Master of the Moon

by Angela Knight

  He felt…strange. Oddly weightless in a way he’d never known before. It reminded him of the times he’d visited a healer after suffering some grievous wound. The pain and exhaustion were gone.

  Ansgar was dead, and those he’d loved and lost were avenged. His people were safe. More important, Diana was safe. And she was his.

  This must be happiness. He closed his eyes and sent up a mental whisper of gratitude.

  “Have I mentioned in the last few minutes that I love you?” Diana said, her voice still a little rough with exertion.

  Llyr grinned against her dove-soft breast. “What a coincidence. I love you, Diana London Galatyn, Queen of the Cachamwri and Morven Sidhe, my delicious Amazon werewolf.”

  She gave him a sunny smile. There was so much love in it, he wanted to weep. “And I love you, Llyr Galatyn, King of the Sidhe and Heir to Heroes.”

  With a shout of delight, Llyr rose to his feet and scooped her into his arms, then plopped down on his own throne. Gazing at her face, so deliciously close, he couldn’t resist a kiss.

  When they finally came up for air, she hooked an arm around his neck. “Speaking of heirs, that reminds me. We really need to work on giving your grandmother some puppies.”

  Llyr laughed and rested a teasing hand on her belly. His eyes widened at what his magic told him lay within. “Actually, I think we already have.”

  “What?” Diana stared at him, shock and joy warring in her eyes. “You’re kidding me! Just now?”

  “Just now.”

  Stunned, they stared at each other.

  Suddenly a pair of huge, glowing eyes opened up right before the throne. Diana yelped and grabbed for Llyr as teeth appeared in a mystical Dragon grin.

  “Finally,” Cachamwri said. “It took you long enough to get it right, boy.”

  “Are you sure about this, Jim?” Ray Johnson asked. “I mean, think about it. Do you have any idea what it takes to kill a werewolf?”

  Jim London stopped in midstep as pain knifed his chest. Ahead of them, the dogs in Ray’s big kennel whined in sympathy. “Yeah, actually, I do. I saw the body.”

  “But how the hell did they do all that to him? Look, in Dire Wolf form Tony was—what?—eight feet tall?”

  Frowning, Jim looked over at his friend. Ray was a slender man, graying and middle-aged, with a slight paunch and the most intense blue eyes he’d ever seen. He was also no dummy. “I don’t know,” Jim admitted, remembering all the times he’d gone hunting with Tony Shay in the Georgia woods. “You don’t hunt rabbits as a Dire Wolf. He did become a fair-sized gray wolf, though. And he was about five-eleven as a human.”

  “Yeah? I thought he was more your height. What are you, six-four? Anyway, figure he was seven-three or seven-five as a Dire. The county coroner’s report said he was alive when most of that damage was done. You know he’d have shifted if he was in that kind of trouble. So what the hell could have done all that to a seven-foot five-inch Dire Wolf who could probably bench press a Humvee?”

  Jim shrugged. “Most likely it was one of those rogue vampires Arthur’s crowd is hunting. My sister and Llyr fought one last month who’d butchered three men.” Raking a hand through his dark hair, he stared absently across the backyard of his friend’s sprawling farmhouse. It was June, which in South Carolina meant hellishly hot. Ray’s dogs were panting even in the shade of their kennel, and honeybees were buzzing around the tomato plants. “Diana said that bitch had some serious power.”

  Ray frowned as they walked toward the kennel. “And you think the Clarkston cops are involved with a vampire like that?”

  “The chief definitely is. He stonewalled all attempts by Tony’s mother to find out what had happened to him. When she insisted on coming to town and asking questions anyway, he told her Tony was a drug dealer who’d been murdered by his own Colombian connection.”

  Ray stopped to stare at him in outrage. “Bullshit. No way in hell would a werewolf be involved in drugs. We protect humans. We don’t prey on them.”

