it?”

  “Do I like headboards? Yes, of course I do, but they don’t always have to be the size of a city bus.”

  Reaching for the scotch, he twisted the cap open. “I meant, do you like your job?”

  “I used to love my work. Lived for it actually, but lately, not so much.”

  He poured a small amount of amber liquid into each jar. “What changed?”

  “Watching my mother battle cancer and pass away far too young changed me. You can’t see that sort of thing unfold in front of you and not ask the bigger questions. My work is very competitive. A lot of people want my job. Even taking a week off to scatter my mother’s ashes is a big deal, but I knew I had to do it. When you asked if I had anyone I should call, my first reaction was ‘hell no! Don’t let them know I’m injured or might be away from the helm for a while.’ Under the guise of looking after our clients, Mr. CrossFit would be snooping in my contact files so fast….”

  Offering her a jar, he sat on the couch at her side. “Mr. CrossFit?”

  “It’s a stupid nickname for one of my colleagues, William Crossman. He’s gunning for my title.” She examined the jam jar. “This is cute, I like it.”

  “It’s practical. I didn’t bring any highball glasses up here.”

  “You don’t entertain often?”

  “I don’t entertain ever. You’re my first guest.”

  “I’m honored.” Andi held the oak-fragrant scotch to her lips and sipped. The liquor burned going down, but not as much as her curiosity to know more about Mac. The crooked grin on his handsome face was just too charming. Her bad luck meeting men had turned to good with the flip of her car. Next question, why was this hunk alone? If he worked in her office in West Los Angeles, there would be a block-long queue of eager women, and likely a few hopeful men, trying to get closer to him. But here he was, alone on a mountain ridge. His bathroom cabinets betrayed no signs of a female companion. Yes, she’d looked. So what? “Mac, how long have you been working the Sierra Portal station?”

  “Almost three years.”

  The scotch flooded her with warmth. “You’re here all seasons?”

  “No, the road leading to the Sierra Portal closes in winter. Thanksgiving through March, I work ski patrol at the Sierra Ridge Resort eight miles down the highway.”

  “I know that area! That’s why I’m here. When my mother was young, she worked at the Sierra Lodge. That may have been where she met my father, but I’m not certain. He remains something of a mystery. My mom could really ski. Total athlete. But not me. I’m not cut out for the cold or the tight pants. Never got the hang of it.”

  A pensive expression creased his brow. “Are you sure there isn’t somebody who needs to know where you are and that you’re all right? I can radio Warren and he’ll pass the message along.”

  She huffed. “No one in particular. I have a few friends, but mostly my coworkers are my friends.”

  “Someone must be worried?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m a bit of a loner. At work, I’m the boss, not a buddy.”

  “I guess I’m in the loner category too.”

  “It’s different when you’re a woman. Nobody respects it. I’m the youngest manager Five-Star Hotels has ever hired. It’s been a fast, all-consuming ride. There’s no time for extras. You could say I’m sort of driven.”

  “What’s an ‘extra’?”

  “You know, a boyfriend or a family. Maybe later.”

  Setting his scotch down on a squat stack of books masquerading as a coffee table, the edges of his mouth curled. “Ambition is great. But when your car slides over the side of a cliff and a bear pulls you from the wreckage and there’s no one in your life who needs to be told you survived, it might be time to slow down.”

  Tipping the jar, she sipped her drink. “You sound like my mother.”

  “Did she scold you?”

  “No, she pushed me. She’d say, ‘Andi, you’re the only one who can set a speed limit on your life. Go for it.’ I was encouraged to succeed. We had it rough, especially when I was young. It was just my mom and me. Sometimes she worked two jobs to support us and pay for my college. She believed in me like no one else. But this last year, things changed when she started bugging me to slow down and get a life. It’s sort of hard to shift gears.” Placing the empty jar next to his, she glanced at the floor. “Why am I boring you with this stuff? I’ve been chattering non-stop, haven’t I?”

  “You’re not boring me.” A radiant smile lit Mac’s face. “You’ve been through a lot in a short space of time. I think this is the adrenaline talking.”

  She nodded. “You’re probably right. The scotch is working its magic too. I’m starting to chill.”

  He glanced at her empty glass. “I’d offer you another, but I think you should put something solid in you first. When did you last eat?”

  “Let me think.” She toyed with t
he cuffs of the pajamas. “I’ve been driving all day. Drank a lot of coffee. Nibbled on some trail mix. Late last night I got Chinese takeout, moo shu pork….” A quick glance out the window confirmed a skinny crescent moon lit the sky. “What time is it?”

  Pushing his sleeve back, he glanced at his watch. “It’s 5:47. Dinner time.”

  “Dinner time? Ha! I usually eat at nine, if I’m lucky. Ten thirty is typical.”

  “I eat early and go to sleep by nine.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you like pasta?”

  “I love pasta.”

  “Good. I’ll make dinner for us.”

  “You’re going to cook for me? I’m honored.”

  Amusement shone in his eyes. “We can’t order takeout up here. There are no eagles willing to deliver a pizza. Besides, I like to cook.”

  “I hope I’m not being a pest.” She picked up the jar and sniffed. “I’m surprised I like this. I must be appreciating scotch through your eyes. The scent is triggering images in my mind.”

  He paused with his head tilted. “What sort of images?”

  “Corny stuff. What you’d expect from a beverage with scotch’s history. A landscape of rolling heather, bagpipes, knights, and castles. Would you pour me the tiniest smidge more, just so I can smell it?”

  “Okay.” A hint of hesitation in his voice raised concern. “But sip slowly. Dinner is going to take at least twenty minutes.” Taking hold of the jar, he rose from the table to refill her drink.

  She watched Mac’s every gesture with intense interest. For a big man, he moved with smooth confidence. His long strides carried him across the floor in half the time it would take her. He removed the scotch from the cabinet and twisted the cap off. Mac had exceptionally broad, masculine hands. Silky hair covered his powerful forearms, which looked strong enough to lift a car. When he glanced at her, she realized she’d been staring.