Master of the Moon

by Angela Knight

  But not enough.

  Brooding, he folded his arms and stretched his legs out in front of him. He was aware of the stares of those around him—some curious, some outright hostile, some contemptuous. King that Llyr was, it irritated him, but he wasn’t about to make matters worse for Diana by objecting.

  Then to his astonishment, a short, heavyset dark-haired man dropped into the seat next to him, a notebook in hand. “Hi!” the fellow said, with the stubborn smile of a man used to rejection. “Bobby Greene, Verdaville Voice. I understand you’re a friend of the city manager. What do you think of…?”

  Llyr remembered the front page he’d seen in Merlin’s Grimorie. “Verdaville Voice. This is a newspaper?”

  “Yeah, we’re a weekly. Now, what—?”

  “You’re a reporter?” Diana, he recalled, did not seem to like reporters.

  “Yeah. What do you think of the City Council’s evident plans to discipline Di…?” the reporter trailed off.

  Llyr went on giving the man the look he usually reserved for those who had earned his coldest royal displeasure.

  “Ummm.” Greene swallowed.

  Llyr lifted an eyebrow. You’re still sitting beside me? his look said.

  “Sorry to bother you.” The reporter got up and fled.

  Llyr grunted in satisfaction. He hadn’t been a king for sixteen centuries for nothing. Perhaps he should try that trick on Diana’s City Council. Or perhaps not. Lately everything he tried to do only made her situation worse.

  Llyr aimed a brooding stare down at the toes of his mortal-manufactured shoes. He’d come to realize that his revelation this morning had been correct. He was in love with her.

  Unfortunately, he had no more idea of what to do about it now than he had earlier. He was still powerless, out of touch with his people, and in constant danger of assassination.

  And she was still a werewolf.

  With luck, the first state of affairs would soon change, but Diana would still be a werewolf, and his people would still be reluctant to accept her.

  The irony was, of course, that she’d make an incredible queen. He’d realized the full truth of that watching her stride from the room just now, head up and shoulders back, silently telling her enemies that they would never touch her dignity no matter what they did.

  Oh, yes. He loved her.

  The question was, what was he going to do about it?

  As the council watched from their seats in the hearing room, Roger Davies glared at Diana. He was a big, floridly beefy man who could have used quality time on a Stair-Master. His piggy blue eyes revealed his sullen outrage that she didn’t show him the fear he was used to getting from women.

  “She police brutalized me!” Davies announced. “Her and that blond boyfriend of hers. You see what he did to me.” Pointing at his battered face, Roger glowered down the length of the table at the council’s members, who wore varying expressions of discomfort. “I’m gonna sue! Her and him and the whole city!”

  “Mr. Davies, you blindsided me with a beer bottle,” Diana said, holding on to her Burning Moon temper with extreme difficulty. “I’m lucky you didn’t kill me.”

  “She is,” Jerry Morgan put in. Cop and suspect had been called into the executive session to tell the council about the events of Saturday night. “He busted her head clean open. I saw him do it.”

  “They’re lyin’,” Davies spat. “There ain’t a mark on her.”

  And there wasn’t. The fact that both men looked like they’d been through a meat grinder only added weight to Davies’s accusation.

  “I heal fast,” Diana gritted. For once, her Dire Wolf powers were working against her. Though she’d taken a beating, both during the bar fight and in her battle with the vampire, both sets of injuries had healed when she’d shifted to Dire Wolf. But since she couldn’t explain that, it made her look like a liar.

  “Look, Roger’s buddies were beating the living daylights out of me when Diana and her friend rolled up,” Morgan said hotly. “If she hadn’t waded in and helped, I’d be in the hospital.”

  “You started it!” Davies growled. “You swung at us with that nightstick of yours, just ’cause we said the cops was sitting on their asses instead of catching that serial killer.” He looked at the council. “We weren’t doin’nothing to nobody.”

  Morgan glared at him, his eyes hot with rage. “You know, I’ve known you since elementary school, and you’ve always been a lyin’ bully.”

  As the two men began to shout at one another, Diana silently gritted her teeth. Despite the sideshow with Davies, she knew it was a lost cause. None of the council would look at her.