  “Oh, he was definitely lying. You could smell it on him. Mary knew it, too, and she was furious.” Jim shook his head. “So she asked me to investigate. But when I went back last month to start nosing around, nobody would talk to me. Clarkston is a small town—no more than ten thousand really cliquish people. On top of that, a lot of the folks I talked to were seriously afraid of something.”

  “So you think you can find out more from the inside of the police department?”

  Jim nodded grimly. “I’m sure of it.”

  Ray sighed. “And you probably can. But Jim, you and I both know there has to be more than one vampire and one cop involved in this.” His friend spread his long-fingered hands. Claws slid from his fingertips, each an inch long and razor sharp. “Merlin created us to fight witches and vampires. Magical attacks just bounce off us. So to do that kind of damage…”

  “You think I haven’t considered all that?” Jim demanded. Ray was a great guy, but he did like to belabor the obvious. “You’re right—odds are it wasn’t just one vampire. It was probably a whole nest of them. That’s why I’m going down there in a form they don’t expect, and I’m going to damn well find out who killed Tony Shay.” He clenched his fists, feeling his own claws grow against his palms with his rage. “And then I’m going to make them pay, no matter many of them there are.”

  “Jim, anybody with that much power is going to know you’re a werewolf. They’ll sense it.”

  “Yeah, and I’ll sense them, too.”

  Ray grabbed his shoulder, halting his determined stride toward the kennel. “Dammit, getting yourself killed is not going to bring Tony back.”

  Jim pulled free with a twist of his shoulder. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Against any normal threat, yeah. But these guys…”

  “Look, you’re not going to talk me out of this, Ray. So let it go.”

  “You could teach stubborn to a Georgia mule, you know that?” The older man shot him a frustrated glare as they stepped up to the kennel gate. The dogs surged forward, barking in excitement.

  Jim ignored them as he closed his eyes and reached within himself for the core of his power. An instant later, magic rolled over him in a tingling, foaming wave. The bottom dropped out of his stomach.

  When he opened his eyes again, Ray towered over him. “I wish you’d reconsider,” the older man said as he pulled a chain choke collar out of his pocket. Jim sat back on his haunches as his friend crouched beside him and clipped the collar around his furry neck.

  He woofed softly.

  “Yeah, I know. You can take care of yourself. Asshole.” Ray stood and opened the kennel gate so Jim could pad inside.

  “This dog is going to be great for Clarkston,” the police chief said. “Particularly if you can deliver the kind of drug revenues you did for your last department.”

  “That pretty much depends on the dog,” Faith Weston told him. She smiled slightly. “Sherlock and I got the sheriff’s office a house once. Detectives were able to prove it was bought with drug proceeds.” Federal narcotics laws allowed police departments to seize drug money, cars, and even homes belonging to those involved in trafficking. For small departments eternally strapped for cash, the revenue was invaluable. Dogs, by alerting on hidden drug stashes, gave police the probable cause they needed for searches.

  “I know. It’s why I hired you.” He gave her a long, suggestive look. “One of the reasons, anyway.”

  Faith stiffened. She’d been afraid he’d start something when he’d asked her to drive to Greenville with him to look at the dog. “I’m a very good handler,” she said, giving him a cool, warning stare. Back off, buddy. “The dog may pinpoint the drugs, but I tell him where and when to look.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware of how good you are. I can sense these things.” He smiled at her, all teeth and charm.

  George Ayers was a handsome man—tall and broad-shouldered, with thick dark hair that was rapidly going a distinguished gray. He definitely
knew how to use his looks to his advantage, yet there was also something faintly oily about his charm. At times Faith thought she caught a flash of cold menace in his sloe-eyed gaze, like Richard Gere playing a crooked cop. “Plus, the fact that you don’t have to be trained to work with a dog will save the city a lot of money. You’re already K-9 certified.”

  Faith gave him a cold nod, still simmering over that suggestive grin. Ayers had been coolly professional when he’d first hired her a year ago, but in the past two months, his attitude had undergone a nasty alteration. His gaze had grown speculative, and innuendo had started creeping into their conversations.

