Hunter Moon
Joanne Mallory
Copyright © 2017 by Joanne Mallory
Cover Design: Soqoqo
Photography: Adobe Stock © Аrtranq
Editor: Jeff Gardiner
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Crooked Cat except for brief quotations used for promotion or in reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events,
or locales, is entirely coincidental.
First Crooked Love Cats Edition, Crooked Cat. 2017
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For Poppy
Acknowledgments
To all the animal rescue centres, charities and each and every volunteer. Our family wouldn’t be complete without our girl. Thank you.
About the Author
Joanne Mallory is wife, mother, and canine wrangler. She has always written, everything from poetry to historical papers. But at heart she's always been a romance girl… Romance with a dash of magic.
A history grad, who once managed a castle, she is always finding new things to try and new places to visit.
Joanne also writes advice for writers as J T Mallory.
Joanne was born in Hampshire on the south coast of England, where she still lives with her noisy family, and foolish dogs.
To learn more you can find her at www.joannemallory.com.
Hunter Moon
Chapter One
The nagging pinging of the seatbelt light sounded above her head.
Sleepily opening her eyes, Jess looked out of the plane window to see the Thames beneath her, winding through London. Straightening up as best as she could manage in the tiny seat, she stifled a yawn and checked her watch: 1.30pm.
They’d be on the tarmac at Heathrow within the next thirty minutes, but it would be gone three before she got her luggage and grabbed a cab across London, and that’s only if the M4 was feeling cooperative.
She had to be at Tower Bridge for the gala dinner by 7.30pm.
Rapidly running through her mental check list, she added in an hour at the museum, to check on the arrival of the artifact from Rome.
Rolling her eyes at her chances of getting everything done, she sighed and turned away from the window. The last thing she needed was to watch London rush up towards her.
The pressure in the cabin intensified as the plane began its descent.
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to relax back into her seat, and mentally cursed not being on the earlier flight, and having to go to the bloody gala in the first place…and anything else she could think of.
A smirk crossed her lips. She’d get Jason back for palming the gala into her lap. He knew she hated these things: all those people and cocktail conversation, all the hidden agendas, and the desire to increase their networking reach. She quelled a mock shudder at just the thought of it. Oh yeah, she’d get him back alright.
The wheels touched the runway with a small double bump, and she released a breath. Being a passenger just didn’t work for her.
Standing in the aisle, Jess tucked her dark hair behind her ear. In a plea for patience, she began mentally counting as she eyed the woman at the front of the queue. The woman had got her hand baggage stuck on the overhead door, and instead of moving into the now empty row of seats in front of her so that people could get off, she’d decided to block the aisle while the flight attendant was trying to unhook it.
Despite being asked to move by several passengers, she continued to stand there, huffing that people “shouldn’t be so impatient.”
The tempers of the passengers were rising, and Jess took in a slow breath and pushed energy out from her center, creating an intangible barrier, defending herself from the waves of negative energy that flooded the cabin; she didn’t need to be soaking that up.
Looking down at her watch, she frowned: 2.15pm. She could do with being off this plane and away from the thrum. Staring at the offending piece of hand baggage, she muttered a release spell beneath her breath.
The hinge on the overhead door gave way with a clatter, barely missing the over-tired flight attendant as it thudded onto the seat, and the bag fell into the aisle.
Rolling her eyes, Jess looked up. She really needed more time and focus when it came to spell-work.
As the woman faffed about with her baggage, the man behind her finally gave up and pushed past, and the queue began to edge slowly forward.
As she approached the flight attendant, Jess lightly touched her shoulder, passing her a little energy boost. “Are you alright? That came down with some force.”
The petite blonde offered Jess a warm smile, the tight lines around her eyes easing away as her tiredness abated. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m all finished for a few days.”
Smiling at her, Jess shuffled off the plane. Guiltily sliding her hands into her pockets, she made a mental note to add ‘release spells’ to the ever-growing list of things that she should work on.
Pulling the soft leather strap of her messenger handbag over her head, she adjusted it across her body, and weaved her way through the crowds. The wheels of her neat suitcase made a pleasing rhythmical sound as she strolled from baggage claim across the packed airport.
As she approached the vast row of automatic doors, bitterly cold air raced across the tiles, whipping round her ankles. Rome may have only been a couple of hours ago, but it had been a balmy 28 degrees—while London was ranking high on the grey, wet and freezing-o-meter.
They’d been in the throes of a heatwave before she’d left, and she’d only been gone for two weeks.What was with this weather? When had the summer gone on hiatus?
Adding the moan to her already pissy mood, she headed for the line of taxis, nodding her thanks at the driver when he opened his boot, and reached to take her case from her.
Settling into the back of the cab, Jess lightly cleared her throat, before asking for Exhibition Road.