  Carly Jefferies had made that clear as they all started to sit down half an hour ago. “Well, all I know is that everybody at the beauty shop today was talking about the man Diana’s got staying at her house.” She’d given Diana a long, cold look. “That’s not the kind of image we want for our town. Not at all.”

  It was all over but the vote.

  As the first hour of executive session slid by, Gist decided it was time for a bathroom break.

  He was coming back from the men’s room when he saw the coroner standing outside the open door on the steps of City Hall, smoking a cigarette.

  Looked like a perfect opportunity to give the bastard a piece of his mind.

  He sauntered outside. “Found out anything new on your aliens, yet, George?”

  Miller turned, the cigarette halfway to his mouth. An expression of profound discomfort crossed his pudgy face. “Never said they were aliens.”

  Gist shrugged. “Well, you said they weren’t human. That doesn’t leave a hell of a lot of other options.”

  “You saw ’em. Did they look human to you?”

  “You mean the ears? Ever heard of plastic surgery, George?”

  A ruddy flush began to spread up Miller’s face. “Hey, all I know is what the pathologist said.” He gestured with his cigarette, smoke trailing his hand in snaking patterns. “Garrison swears their blood wasn’t human.”

  “So what? You think you’ve found a fuckin’ X-Files?”

  The coroner threw his cigarette aside, his gaze cold with suspicion. “What I think is that you and your city manager know something, and you’re covering it up. I don’t know why, but I can just smell it.”

  “All you smell is your own bull—”

  “Now is that any way for two public servants to talk?”

  They turned in surprise. A woman climbed the steps of City Hall toward them, hips swaying. Despite his anger at Miller, Gist felt a distracting buzz of masculine admiration. The short skirt she wore showed a whole lot of long leg, and her red hair tumbled around her shoulders in artful disarray.

  Then Gist frowned, taking in the fishnet stockings and handcuffs at her belt. She might be pretty, but she dressed like a hooker.

  “Excuse us, ma’am,” Miller said with the automatic chagrin of a Southern gentleman caught saying something he shouldn’t in front of a lady. “We’re just having a little professional disagreement.”

  The woman stopped on the step just below him. “See, the funny thing is, they are hiding something from you.” To Gist’s astonishment, her hand began to shoot light like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. In the fifteen seconds he spent staring, the sparks coalesced into a Bowie knife. The woman grinned viciously. “Me.” She rammed the knife upward into Miller’s ribs.

  He gasped and doubled over. For a split second, his agonized gaze flew pleadingly to Gist. The woman pulled the knife away and let him fall.

  “Jesus!” Gist grabbed for his gun, but she seized his wrist, stopping it before it got to his holster.

  “Give us a bellow, baby,” she purred. Those delicate fingers squeezed, and he felt bones break with a crunch and an explosion of white-hot agony. He screamed in shock and pain.

  She grinned. She had fangs. “There you go.”

  Llyr reacted to Gist’s bellow of pain on sheer instinct, springing out of his seat and running from the
council chamber before even the police officers had time to react.

  He met Diana charging for the exit, her eyes wild with Burning Moon rage. “That was the chief!” she snarled, flinging the exit door open.

  They both stopped dead at the sight of the crumpled body lying on the stairs. “It’s the coroner!” Diana’s head came up sharply as she inhaled. “The vampire. She did this—and she’s got the chief!”

  “Diana!”

  But it was too late. She leaped from the top of the stairs, transforming to wolf form in midair. Llyr cursed ripely as he cleared the steps in one jump.

  Too late.

  She was already off and running, a long dark shape streaking through the moonlight. He shot after her as, behind him, mortal voices lifted in shock and outrage.

  Llyr ignored them, concentrating on keeping Diana in view, knowing even as he ran that they were probably headed into a trap. He also knew Diana was past caution. Or even reason. Between the Burning Moon, her fury at her lost job, and her fear for her friend, she’d completely lost control.

  It didn’t help that she was much faster on four feet than he was on two, even running full out. He’d never catch her in time.

