A Shifter's Claim (Pale Moonlight Book 4)

by Marie Johnston

  She didn’t bother to call out. It’d alert the neighbors and she had to make everything look normal for the humans.

  The door was unlocked. She pushed inside, letting the pristine white door swing open. A sob caught in her throat.

  A wall of death slammed into her.

  Dragging in a shallow breath, Shilo forced herself to step inside and close the door behind her. One foot in front of the other, she walked out of the foyer and into the main room. The seventy-two-inch TV was off, and in the leather loveseat in front of the screen sat her dearest friends, side by side, their heads held in their lifeless hands in their laps.

  Chapter 2

  A hard rap echoed through the room as a deep bass said, “You’ve got a phone call.”

  Waylon pried his eyes open. He’d been in the back room of the club since his shift had ended. What time was it?

  A blond head bobbed at his crotch, but his cock barely felt a tickle. It was taking more and more to get him off lately. And give the woman an award, she was trying hard, but he was saved from the it’s not you, it’s me speech by his boss’s knock. If it weren’t important, his boss wouldn’t have interrupted.

  Gently, he lifted away the girl’s head. “Hey, I’ve gotta go.”

  His cock popped out of her mouth. Her eyes were still glazed in passion and he mourned not being able to finish her off, but he had a phone call.

  She moved to prowl up his body, but with his half-limp dick, she’d get nowhere. And he had a phone call.

  “Business. Not personal. I’ve gotta go.” He rolled off the chair and separated the clothing scattered on the floor. He found his blue T-shirt and jeans, the standard bartender uniform at Pale Moonlight. Sometimes he changed up his shirt color. He glanced at his phone. It was midmorning and damn, he had a lot of missed calls.

  He frowned at the name. M&S Security. Right, he’d told them he’d do some freelance security bullshit for them.

  Once he was dressed, he ran his hands through his shoulder-length hair. He should get it cut, but who cared? Before he left, he turned to the woman he’d spent the whole night with. This part never got less awkward. At least she was also a shifter and knew the deal. Meet, fuck, leave. They weren’t mates, they were just answering the call of the wild.

  But he felt like he owed her more than a fist bump.

  “Thanks.” That was hardly more.

  She lifted a light brow as she shimmied into her leggings. “Welcome.”

  Good. They were done then. He breezed out and strode down the hallway. A few groans echoed from the rooms he passed. It wasn’t unusual for them to be occupied until noon.

  He bumped into Malcolm and Harrison, twins who worked as Guardians, leaving one room. The smell of at least three females from inside the room they vacated made his nose twitch. They nodded at him. Somehow the three of them doing the walk of shame made Waylon feel like the night was more of party than a night of nothing better to do and no mate to spend it with.

  The rest of the bar was empty. The wooden booths and tables were wiped and chairs were stacked so the floor could get cleaned before another night of shifter partying and debauchery.

  Christian was behind the spotless bar, the recessed lights gleaming off his dark scalp. He didn’t look up, just pointed to the old-fashioned landline sitting off its base.

  He grabbed the receiver. “Waylon here.”

  “It’s Armana Miller. I have a job for you.”

  He was grateful she cut to the chase. He didn’t need a lecture on not being available when he’d only given them a sure, I can help out once in a while agreement. Lowering the mouthpiece, he addressed Christian. “Armana’s got an assignment. Can you spare me?”

  Christian snorted as he combed through register printouts. “Absolutely.”

  Waylon smirked. He suspected Christian and his old bartending buddy Jace had begged Armana to give him work to do. Too much time on his hands, too much fucking—as if there was such a thing—and lately, too much attitude. Getting out of the bar and all the pheromones from coupling might be a good idea. Instead of losing himself in it like he used to, it was making him bitter.

  “Lay it on me, Armana.”

  “I have a female who needs an escort from Freemont to her home colony.”

  He was going to be a chauffeur?

  Armana continued. “She’s at the Guardian lodge right now. She was in town on business, mediating relations between her pack and another, when her contacts in town were murdered. The Guardians are investigating, but her pack fears for her safe return.”

