Beneath a Blood Moon

by RJ Blain

  “Mr. Menoir is a judge and former attorney,” Desmond explained, sitting on the other side of my mate while Wendy took over one of the armchairs. “The Inquisition has some arrangements with the federal government regarding certain documentation. Mr. Menoir is in charge of your file. Considering the circumstances, the Shadow Pope wants no loose ends.”

  “Our first order of business is your pseudonym, Miss Madison. We have established a rough timeline for the usage of your less-than-legal ID, have retroactively dated and filed for a legal change of name, and processed a legal identification for you. Due to the nature of your relationship with Mr. Sanders, we had a Washington driver’s license drawn up for you, with Mr. Sanders’s home as your place of residence.”

  I stared at my mate with wide eyes. With a frown, he leaned towards the judge, resting his elbows on his knees. “She doesn’t know how to drive.”

  “I’m certain you can rectify the situation, Mr. Sanders. Miss Madison, I have dated this document to have been processed a month prior to your acquisition of your Washington ID. Furthermore, your Nevada ID was legalized and entered into the system, along with filings with the IRS with all taxes marked as paid in full. We estimated your earnings to fall in line with living wage in the Las Vegas, Nevada region.” The judge offered me a clipboard, a pen, and a sheet of paper. “Technically, these have already been filed in the system, but we require your signature on everything.”

  I went cold at the sight of my birth name printed on the page.

  Not even my mate knew who I had once been. Looking up from the sheet, I stared at the judge. “How did you get this information?”

  “You can thank Mr. Desmond, Miss Madison.”

  I turned my full attention to Desmond.

  With a smile, he reached over and pressed his finger to my nose. “I simply did some detective work, dear. You had a very strong reaction against going to New York, so I assumed you had a history in the area. Considering your mild accent, I figured you were born somewhere on island; perhaps Manhattan. I knew when you arrived in Las Vegas, so I looked into missing women from the New York area, narrowed my search to affluent families, and when I realized the age listed on your ID was incorrect, was able to pinpoint your previous identity. I cross-referenced with some photographs I found.”

  My mate took the paper and read it over. “Sara Watson. I prefer Madison.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to other forms of address, Mr. Sanders. Please, sign so we can proceed, Miss Madison. I’d like to get these back to the courthouse and couriered to the appropriate locations before this afternoon.”

  Incapable of understanding my dismay and irritation with the situation, my wolf encouraged me to get on with it. Growling, I grabbed the pen. “What the hell name do I sign with?”

  “Watson for that paper, Miss.”

  It had been years since I had signed using my birth name, but my hand remembered what to do. Disgusted, I tossed the sheet onto the coffee table.

  “These legalize your Nevada license,” the judge explained, handing over a new set of sheets. “Sign using your Madison signature.”

  I skimmed the pages, and satisfied they were what the judge claimed, I scribbled my signature. “At least they’re already filled out, I guess.”

  “You’ll appreciate that in a moment, Miss.” Taking back the sheets, he handed me a huge stack of papers, which were stapled in groups. “Your taxes for the past few years.”

  Once again, I skimmed through the papers, muttering curses under my breath as I signed each one.

  “These are the documents you’ll either love or hate,” the judge said, pulling out several sheets. “In order to give Mr. Sanders the legal ability to act in your interests, His Eminence has decided the most efficient method was to push through a legal union, effective a little over a month ago.”

  “Legal union?” I demanded, snatching for the papers Mr. Menoir held out to me. It took one look at the header to realize what he meant. “This is a marriage certificate,” I blurted.

  “Issued in the state of Nevada, which has the laxest rules regarding marriage. I will require you both to sign. Once you sign, Mr. and Mrs. Desmond will need to sign as witnesses.”

  My mate’s scent soured with his annoyance. “I want to marry her properly,” he snarled. “I haven’t even had a chance to propose.”

  “If the papers annoy you, the set of wedding rings and engagement ring included to maintain appearances at the party will drive you insane, sir,” the judge replied, smirking. “It’s futile, Mr. Sanders. His Eminence offers his apologizes and promises he will make it up to you two with a notable investment in your actual wedding ceremony and your honeymoon.”