  As they fled through the night, male voices rang behind them. At least Diana’s men were on the way. Unfortunately, they were human and even slower than Llyr was. He had the ugly feeling it would all be over by the time they caught up. He only hoped he could catch Diana himself before she ran headlong into whatever trap the bitch had set.

  He saw the wolf streak into a stand of thick trees and plunged after her. Brambles and branches tore at his clothes and long hair, but Llyr kept going. He could scent her on the wind.

  Along with the smell of blood.

  He caught a flash of pale flesh and skidded to a stop barely in time to keep from tripping over her. Diana had turned human again to crouch beside a crumpled, blue-clad form.

  “She stabbed him,” she snapped, her silver gaze flashing up to his. She’d stripped off her jacket and wadded it up to press it against the chief’s side. “He’s still alive. Apply pressure to this—the vampire left a scent trail going east. I’m going to get that bitch!”

  “No!” the chief groaned. “Di, don’t!”

  “He’s right.” Llyr dropped to one knee and reached to press the jacket against the wound. “Diana, stop and think. She’s setting a trap.”

  His lover’s pretty face twisted with frustration. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she hissed, “Llyr, I can smell her! She’s right there waiting, maybe a hundred yards away. I’ve lost everything, but I am damn well going to stick a stake in that bitch before I’m done.”

  “Diana! Chief? Where are you?” It was Jerry Morgan’s voice, rising over the sound of bodies crashing through the woods.

  She lifted her head and shouted, “Man down! Somebody call an ambulance!” To Llyr, she added, “They’ll be here in a second. Don’t let up on the pressure!”

  Before he could object again, she transformed and leaped off into the brush in a series of great bounds. “Dragon’s Breath, Diana!” But he could feel her jacket going wet with blood even as he held it. He didn’t dare let go, or the chief would be dead in minutes.

  “She’s nuts,” Gist panted, his voice dangerously faint. He caught at Llyr’s hand with icy fingers. “Go after her, boy. Don’t let her…get herself killed.”

  “Not yet,” Llyr told him grimly, refusing to let up the pressure. The crackle of brush and hoarse male voices grew closer, and he lifted his voice. “Over here!”

  He just hoped he’d be able to catch up with Diana before she ran into the vampire’s trap.

  Deep in her blazing Burning Moon fury, Diana knew she was taking a huge risk, but she didn’t care. The vampire had destroyed her life, killed fourteen men, and stripped Llyr of his powers. One way or another, she was going to pay. Now.

  Diana skidded to a halt to make sure she hadn’t lost the trail. The scent was so strong, every breath carried it. The bitch had to be standing just around the…

  Wait, what was that…?

  Something closed in the thick fur of her scruff and jerked her off her feet as if she weighed no more than a puppy. Diana yelped.

  Suddenly she was crushed against a hard, armored body, with a big hand clamped hard around her muzzle. Terrified, she looked up into a handsome face that was both familiar and horribly alien.

  Her captor’s grin stabbed ice into her heart. “So you’re Llyr’s bitch,” he said, in a deep, velvet voice that sent cold fear shooting through her.

  Ansgar!

  Instinctively, Diana twisted in his arms and tried to transform into the Dire Wolf, but before she could change, he dragged her forward. Light exploded around her and she felt the the magic of a dimensional gate rush over her skin.

  Then they were through. Lifting her higher in his arms, the Sidhe king kicked open a door. Diana felt her transformation begin with triumph and relief as he threw her to the ground.

  Pain blazed through her side as she hit hard. She came up snarling as he turned, having just locked the door.

  Wait. Either he’d grown, or she was much smaller than she should be. Diana glanced down and saw white flesh and her linen pantsuit. Somehow she’d assumed the wrong form. Frustrated, she reached for her magic again.

  Nothing happened.

  Ansgar grinned at her, his mouth stretching into a parody of Llyr’s wicked smile. “I use this room for executions,” he told her, almost gently. “It’s surrounded by a blanking spell that nullifies magic, which is what threw you into your human form.” He moved toward her. She retreated, realizing he was even more solidly muscled than Llyr. His grin widened as he drew a knife. “In here, it’s all about brute force.”