  A little more interesting. But he didn’t care to drive all over the boondocks. It’d remind him too much of home and he’d moved to West Creek and gotten a job at Pale Moonlight to forget where he’d grown up and who he’d left behind.

  “All right. Who is she and where do I take her?”

  “Why don’t you meet me at the lodge and we’ll go over everything in person.”

  Right. A murder was involved and she didn’t want to talk over the phone.

  “Be there in ten.” He hung up.

  “Aren’t you going to pack anything?” Christian asked in his deep baritone, with a tone that said you should go prepared.

  “Nah. It’s just some down and back. If they wanted fancy, they wouldn’t have hired me.”

  Christian gave him a steady look. As a pack leader of misfits, he didn’t like being disobeyed, even if he didn’t give an outright command. But if Waylon could follow pack orders, he wouldn’t be bartending at a shifter hookup joint.

  Waylon knocked on the bar’s surface before turning to leave. “See you later.”

  Outside, he squinted into the sun and hugged the shade of the building to weave around back where his Jeep was. It’d seen better days—both him and the vehicle. The faded black Jeep was weathered and a rust spot was eating away at a wheel well, but it still ran. Kind of like him. They were still going, just not as sporty as before.

  Maybe he should run home and pack a few things.

  Nah. With pack business and murders, the female he was transporting had too much on her mind to even notice him.

  The drive to the Guardian’s lodge was beautiful as always, and as always, he tried not to notice. Lush trees, space for wolves to run, and the smell of the great outdoors would only remind him of just the beginning of what he’d lost. How long had it been since he’d run his wolf?

  Years.

  The massive log structure sat at the end of a winding drive. The architecture of the place was genius. The generous windows reflected the woods back to the viewer like built-in camouflage. It was two stories with a full basement. Around it, cabins dotted the woods for Guardians and their families to live in.

  He rubbed the sudden ache in his chest. The families out here were tight, had been through thick and thin, and that was not envy burning a hole through his gut.

  Parking by the entrance, he jogged inside. Armana’s human mate, Gray, met him at the door.

  Waylon had only met the guy when they’d come into the bar to talk with him, but he liked Gray’s relaxed demeanor. The human had nothing to prove and his delight in his new life was palpable. Again, not envy.

  “Waylon, thanks for coming so soon.”

  The corner of Waylon’s mouth ticked up. Thanks for coming so soon after they’d been trying to reach him for hours. Diplomatic.

  “Armana’s with the client now. I’ll let them explain everything.”

  Waylon arched a brow. The client was doing the talking. She must have status.

  He followed Gray down a long hallway with coded locked doors. Scents assaulted him and he tried to parse through them as he walked, like there was a hidden treasure tickling his nose. One door was hanging open and Gray turned inside.

  Waylon rounded the doorway and froze, his boots scratching to a halt against the floor when his gaze landed on the client.

  No. It couldn’t be. Anyone but her.

  His heart pounded, a deafening cacophony in his ears.
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  Wide brown eyes switched from shock to full hostility. She stood so fast she knocked her chair over. “No. I will not work with him.”

  The venom in her tone knocked his sense back. That voice, so much disdain for him, like her mother, like her father, like half the town he’d grown up in.

  Aware of Armana’s and Gray’s growing alarm, he adopted a smile he didn’t feel and drawled, “After all this time, is that how you greet your mate?”

  Chapter 3

  “We never mated, you coward.”

  Waylon’s head started to pound. He should’ve eaten something before he’d left. And her scent. It was different. Not like before, but if he sifted through the lingering death attached to her, he could smell—his fangs throbbed.

  “Ugh.” Shilo spat on the floor, though the move was only for show. She probably considered herself too classy to spit for real. “You smell like cheap sex. Get out of here. You’re an insult.”

  Armana’s back hit her chair, her gaze wary. Gray hugged the wall.

  His anger rose hot and swift. He smelled like sex? “As opposed to the expensive kind you just had?”

  A quick flash of regret filled her expression and she switched her attention to Armana. “I’m sorry. I can’t work with him.”