She pulled her phone from her pocket as the cab eased into the traffic. It had switched over to an Italian phone provider a few days ago, and for reasons unknown to her had stopped receiving, so she’d been cut off from the rest of the world. If only it had frazzled out before getting that one last message… Opening her texts she re-read it.
Having to fly to Ireland, can you take my place at the gala dinner? Left tickets with front desk. See you when you’re back from down south. Jason :)
The rain was pounding against the taxi roof, hitting the windscreen with heavy splats, and Jess couldn’t think of anything worse than having to drag out heels and slap on a smile.
One more week and she was officially on holiday for three glorious weeks.
And she was going home. Going to surprise her sister, and hope her brother might even be in the vicinity. She was planning on dragging them to the pub, sitting on the beach, and seeing what trouble she could entice her brother’s Labrador, Murphy, to get in to.
It had been too long since they’d all been together.
Finding them firmly in her thoughts, she let her mind drift, until she could gently detect the
ir energies. Happy that everything felt okay, she stared back down at her phone; still no signs of picking up a signal, she couldn’t even text them.
With a sigh, she blinked dry eyes at the too bright phone screen. Shutting it down, she dropped it in her pocket—getting it sorted would be tomorrow’s job.
Jess turned to stare out of the window and looked at the westbound traffic heading out of the city; it was gridlocked. She supposed she should be grateful that she had this bloody do to go to tonight. Or else she’d most likely be sitting on a gridlocked M25 as well.
Huffing under her breath, she rolled her eyes at the thought. She wouldn’t care if she sat in traffic all night if she could get out of going to this gala.
Pointing at the plain gated entrance, she caught the driver’s eye in the rear-view mirror. “Just here is fine.”
The wet wind blasted her as she lifted her small suitcase, and raced round the taxi, swiping her ID card in the entrance panel. She was glad of the looming museum, shielding her from the worst of the weather as she pushed through the door to the staff entrance.
The warmly lit reception was a haven from the chaotic wind.
Jess clicked the door shut behind her, grappling with her hair, and blowing it from her eyes she came face-to-face with a laughing Steve.
“Miss Jess! Fine weather, if you’re a duck.” His bright blue eyes sparkled, as he clasped his hands over the desk and grinned at her. “How was Rome?”
Heading over and leaning on the reception desk, she wiped the last remaining droplets of rain from her face. “It was a heck of a lot warmer than this. What’s happened to our summer, Steve?”
Briefly smoothing back his silver hair, he shrugged, spreading his hands wide. “Don’t you worry, Miss Jess, it’s just a quick storm to release the heat, I’d say. I had a call from Jason. Understand I have to pass some tickets your way?” He raised his brows at her, pulling two tickets from the drawer, holding them towards her.
Pinching one of the tickets from his grasp, she read it. “This is it, for tonight’s gala. Who’s the other ticket for?”
Smiling, Steve looked over her shoulder. “Ah, perfect timing.” Placing his clipboard on the desk, Steve busied himself updating his records, as a slight cough behind her had her turning around.
Jess faced the smiling, hoodie-wearing man coming towards her.
“I’m Sebastian. Glad you got back in time.”
He held out his hand, and Jess looked at it, before looking back up at him. “Sebastian?”
“Um, sure.”
His hand remained between them.
Shaking herself, she offered him a quick smile. “Sorry, still a bit frazzled from the flight and all. Nice to meet you.” Sliding her hand firmly into his, her eyes widened as a little frisson of energy travelled up her arm. Her smile lifted into a smirk as she held his hand for a fraction longer than necessary, enjoying the buzz.
How interesting.
Reaching behind her, she grabbed the second ticket from the desk. “So this is yours?”
His dark hair had clearly been pulled through his fingers too many times today. She looked into his warm brown eyes, bright with intelligence and laughter. His grey hoodie was spattered with rain marks. Dark jeans encased solid thighs, and a day’s worth of stubble gave him a relaxed look.
But the Cartier diving watch wrapped round his wrist, and the expensive, but well-worn walking boots hinted that he had some very interesting pastimes.
He, most definitely, was a picture.
Jess held the ticket towards him as she studied him; a touch of mischief lit his eyes as he held her gaze.
“I’m afraid so. I believe Jason is hoping I’ll take over some of these god-awful functions from him, and he said you’re the expert to walk me through the dos and don’ts.” Sliding the ticket into his back pocket, he shrugged. “I gotta warn you, though, I’m crap at the meeting and the greeting.”
Briefly acknowledging that she’d now be making more of an effort with her own attire for tonight, she nodded at his jeans. “Duly noted. But you do have a suit, right?”
His laugh was deep and easy, and she found herself smiling at the rich sound.
“Sure—don’t get me wrong, black tie would be a stretch. But a suit, I can manage.”
“Okay then.” Turning to Steve, she gestured to the clock. “Can you sort out a car to collect us both? Get me last at 7.15.”
