Beneath a Blood Lust Moon

by Jodi Vaugn

  “What do you mean?” Her heart lurched in her chest. Had he seen what she’d been searching for on her computer?

  He shrugged his shoulders, causing more snow to fall on her floor. “Come on, Kate, stop trying to hide what’s going on. I already know.”

  “You do?” She grabbed the counter as her head grew dizzy.

  His lips curved into a pitying smile. “You’re trying to find another bank to refinance your mortgage to save your bed and breakfast.”

  She blew out a breath. So, he didn’t know about Braxton.

  “Kate, I know about your money situation.” He stood up and stepped closer, giving her arm a squeeze. She cringed and stepped back.

  “I’m willing to make you a very generous offer for this old place.”

  She gritted her teeth, trying very hard to keep her anger under control. “This old place is my home.”

  “And it’s falling down around you.” Bigsby’s gaze ran across the kitchen, and his lip curled up over his teeth in disgust. “It doesn’t even have granite countertops.”

  “This house is over a hundred years old. They didn’t have granite countertops back then.”

  Bigsby shuddered. “I know.”

  Had this idiot ever been in a bed and breakfast before? “I’ve kept the house as close to the original as possible. That’s what people expect from a bed and breakfast.”

  “What people expect is cheap rates and a continental breakfast.”

  “From a hotel.” She narrowed her eyes. “From a bed and breakfast, they expect character and friendliness and a real breakfast.”

  Bigsby shook his head. “You don’t even have a pool.”

  Kate threw up her arms. “That’s because it’s not a hotel.” She wanted to strangle him.

  Bigsby grabbed her hand. “You don’t even have any customers. Face it. You need me, Kate.”

  She snatched her hand away.

  “Kate doesn’t need you. She has me.” A deep voice growled.

  Braxton stood in the hallway, dressed in one of the white robes reserved for guests. The garment was way too small on his large body and the sleeves stopped at his elbows, showing off his colorful tattoos. He held his left arm, though no longer splinted, against his side. Even dressed in the robe, he looked dangerous and lethal. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

  Bigsby’s eyes widened in surprise as he took in Braxton’s size. “Who are you?”

  Braxton stepped forward. “I think I need to be asking you the same question.”

  Bigsby swallowed and tried to force a confident smile. “I’m Oliver Bigsby. I was just checking in on Kate.”

  Braxton took another step forward until he was chest to chest with Bigsby. “Yeah, well, you won’t need to be checking in on Kate anymore. I’m here now. ”

  A look of disbelief and then outrage crossed Bigsby’s face. Kate bet no one had ever talked to him like that before. He opened his mouth and started to speak, but then apparently thought better of it and slammed it shut.

  “I see. Goodbye, Kate.” Bigsby nodded stiffly and hurried out the door.

  Braxton turned his assessing gray gaze on her. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, unable to speak. Did he always roll out of bed looking this damned hot?

  Clearing her throat, she nodded. “Yeah, I am. Thank you for that.”

  “Who was that guy?” Braxton narrowed his eyes and for a second her heart melted a bit. It was almost like he was a little jealous.

  “Oliver Bigsby. He’s been trying to convince me to sell my home to him for the last few months.” She shrugged and walked back into the kitchen, hoping to catch her breath. Braxton followed.

  “He doesn’t look like the B and B type.” He eased himself onto the barstool.

  “He’s not.” She placed a cup of hot coffee in front of him and then hesitated. “You do drink coffee, don’t you?”

  He raised his eyebrow. “Yes. I do.” He lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip. “So what does Bigsby want with your bed and breakfast?”

  “He wants to tear it down and build another hotel or motel, something cheap and affordable—with a pool,” she spat out the last word. It made her sick every time she thought about it.

  “You’ve told him no.”

  “Yes, but he knows about my trouble.” Whoa. She didn’t mean to let that slip. She shrugged and changed the topic. “How’s your shoulder?”

  His gaze didn’t leave her. “I think we were talking about you, Kate. What kind of trouble are you having?”