  “You’ve been set up,” Desmond said, grinning at me. “Sorry, dear.”

  “How long have you been cooking this up, Desmond?” My mate growled with every breath. At my wolf’s insistence, I echoed his growl before nipping his chin.

  “I think your mate thinks you protest too much, Sanders. You’re so fond of saying she’s yours. Sign the papers and she is, in every sense of the word.”

  Snatching the pen, my mate signed, baring his teeth. “I will have my revenge, Desmond, and I’ll recruit your daughters—yes, both of them—to help me get it.”

  “Sign, Sara,” Desmond said, gesturing to the sheet. “Then you can relax because all of those other poor bitches will have zero ability to make moves on your male.”

  My wolf’s eagerness infected me. “I suppose I would have done it at some point anyway,” I teased, glancing at my mate out of the corner of my eye and taking the pen and paper from him.

  “You suppose?” he demanded.

  After signing the papers, I passed them over to Desmond. “You can tell His Eminence we will be expecting him to pay for the entirety of the wedding and the honeymoon,” I informed the judge. “I’m sure Mr. Desmond can help me make it as elaborate as possible.”

  “Vicious beast,” my mate said, his voice lightening with his approval. “Since you can’t snap your teeth at him directly, you’re attacking his wallet.”

  “I will make certain he is aware of your demand, Mrs. Sanders.”

  I sucked in a breath, blushing at being addressed by Sanders’s name. When I stared at my mate, he smiled at me, reaching out to stroke my cheek. I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch.

  “What’s next on the agenda?” Desmond asked.

  “Properties,” the judge declared.

  I contemplated ignoring everyone but my mate, sighed, and opened my eyes. “I don’t have any properties.”

  “You do now, Mrs. Sanders. First, there is the matter of your existing home, Mr. Sanders. This adds your wife’s name to the deed, dated a week after your marriage. I think you’ll find your new mortgage terms pleasing.”

  “Explain yourself. My house is paid off,” my mate growled. “It has been for at least ten years.”

  “It’s a relic,” the judge retorted. “A relic which is unsuitable for someone of your stature. His Eminence was, how should I phrase this, bored. He decided the matter of your home was a Seattle pack matter, so he took some steps. First, seeing as he is well aware you will not accept charity, he authorized us to make an arrangement to extend a home equity loan on your current property, rolling it in to a traditional mortgage to protect you. With those funds, he arranged the acquisition of a rather nice property with an even nicer mortgage arrangement. In short, the Shadow Pope is your lender, and should you hunt him down and kill him for his interference, you’ll be clear and free of any and all debts on both properties. However, due to our race’s lengthy lifespan, you have a hundred year term and no interest on the properties. Seeing as he wants to surprise you, I’m afraid I have been forced to cover the address of your new acquisition.”

  My mate spluttered. “What?”

  “I’m only disappointed I didn’t think of such a scheme first,” Desmond grumbled.

  “He can’t do that,” my mate protested, pointing at the pape
rs.

  “He already has. The documents are dated a week after your marriage. I’m afraid you’ll simply have to accept it for what it is.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Sanders glared at the intimidatingly large stack of papers. “You can’t just buy a property overnight.”

  “My, my. He begins to understand,” the judge murmured, pushing the first of the stacks to my mate. “I have marked where you must sign with orange highlighter, Mr. Sanders. Your wife’s signature goes where I have marked with yellow highlighter. His Eminence has been working on this acquisition since he learned of your mate’s successful hunting of you. Mrs. Sanders, please remember to use your married name for these documents.”

  “See, Sanders? I hunted you. That makes you my property,” I murmured. When my mate hesitated, I grabbed the papers out of his hand, stole the pen, and went on a hunt for yellow lines. “Do I get a deed of sale for my successful hunting of Mr. Sanders?”

  “That’s typically what a marriage certificate is, Mrs. Sanders.”