“Sure thing, Miss Jess.”
Grabbing the door, she threw him a smile. “Thanks, Steve. Oh, has a delivery come for me?”
Looking at her, Steve’s white head bobbed in acknowledgment as he gestured at Sebastian with his biro.
Sliding past her through the door she was holding open, Sebastian waited in the empty corridor.
“I signed for it this morning.”
The scent of the rain lifted from him as he passed her, the wind had clearly blown him about too.
Not used to feeling short, she mentally added ‘taller heels’ to tonight’s dress code.
“Oh great, thanks.” She fell into step beside him as they headed for the storage department, curious as to why Jason hadn’t mentioned they had a newbie on the team.
“So, have you been here long?” What. The. Hell? Jess gritted her teeth at the ridiculous words that had just fallen from her lips. Why hadn’t she just asked him if he came here often?
“Technically, I’m not actually here.”
Looking him up and down, she lifted her brows at him. “No? Could’ve fooled me.”
He pushed his hands into the pockets of jeans as they walked. The long hallway ran the entire length of the museum; gothic arched windows lined the walls, taking the brunt of the rain.
His lips lifted in a slight smile, and as she studied the shadow dusting his jaw, she wondered what time he’d arrived this morning. What could Jason possibly be up to?
“I don’t officially start until next week. So I’ve got a few days to find my feet before you go on holiday.”
“Uh-huh.” Her brow arched as she looked at him. Curiouser and curiouser. “And I suppose Jase flying off to Ireland has thrown you in the deep end?”
He shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll manage.” Swiping his security card, he held the door for her.
Riffling through the pile of clipboards, he pulled one out, handing it over. “It arrived by courier. I thought you’d want to open and check it yourself.”
Taking the board, she read the delivery note. She had to give him a tick in the box for professional etiquette; it narked her something rotten when her stuff got interfered with. Not that the artifacts were hers, but that wasn’t the point. Putting a halt to her mind’s crazy rambling, she murmured her thanks, noting the aisle number.
She could feel the expectation pouring from him, but he merely gave her a polite smile and walked away, leaving her to it.
Stopping at the door, he turned back. “I’ll see you later, then?”
She raised her brows in question, giving him a smile. “Don’t you want to have a look?”
A grin split his face, heavy dark lashes swept down as he gave her a deliberate nod, purposefully coming towards her. “You betcha! I love a good libation bowl. But I didn’t want to interfere, you know? Drives me mad when people go rummaging through my artifacts.”
Releasing a pent up breath, she gave a relieved laugh. “I do know. I know exactly what you mean.” Heading down the aisles of storage boxes and crates, she grabbed an abandoned trolley, while he traced the box numbers until he found hers.
He lifted the packing crate down onto the flatbed trolley and waited beside her.
She could tell he was barely restraining himself from rubbing his hands together with glee, and she couldn’t help but smile. She felt the same. Each new find gave bigger glimpses of the past, filled more gaps in her knowledge.
Snipping the straps, she levered off the lid. She could feel the hum from the bowl already reaching her palms as she carefully eased the packaging aside.
; His head bowed close to her as they both leant over the crate, and she heard his breath catch in his throat as he waited. Excitement trickled along his skin, reverberating against her, and the wintery scent of him held hints of the sea.
He’d pulled up the sleeves of his hoodie as he reached into the crate, holding back the straw-like packing as she moved it.
His forearms were tanned, dusted with dark hair and strong. Each muscle flexed as he carefully helped her. She found herself ‘accidentally’ brushing his fingers as she freed the large bowl.
The hammered silver pounded with so much energy, it still surprised her that others couldn’t feel it.
Lifting it from the confines, she held it out to him.
His eyes widened as he traced the engraved chariots. “That’s beautiful.” His hushed whisper brushed across her, tickling her nerve endings.
She watched his fingertip trace the filigree markings, catching her breath at the sudden buzz of desire that shot through her.
Heavy silence filled the air as he studied the bowl, and she studied him. His brows furrowed as he took in every mark, as his fingers searched for signs of use and age. His full lips parted, revealing the edge of straight white teeth, his tongue caught between them as he concentrated.
Lifting his gaze to clash with hers, heat flooded her face at being caught staring at him. He stood silently facing her, and she unconsciously lowered the bowl, her gaze locked with his, her breath coming in shallow pants.
She had no idea what to say, or how to break the intense current running between them, as he cautiously took a step closer.
His hands joined her own on the bowl, the ancient silver clasped between them as they faced each other.
The sharp clatter of noise from the next aisle had her jerking away from him, like a teenager who’d been sprung, and the bowl slipped from her fingertips heading for the concrete.
Hunter Moon: A Spellbinding Tale of Love, Loyalty and Magic (Langston Bay Trilogy Book 2) Page 1