  “Ditto,” he said from between clenched teeth.

  Armana glanced between them, then at Gray. She nodded and rose. “Okay. I can see there is bad blood between you two. We’ll accompany you back—”

  Gray was shaking his head. “We’re both already tasked with security detail. But I’m sure the Guardians can put Ms. Ironhorse up for another night while we find someone else.”

  He should leave. Storm right out. Let someone else worry about her privileged ass.

  But his stubborn feet wouldn’t move. “Who do you need to be protected from?” He managed to say the words with a sneer.

  “It quit being your business when you left,” she shot back.

  “Waylon, you may go,” Armana said firmly. “We’ll compensate you for your time.”

  “No. You hired me.” What was he saying? “Christian already gave me the time off.”

  Shilo crossed her arms. Unfortunately, it drew his attention to her breasts. He’d never seen a pair that measured up to hers. “No.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Waylon,” Armana said.

  He straightened, wishing for the first time he’d done something other than roll away from a blow job and come straight here. “I can be professional.” He cocked a brow. Would Shilo rise to the bait?

  Shilo tipped her head. “Since when?”

  “Princess, you know I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  She scowled at the pet name. Her family wasn’t rich, but they’d pampered her, and everyone in the colony knew it—but not like he knew it.

  Shilo managed to look down her nose at him despite the five inches he had on her. “Only you’re allowed to hurt me?”

  Ouch. His chest ached at the memory of their last words to each other.

  Why am I not good enough for you? I thought you loved me. He’d lived for only her.

  Only cowards walk away.

  Those weeks—hell, months—before he’d left… A guy could only tolerate so much for the female he loved when she accepted everyone’s dismal treatment of him.

  “Want to get into old arguments here, princess?” He crossed to the chair beside Armana and pulled it out. Settling in, he said, “We can see whose side they take.”

  Shilo’s pink lips flattened, and if he hadn’t had shifter senses, he wouldn’t have noticed her shoulders sink a millimeter. That’s what he thought. He’d left her, his mate. But there’d been a reason.

  She stared at him, her eyes cunning. He had no idea what she planned, but he gestured to her fallen chair behind her.

  Armana studied the both of them. Gray righted the chair as if sensing Armana’s grudging acceptance. The couple was mated—happily, even—so he must’ve.

  Again, not envy Waylon felt at all.

  Armana sighed. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ironhorse. I wish I had more options for you, but Waylon has excellent recommendations, and I hate to use this, but if you two really are mates, he has a serious advantage over those who may be after you.”

  “Wait,” Waylon said. “May be?”

  Shilo opened her mouth, but Armana spoke first, thankfully. “You must be familiar with the Ironhorse Falls colony.” Was he ever. “Are you familiar with the Passage Lake colony?”

  “The place run by arrogant pricks who found a reason to stop and search me every time I drove through their place?” He’d secretly hoped a bunch of Ironhorse pack mates would crop up in Passage Lake, just to see Shilo’s parents’ reactions. “They’re only lawful enough to stay under the Synod’s radar.” Their government was swift in reaction, but they tried to let pack relations work first.

  “Ms. Ironhorse,” Armana continued, “is the Ironhorse Falls colony ambassador and she’s been negotiating with Langdon Covet, the Passage Lake leader.”

  He could see that. Shilo liked to work both sides. Never be the bad guy. It was the reason her parents worried about her taking over. She wasn’t ruthless enough, and they hadn’t thought he had the grit, or could earn the respect, to be by her side. But the other packs in the Ironhorse Falls colony, and the shifters in her own pack, adored her. Her wit, humor, and strength—and her looks—had won them over.

  Shilo opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but then she averted her gaze.

  Armana waited a heartbeat before she finished. “The most recent meeting was in Freemont last night. Ordinarily, Ms. Ironhorse spends the night in town.” His heart hammered in his ears. That was code for “went home with someone.” His mate. Just like he spent most nights with Not His Mate. “The couple who organizes her transportation home was found dead this morning, and Ms. Ironhorse and her family don’t believe it’s a coincidence.”