  Worse, his boldness was growing. It was almost as though he thought he was somehow immune to sexual harassment suits. Evidently he figured he had her over a barrel.

  Under the Clarkston employee policy code, Faith could go to the city manager and file a complaint, but she knew that would finish her in the department. It wouldn’t take Ayers long to either invent a reason to fire her or make working conditions so miserable she’d be forced to quit.

  And what if the media got wind of the situation? All it would take was one good story to give her a reputation for filing sexual harassment complaints. She’d be finished in law enforcement. No supervisor would want to take a chance on her.

  It was infuriating. All she’d ever wanted was to be a cop, and she’d worked hard over the past eight years to make herself a damned good one. Yet Ayers and his libido could destroy everything she’d fought for.

  But no matter how much damage he did, she was damned if she’d give in to his harassment. Even aside from the questions of morality, taste, and the fact she couldn’t stomach the smarmy bastard, a female police officer walked a very fine line.

  There were only about thirty cops in the Clarkston PD; if any of them even suspected she was banging Ayers, the fragile respect she’d built would be instantly shattered. They’d assume she was doing it to advance her career, not to save it.

  Faith’s only hope was the dog.

  If the animal worked out, she’d be expected to move to the second shift because that’s when most drug-related traffic stops occurred. That meant less contact with the chief than she had to endure working first shift.

  Besides, if he saw she was bringing in serious revenue, he might be more hesitant to piss her off. It was the best solution she was likely to find, short of looking for another job.

  The latter was problematic, since Faith had only been with the Clarkston PD a year. Switching jobs so soon wouldn’t look good; she’d do better to put off the job hunt for a few more months.

  Though if the chief got too pushy, she might have to bite the bullet anyway.

  “Ahhh,” Ayers said suddenly, looking off to the right, where a white farmhouse stood across a sweeping expanse of lawn. A sign stood beside the blacktop driveway: JOHNSON K-9 TRAINING. “Looks like this is the place.”

  Thank God. The sooner they wrapped this up and got back to Clarkston, the sooner she could get the hell out of Ayers’s big, black SUV.

  The chief turned onto the circular drive and parked in front of the house. As they got out of the truck, a man sauntered up, his smile wide and easy. “Ray Johnson,” he said, holding out a hand. “You must be Chief Ayers.”

  “That’s me.” Faith watched as Ayers went into his hail-fellow-well-met act, pumping the man’s hand and introducing her as the department’s K-9 officer.

  Faith found Johnson’s handshake warm and pleasantly firm, but there was something oddly wary in his eyes. Evidently, Ayers set off his instincts, too.

  Smart man.

  He offered them a glass of iced tea, which they refused, then led the way around the back of the house to the kennels. Faith was pleased to see they had to pass through a high chain-link fence to reach them. “The neighbors have little kids,” Johnson explained, unlocking the padlock with a jangle of keys. “The dogs are basically gentle, but if a small child got in with them, you could end up with a tragedy anyway.”

  She smiled at him. “Not the kind of thing you want to take a chance with.”

  “So exactly who donated this dog to the Clarkston PD?” Ayers asked as they walked through the gate. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the boisterous barking from the kennels. Evidently the dogs were glad to see their trainer.

  Johnson shrugged. “Like I told you over the phone, the donor wants to remain anonymous. He just decided to give a K-9 to a small town that didn’t have one, and Clarkston won the draw.”

  “Generous of him,” Faith observed. “A good drug dog can run as much as ten thousand dollars.”

  “Mine are a little more reasonable than that,” Johnson told her.

  “Oh?”

  “It doesn’t take me quite as long to train them.” He smiled slightly. “I seem to have a certain…rapport with dogs. Besides, I want to make them more affordable for small departments. I usually charge five thousand or so.”

  The animals were in full voice now, tails wagging furiously as they greeted their trainer with deep barks. Nine of them were German shepherds, though there was one chocolate Lab. They were good-looking animals, well-fed and bright-eyed.