  “I’m pretty sure that him rights to my person,” I complained, signing my name and flipping through the pages again to make sure I hadn’t missed any yellow lines. “I thought there were supposed to be things like offers on the property.”

  “They’re in the never-ending stack of things for you to sign.”

  “Sign the papers, Sanders,” Desmond ordered. “You did want to take your wife back to bed before the party tonight, didn’t you?”

  “Dare I ask if there are any other surprises in that briefcase?” my mate growled, taking the pen out of my hands.

  “Only the documents for your wife’s car, sir, which you will discreetly teach her how to drive.”

  “A car?” I blurted.

  “You will require one, Mrs. Sanders, so His Eminence saw fit to get you one. As I said, he was bored and seems to think I have an endless supply of time on my hands.”

  “What kind of car?” my mate demanded.

  “Ten bucks says it’s a Mercedes,” Desmond announced.

  Wendy laughed and shook her head. “He would.”

  “Alas, it is not a Mercedes,” the judge replied, pulling an envelope out of his briefcase and offering it to me. “You will find photographs of the vehicle, the papers you need to sign, and your insurance information inside. His Eminence picked the vehicle in order to offer you a competitive edge with Mrs. Murphy, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s a Porsche, isn’t it?” my mate groaned.

  I ripped open the envelope and peeked inside, digging out a set of photographs. To my relief, it was an elegant silver-gray instead of the reds and yellows I expected with sportier four-door cars.

  “Alfa Romeo,” Mr. Menoir replied. “He felt a luxury mid-size would be wise, considering she is a beginning driver. It’s an automatic with enough under the hood to give Mrs. Murphy’s Porsche some competition despite its class. It’ll be delivered in three to four weeks to your new property. Should you be honeymooning, His Eminence will have it parked in your garage, Mr. Desmond.”

  “I can’t pronounce the model of this car,” I grumbled, looking over the documents.

  “It’s Italian. Don’t worry; I don’t know how to pronounce it, either.”

  “Why?” I blurted. “Why do all of this?”

  “That’s for you to take up with him, Mrs. Sanders. I’m just the bearer of news and overseer of signings.”

  Desmond grinned. “Just sign the papers before Mr. Menoir loses his nerve due to all of your growling, Sanders. For all he’s a judge, he’s not dominant. Be nice.”

  My mate quieted, and while I was aware of how unsettled he was, he did as he was told.

  I fell asleep three times before we finished signing the papers; Sanders nipped me awake when I was needed. By the time Desmond, Wendy, and Mr. Menoir left, I was so exhausted I had no memory of making it to bed.

  Sometime later, Wendy prodded me awake; she persisted until I rolled to escape her and sprawled over my mate with grumbled protests. He wrapped his arms around me, nuzzling my neck when I rested my weight on top of him.

  “It’s time to wake up,” Desmond’s mate said, clapping her hands together. “You both need a shower. Dustin needs to look you over, Sara, and you need to get dressed for the party tonight. There’s also the matter of food, which arrived a few minutes ago.”

  “What time is it?” my mate mumbled, rolling us over so I ended up beneath him. He relaxed, squirming until he could rest his cheek on my shoulder. “If it’s before four, I refuse to let her out of bed. Mine.”

  “Fifteen after four, Sanders. Up, up. If you’re not up in five, I’m sending Charles in.”

  After Wendy left, Sanders sighed and kissed me, stirring my wolf’s interest in him. I wrapped my arms around him. “Think five minutes is enough time?” I asked, licking his throat.

  “Not nearly, you saucy little bitch. You will wait until tonight when I can dedicate proper time and care to you. With luck, we won’t have to be at the party for very long so we can get back to the hotel early. You know, I’ve always wanted to do wonderfully terrible things to a woman in the back of a limousine. Let’s check that off our list tonight.” Untangling himself from my embrace, he got up, wrapping up in a bathrobe before tossing mine onto the bed. “Think you’re up for walking yet?”

  “Beast,” I murmured, grabbing my robe. While I was still a little sore and achey, it wasn’t as bad as it had been that morning. “I’ll manage, I’m sure. I’m more worried you won’t have the energy to keep up with me.”