  Why did he make her stomach tremble by just looking at her with those gray eyes? Even how he said her name made her lose her breath.

  “It’s nothing I want to talk about.” She crossed her arms.

  Reaching across the kitchen island, he tugged her hand free, his fingertips teasing hers. “What do you want to talk about then?”

  Her breath caught and she licked her dry lips. What she really wanted to talk about was him.

  He eased back, grimacing as he favored his shoulder. “Let me guess. You want to know about werewolves, right?”

  “Will you answer any questions I have?”

  He nodded and took another sip of coffee.

  She waited a few seconds. “Do you need a full moon to change into a wolf?

  “You tell me. Did we have a full moon last night?”

  “No.” She frowned.

  “Then you answered your own question.” He looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes, while a delicious smirk played at the corners of his mouth. “It would be better if you still thought I was a dream.”

  She snorted. “I’d rather have the truth than a lie any day of the week. Believe me.”

  “Wanna talk about it?” His grin slipped as his expression grew serious.

  “Nope.” Pushing her coffee cup to the side, she studied him. “Why don’t you tell me why someone tried to kill you with a silver bullet?”

  “Guess I pissed off the wrong person.” His gaze hardened as he looked away, his lips set in grim determination. He was still sexy, but there was a dangerous edge to him now, making her wonder if she should have let him in her home.

  She cleared her throat. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s your business. But don’t assume I’m an idiot.”

  His raised his eyebrows. “That’s the last thing in the world I would ever call you.” He sat forward and reached for her hand again. His face contorted into a mask of pain as he cradled his injured shoulder.

  “Let me see.” She brushed his hand away from his shoulder to assess his wound. Bright red blood marred the pristine bandage. “Your wound is bleeding again. Let’s get you back to bed so I can rewrap it.”

  A half hour later, after changing his bandage, she stayed by his bedside, watching as Braxton drifted off to sleep.

  She couldn’t help but wonder just how much danger he was in. What concerned her the most was how much of the fallout was going to end up on her doorstep.

  ***

  Damon walked into the smoke-filled bar in Branson, Missouri, a little before ten p.m. Cigarette smoke curled around him in a suffocating blanket, the stench making his stomach turn. He snarled, shaking off the layer of snow from his favorite leather jacket. He fucking hated snow. It was one reason he lived in the South. They were not supposed to get snow.

  Glancing down, he grimaced at the wet spots on the leather. He should’ve listened to Ava and worn the jacket she had bought him, even though it wasn’t his style. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that it made him look like a pussy. He made it a point never to look like a pussy.

  Glancing around, he expected to see a bunch of old timers in the hole-in-the-wall bar, but instead he was greeted with curious stares from pock-marked faces of young meth heads and shifty-eyed criminals. Certainly a mixed crowd tonight at the Old Irish Tavern.

  “Beer.” Damon straddled the bar stool and pushed his Oakleys over his head. The bartender nodded and slid him an icy long-neck. “Thanks.” Damon took a pull and
casually looked over his shoulder. Everyone was suddenly very interested in finishing their drinks and paying their tab.

  “You aren’t from around here.” It was the bartender’s tone that had Damon’s instincts on high alert. Damon crossed his arms and discreetly patted his chest for his Sig Sauer.

  “Nope.” He took another drink and eyed the big-bellied barkeep. “Are you the owner?”

  The bartender reached his hand under the bar and leaned on the counter. “Yeah, I’m the owner. Is there a problem?”

  Damon smirked. “No. Just wondering why the owner of an Irish Tavern has a Jersey accent rather than Irish.”

  The bartender placed his empty hand on the counter and smirked. “Would you believe my mother was Irish and she left this place to me?”

  “No. I would believe you got the deed to this place from some underhanded shit you were involved in.” Damon met his gaze. “Let me guess, you’re some kind of loan shark and when some asshole named Bubba didn’t pay up, you took his bar.”

  The bartender narrowed his black eyes. “Did Bubba send you here to take care of me?” The bartender’s hand went under the counter. “Is that why you’re here?”

  “What? No, I didn’t mean, literally, Bubba...” It was the South. One out of every fourth male was named Bubba.