  What was the likelihood the couple had been murdered by the shifters after Shilo—

  “It was Charlie and Cass, Waylon.” She heaved out a sob and sucked air right back in.

  Cold washed over him. He hadn’t heard those names in years, but… Damn. Charlie and Cass? He’d been at their mating ceremony. With Shilo. They’d all hung out. Those two were the only shifters in Ironhorse Falls he’d called friends.

  He fisted his hands on his legs. The stars of his only good memories from before he’d moved to West Creek were gone. “How were they killed?”

  “Beheaded,” Shilo answered. A muscle ticked in her jaw. “It was like they were mesmerized and someone just sliced their throats, let them bleed out, then…” She touched a knuckle to her lips and drew a fortifying breath. “The murderer put their heads in their laps.”

  “And you think Langdon fucking Covet did this?”

  “I think he’s behind it, yes. And I couldn’t drive home through Covet territory all by myself.”

  “What were they doing in Freemont?” When he’d left Ironhorse Falls, his friends had still lived there.

  “They moved a few years ago. Sales in Ironhorse Falls dwindled too much in the last decade. In Freemont, the market was wide open and residents weren’t as sluggish about upgrading vehicles.” She shrugged, grief etched in her face. “When I started doing more and more business in Freemont, they loaned me a different car for each trip back. Sometimes I could make it through Passage Lake before any Covets realized it was me.”

  A wise precaution. Shilo had never been stupid. Stubborn, yes. Frustrating. But not stupid. If she’d lacked intelligence, maybe she would’ve come after him. Instead, she knew what everyone else knew. He wasn’t good enough for her.

  Armana cleared her throat. “Our original plan was to hire you to escort her home and provide security for all future envoys, but if you could just accompany her home—”

  “I’m all in,” he growled. “Charlie and Cass were my friends, too.”

  Armana and Gray glanced at Shilo.

&nbs
p; She narrowed her eyes on him and was quiet for several moments. “Fine. But you can’t interfere with my work.”

  “When have I ever?”

  Her mouth clamped shut. When they’d been together, he’d bent over backward to make sure she knew he loved her for who she was, not what she was. No one could accuse him of taking advantage of her. They had anyway.

  Armana and Gray exchanged unreadable looks. As a human mate, Gray couldn’t mind speak with his mate or any other shifters, no matter how close he was, but it didn’t appear to matter. The two were so in sync they could tell what the other was thinking.

  It used to be like that with Shilo. Or he’d thought so. He’d been wrong in the end.

  The ache in his chest was back. Probably heartburn, from all that breakfast he hadn’t eaten.

  Fuck, what had he agreed to?

  What had she agreed to? Shilo glanced at Armana, willing the shifter to be the sensible one and announce this was a terrible idea and someone else should accompany her to Ironhorse Falls. Preferably a female.

  Waylon striding through the door, with his typical I don’t care expression that she knew was a lie—or so she had once thought. The way he’d left her had proved her wrong. He looked good, as always. Almost better because he was extra broody and disheveled and that had always been her favorite thing about him. But he smelled atrocious. She hadn’t been exaggerating. Sex oozed from every pore, and not the kind with flowers, cards, and whispered promises. Fast. Hard. Anonymous.

  Shilo had the sudden urge to sniff herself.

  Expensive sex. Did it matter? It had still been fast, hard, and anonymous.

  Her righteous anger was dying down and she couldn’t let that happen. Memories assaulted her, tightening her chest. Telling him their mutual friends had been killed brought with it the happier memories of how they’d all known each other. She and Waylon had been the first ones C&C had told about their bonding date, and before that how they were fated mates taking it slowly. Shilo had laughed with Waylon. Taking things slow? It was unusual to find mates so early in life. Shilo was only thirty-three, barely an adult in many shifters’ eyes. Waylon, they guessed, was around her age. He’d confessed one dark night that he didn’t know what year he’d been born, that he’d extrapolated from his estimated age when he’d been found in the woods as a child.