  Faith’s attention was caught by a towering coal-black beast that was the only one not barking his head off. “Man, now that’s a dog,” she called over the chorus as Johnson opened the kennel. “What the heck is he, part Great Dane? He’s huge.”

  The trainer grinned at her over his shoulder. “That’s Rambo. He’s yours.”

  “Ours?” She grinned in delight as Johnson closed the gate behind him and pushed his way past his pack to reach the enormous shepherd.

  Though some drug dealers wouldn’t hesitate to challenge a cop, almost everybody respected a police dog’s teeth. A beast the size of Rambo could intimidate a mob out of a riot.

  Then Faith frowned as practical considerations reared their heads. “He’s going to be expensive to feed,” she told Ayers. “You think the council’s going to give you any trouble over that?” They’d agreed the dog would live with her, but Clarkston would pay for his food and vet bills.

  Ayers gave her a slight, smug smile. “Don’t worry, Faith. The council’s not going to be any trouble at all.”

  That was news to her. When the idea of a drug dog had first come up after he’d hired her, the chief had been doubtful he could convince the Clarkston City Council to foot the bill. Now he was acting as if he had them all under his thumb.

  Ordinarily, Faith would find Ayers’s confidence encouraging, but something about the look in his eyes made the hair rise on the back of her neck. You’d think he had pictures of the mayor dressed like a Victoria’s Secret runway model, complete with fishnet stockings on his hairy legs.

  Short of that, Ayers was pushing it. The council could fire him on a whim if they thought he was mismanaging his department.

  Restless, Faith rolled her shoulders as her instincts set up a howl loud enough to compete with Johnson’s dogs. Something was seriously off here.

  “You don’t have to worry about Rambo,” Johnson said, as he led the big animal out of the kennel. His gaze was not entirely friendly; he’d evidently overheard their conversation. “He’ll earn his keep.”

  Ayers smiled, all white teeth. “Of course he will.” His gaze flicked to Faith and lingered. “He and Officer Weston will make a fantastic team.”

  Uh-huh.

  “Give him a month,” the trainer said. “If he doesn’t work out, I’ll take him back.”

  “Sounds fair to me, Chief.” Faith walked to the fence as Johnson stepped out with the dog. She shut the gate for him before the other animals could push through, then sank into a crouch. The shepherd was so big, his head was actually above hers when she knelt. He had to be part Dane, though his body type said otherwise. She presented her palm to his long nose for a sampling sniff. “Aren’t you a beautiful boy?”

  Instead of smelling her, though, he stared deeply into her eyes. Just for a moment, she could have sworn there was human int
elligence in the dog’s chocolate gaze.

  Then he swiped his long pink tongue over her palm, and the impression was gone.

  Jim hadn’t expected the handler to be a woman. That was going to complicate the situation.

  For one thing, she was gorgeous. Tall and slim in her navy blue uniform, she had a surprisingly delicate face with a tilted nose and a lush bow of a mouth. Her smoky gray eyes seemed to take up most of her face, an effect enhanced by the way she wore her long red hair scraped ruthlessly back in a pony tail. He’d bet money her looks were the bane of her existence. She was way too cute to be a cop.

  And she smelled just as delicious as she looked, a blend of shampoo and her own natural female scent. He was unable to resist an admiring sniff.

  “Beautiful boy,” she purred, raking her nails across the underside of his jaw in a caress that made him want to groan. She grinned, delighted with his reaction. “Like that, huh?”

  Jim woofed softly, playing his part to the hilt. She cooed more nonsense at him, and he obligingly panted, tongue lolling as he wagged his tail. Oh, man, he thought, This is going to get old fast.

  The last thing he wanted to do with a beautiful woman was pretend to be an overgrown puppy.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice. If he wanted to find out what the hell was going on with the Clarkston PD, he had to remain in dog form.

  Besides, despite the cheerleader looks, she was as much a suspect as Ayers.