  “You go tell that little shit from Arkansas he’s never gonna get his daddy’s bar back.” Chairs scraped across the wood floor as patrons pushed away from their table and made for the front door.

  “I don’t care how much money he offers, I’m keeping this place. Clear?” The bartender swung a sawed-off shotgun out from under the counter and leveled it at Damon’s face.

  Damon slowly eased to his feet as anger pulsed through his veins. The desire to shift into wolf was overwhelming. “I didn’t come here because of Bubba.”

  The burly bartender’s nostrils flared and he sniffed the air. “Really? Then why do you smell like those damn Arkansas werewolves?”

  Damon curled his fingers into fists “Because I’m an Arkansas Guardian, you dumb fuck.”

  The bartender gave him an arrogant smile. “So Bubba did send you.”

  “Just because I’m from Arkansas doesn’t mean I know Bubba.”

  “Right.” The bartender kept his gun aimed at Damon’s head.

  “Do you have any idea of how many people named Bubba live in Arkansas?”

  “No.” The bartender blinked.

  “Half the fucking state.” Damon pulled out a twenty and slid it toward the man to cover his tab.

  “Then what the hell are you doing here in Missouri?” The bartender relaxed a little and rested the barrel of the shotgun against his shoulder.

  “I’m looking for some Louisiana Weres.”

  “I hate Louisiana more than I hate Arkansas.” The bartender spit on the floor and then looked back at Damon. “Are these civilian Weres?”

  “No. They’re Assassins.” The bartender’s grip slipped and the gun hit the ground with a thud. “Assassins? Who the hell are they looking for?”

  Damon shrugged. Werewolves hated Assassins more than they hated rogue wolves, especially in Missouri where there was no Pack Law. “Not sure. What I am sure of is that my Pack Master wasn’t very happy when they crossed over into Arkansas and didn’t let him know.”

  The bartender crossed his arms and put his “I don’t give a shit” face back on. “So?”

  “The Assassins shot a werewolf in broad daylight,” Damon growled. The bartender’s face went pale. “We don’t take too kindly to that in Arkansas.”

  “Who were they looking for?” Well, now, wasn’t he all Chatty Cathy?

  Damon laughed. “Funny you should ask. They were looking for a bartender.”

  The bartender’s eyes widened as his face paled.

  “So if you see these guys, give me a call.” Damon plucked a napkin off the bar and scribbled his cell number. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be pulling that gun on the Assassins if they show up here.”

  “Yeah? Why the fuck not?”

  “Because they’re not as social as I am and they’re using silver bullets, dipshit.” Damon made his way to the door, his hand resting on his .45 as he made his way out.

  Once outside, he straddled his Harley. He would hit a few more bars tonight, but his instincts told him the Assassins hadn’t yet made it into town. If they had, the werewolf population would not be showing their faces like they were.

  Where the fuck was Braxton? If he hadn’t crossed the Missouri line, that meant he was still in Arkansas.

  And probably dead at the bottom of a mountain with a silver bullet in his hide.

  ***

  Braxton barreled down a dark alley, his lungs struggling for breath as he ran.

  They were chasing him. He couldn’t stop. He had to keep going. If he slowed down for a second, he was going to be dead.

  “Braxton, how could you?” His mother’s voice called out to him from the shadows, like vapor. “You are no son of mine.”

  Pain recoiled through his chest, ripping at his insides. He swiped his hand down his torso, feeling for a gunshot but didn’t find an injury. There was no blood, no wound, no gaping hole. His heart dropped when he realized it wasn’t a bullet that had ripped his chest in two—it was his mother’s devastating words.

  Angry and hurt, Braxton stopped running. He lifted his head to the bleak night sky and screamed, hoping to make her believe him. “I. Didn’t. Kill. Him.”

  “Braxton, wake up.”

  Braxton bolted upright and looked around. The vaguely familiar cozy room of quilts and antique furniture calmed his rapid heartbeats. He sucked in a breath, struggling to get his breathing under control, when he saw Kate sitting on the edge of his bed.