  “Maybe I enjoy carrying you,” he said, smiling at me.

  “If it makes you happy, I suppose I don’t mind,” I replied, giggling. Instead of sweeping me off my feet, he tossed me over his shoulder. “I didn’t mean like that!”

  “Harder for you to escape me this way,” he informed me, carrying me out of the room while I drummed my hands against his back. “That feels pretty good. Don’t stop.”

  Desmond, Wendy, Dustin, and Holly were in the dining room with a staggering number of covered platters. Sanders lowered me onto one of the chairs, kissing me before taking the seat beside me.

  “I see Stud Muffin has been busy,” Dustin stated, snickering. “I hope she’ll be able to walk by the time you go to the party tonight. It’ll be awkward if you have to carry her everywhere.”

  “Maybe,” my mate replied. “I’m fine with carrying her everywhere. If I’m holding her, no one will steal her from me.”

  I yawned. “It’s Desmond’s fault. He drove us out of bed early.”

  “Ten is not early, Sara.”

  Sniffing daintily, I reached for one of the platters. “It is when you didn’t get to sleep until eight.”

  Desmond arched a brow at me. “And what prevented you from going to sleep until eight?”

  Turning my attention to Wendy, I matched my new Alpha’s expression. “Did you find out if he kept the receipts for your daughters?”

  Dustin roared his laughter. “I like this bitch, Holly.”

  “Well, I know what I’m doing tonight,” Desmond growled, staring at his mate’s throat. “I refuse to be outclassed by my Second.”

  “I’m pretty certain it’s not a competition, sir,” Holly said, the corners of her mouth twitching. After several moments, she grinned.

  “He’s just jealous,” Wendy said, shaking her head as she took one of the platters for herself. “Charles, darling, don’t compete with the newly mated. You can’t win against enthusiastic puppies.”

  “How are you going to judge this competition?” Dustin asked. “I volunteer to serve as a judge.”

  “No, you won’t,” Desmond growled. “Bad witch.”

  “I apologize for him, sir.”

  My mate took hold of my hand and nipped the tips of my fingers. “Do not underestimate me, Dustin.”

  “I try to avoid making the same mistake twice.”

  “If we are done embarrassing Mrs. Sanders, can we have lunch? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Holly
said.

  “I’m supposed to be embarrassed?” I asked my mate.

  “I’m not.” Releasing my hand, Sanders gathered several of the dishes and placed them in front of me. “Eat.”

  Desmond regarded the collection of plates with a frown. “I don’t think we ordered enough.”

  “I’m not that hungry,” I reported, lifting the lid off the first dish to discover steak and lobster. “What I don’t understand is how I’m supposed to tell who I’m flushing out at this stupid party.”

  “That’s for us to worry about. You just mingle and give us a chance to scope out anyone watching you. We’ll sniff them out,” Desmond replied.

  “That’s really it? And once you find them, we leave?”

  “That’s the plan. Once we have the targets confirmed, I’ll text Sanders, who will be in charge of extracting you from the party. An Inquisitor will have a limousine ready to bring you back to the hotel. He’ll be parked five minutes from the host’s home. He’ll come when Sanders calls him. If all goes well, Wendy and I should be finished with our part of the operation no later than two or three in the morning, putting us back at the hotel by five at the latest. Holly and Dustin will be with the other Inquisitors overseeing other elements of the op.”

  I nodded. All I could hope was that everything went as planned. With luck, after one more night, I could put New York behind me once and for all.

  I wore the dress I had purchased, delighting in the way my mate, Desmond, and Dustin all gawked at me when I finally emerged from the master bathroom. Styling my hair required both Holly and Wendy’s help, but we had managed to tame it into cascading curls pinned into place with pearl-encrusted clips.

  Desmond took his phone out to take pictures, and after so many years of working the streets of Vegas, I posed for him without thinking about it.

  Growling softly, my mate came to me, sliding his hands onto my hips. He pulled me to him and brushed his lips to mine. “When I think you can’t possibly become any more beautiful, you prove me wrong.”