  Diana fought to hide her sick horror. If he’d been human, she’d still be more than a match for him in strength, despite his brawn and longer reach. Her Direkind muscle was that much denser and stronger than a human’s. Unfortunately, though, he was Sidhe, and his size gave him easily twice her strength.

  She gave him a sneer anyway as she fell into a combat crouch. “I’m afraid you’ve miscalculated, asshole. As we humans say, this only levels the playing field.”

  Ansgar laughed in a rolling boom that reminded her far too much of Llyr. “Oh, I don’t think so.” He moved toward her in an oiled slink, like a cat sneaking up on a pigeon. His smile of anticipation was as chilling as his gaze. “You know, you’re very pretty. I see why Llyr is so infatuated.”

  Diana backed away, daring a quick scan of the room. Torches illuminated naked stone walls and a stained execution block with a huge headsman’s axe buried in it. Other than that, the room was empty. “Where are your guards?”

  “I don’t need them.” His gaze flicked over her body, deliberately insulting. “Besides, I’m afraid I’m not in the mood to share.”

  The chief’s gun in his hand, Llyr moved through the night, every sense alert. A team of city firefighters, including a paramedic, had taken over administering medical care to Gist while he was being taken to a waiting ambulance.

  As they’d carried him away, he begged Llyr to find Diana.

  Now Llyr, Jerry Morgan, and two other Verdaville cops were searching the woods for Diana and the killer. But he hadn’t caught so much as a whiff of wolf, and his tension grew with every step he took. Where in the name of the Dragon was she? Had she been ambushed?

  A cold creeping on the back of Llyr’s neck told him he was running a risk a king had no business taking. If he got himself killed out here, his people were going to end up wearing Ansgar’s yoke. Yet it wasn’t in him to simply cool his heels while the woman he loved charged into danger.

  Llyr cursed silently as he ghosted through the brush with a hunter’s skill. Diana’s feral streak might be a delight in the bedroom, but it could be a pain in the butt in combat.

  His instincts suddenly clamored, stopping him in his tracks. He listened hard.

  Crack.

  The snap of the branch was so fai
nt he scarcely heard it. Leaves rustled.

  “All alone, Majesty?” the woman’s voice whispered out of the dark. He’d have said it was sexy if not for the evil undertone.

  Llyr pivoted with a fluid skill designed to thwart any attack. Bringing the gun up, he aimed it toward the sound of the vampire’s voice. His pounding heart slowed into the cool, steady rhythms of a veteran warrior. As he scanned the darkness, he saw no trace of the woman, yet his every sense thrummed.

  Steel flashed toward his face and Llyr jerked aside. The blade sliced so close he felt the wind of its passage. He pulled the trigger. His borrowed gun roared in his hand, its flash lighting up a woman’s wild eyes and snarling mouth. The bullet struck a magical shield in a shower of sparks and whined off into the trees. Llyr fired again, but she had disappeared back into the darkness.

  “You do know he’s got her?” the witch purred from behind him. Llyr wheeled, fired, and dove aside.

  She screeched in pain. “Bastard! That’s it, I’m done playing with you!”

  He saw the blazing ball of magic shoot toward him. Ducking, he fired. She hissed in frustration. Sparks danced as lead struck the shimmering energy field. “Aren’t you worried about your pretty little friend, Your Majesty?” the witch taunted. “I mean, given your handsome brother’s ugly habits?”

  “What’s Ansgar got to do with this?” Fear clamped around his heart, but he fought it. The chances were good she was lying.

  “He just gated off to his palace with her. And you know, somehow he doesn’t strike me as a very pleasant host.”

  Which meant Llyr better wrap this up before Ansgar killed the woman he loved, if she was indeed telling the truth. He fired toward the sound of the vampire’s voice.

  Whomp!

  Something hot and viscous slammed into his face like a wave of burning glue, tearing the gun from his hand. The force of the magical bolt drove him backward until he slammed hard into a tree. Cursing, Llyr bucked, trying to tear free of whatever held him, but the spell wrapped him tight. He went on fighting anyway, struggling against the magic, but he couldn’t break its hold.