  “You were having a bad dream.” Kate ran her delicate hand across his forehead. She smiled. “Your fever’s broken.”

  He nodded and glanced out the darkened window. “What time is it?”

  “Almost ten at night. You’ve slept the day away.” She eased off the bed and stood.

  Braxton reached for her hand. “Don’t go.” He closed his eyes. He didn’t know why he said it. He preferred his solitude and only sought women out when he needed to relieve the sexual tension. But Kate was different. She soothed his soul.

  “I’m coming back. I was just going to get you some dinner. I made meatloaf and twice-baked potatoes.”

  Braxton’s stomach grumbled. “Sounds good.” He shoved the sheet off, eased his aching body off the bed. He looked around for his jeans and grimaced. He didn’t have his jeans—or clothes for that matter. He’d lost them after he shifted. “Fuck.”

  “You’re...you’re...” She sucked in a breath.

  Her stare was glued to his rigid erection. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Kate.” He ripped the sheet off the bed and covered his lower half. Where the fuck were his manners? He’d probably scared her half to death, thinking he was some kind of pervert or something.

  She dragged her dilated gaze up to meet his and suddenly food wasn’t the only thing he was hungry for. “I’ll just let you get dressed. The robe is over there on the chair.” Face flushed, Kate tried to back out of the room. She bumped into the dresser.

  “Kate.”

  She ran out the room like a shot. Great, he’d probably scared her half to death. There was an innocence about Kate that he’d never encountered before. Innocent women were not his type. They could be hurt too easily. He preferred his women brazen with no strings attached.

  Fully robed and with his libido under control, Braxton walked into the kitchen and settled onto the barstool. Though his fever was gone, his shoulder still ached like a bitch.

  Kate averted her gaze and placed a plate of food in front of him.

  “This looks great.” He took a bite and his taste buds exploded with the flavor. “Damn. It tastes even better.” The only woman who’d ever actually made him a meal was his mother.

  She gave him a shy smile. “My mom started this bed and breakfast when I
was just a little girl. I was very young when I learned how to cook and take care of this place. You can’t own a bed and breakfast if you don’t know how to cook.”

  “I’m shocked this place isn’t packed.” He motioned with his fork as he looked around. The house itself was quaint and inviting, and the perfect place for a couple in love to take a romantic weekend.

  Her smile dulled. “It used to be full all the time.”

  “And now?” He got the sense he was probing into sensitive territory, but he wanted to know. If there was a way he could help her, he’d do it.

  She sucked in a deep breath. “Now, I’m struggling just to pay my bills. And not doing a very good job of that either.”

  “What about savings?”

  She shook her head. “It’s gone. Let’s just say I trusted someone I shouldn’t have.” She pushed away from the island and dumped out the rest of her coffee in the sink.

  He nodded. “I can relate to that.”

  She gave him a look of disbelief. “Really? I can’t imagine you’d be fooled by anyone.”

  He dropped his fork with a clank. Suddenly his appetite was gone. Images of his mother’s accusing words and her disappointed face swam around in his head like alphabet soup. “I’ve learned not to expect much out of people. That way I’m never disappointed.”

  “Isn’t that kind of a lonely life?”

  Braxton met her concerned gaze with his own. She had no idea.

  He cleared his throat from the emotion threatening to suffocate him. “Do you have a plan to save your business?”

  “I’ve talked to the bank manager to see if I can get an extension. But even with that, I’ve got to be booked solid for the next month to get back in the black.” She sighed. “With the economy in the dump, people aren’t as eager to shell out two hundred a night for a bed and breakfast when they can go to a hotel for half that.”

  “A hotel like the one that douche bag owns.” Braxton crossed his arms. He didn’t like Bigsby on principle, but when he saw the way that asshole was looking at Kate, his dislike had gone straight to hatred.

  “Correct.” She plopped down on one of the island stools and rested her elbows on the counter top. “He’s been trying to buy me out for months. So far I’ve managed to keep him away. I realized he was aware of my financial situation when I ran into him at the bank the other day.”