Moon Promise (The Wild Pack Book 1)

by Carmen Fox

  “Right.” He transferred his weight onto his right leg.

  Why was he making this so difficult? Apologies didn’t come easy, yet here I was, admitting my mistake. Didn’t that count?

  “I don’t sleep with just anyone either, so who knows why I assumed you did.” A lump in my throat made my confession even harder. “Anyway, the reason I’m such an ass this morning is that Raven deserves better than a half-baked investigation. I don’t want to let her down.”

  Drake lifted the frying pan off the stove and slid food onto two plates he’d already laid out on the counter.

  He was being the domestic god now.

  “I get it.” He picked up the two plates and arranged one in front of me.

  “Good. Because I’m easily distracted.” I inhaled the divine smell of fry-up heaven. Then I placed my elbows on either side of my plate and planted my chin in my interlocked hands. “And I find you highly distracting.”

  He lifted his eyebrows, but his mouth twitched into a little smile. “I know.”

  Touché.

  He filled our cups with coffee then joined me at the table. “What we do at night doesn’t have to interfere with our day activity. And until we get a lead, the investigation is going nowhere.”

  I slathered a piece of bacon in runny yolk. “Agreed.”

  “The downtime should help me confirm my hunch about the Estonian proverb. You can speak to Sable. And if we find ourselves with time to spare...”

  I sneaked a grin through my chewing motions. “It would be foolish not to work on improving our working partnership.”

  He pointed his fork at me. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  For a few minutes we ate in silence. My ideas of professional conduct did not include getting involved with witnesses or fellow detectives. But if bending the rules meant I got to enjoy the, um, pleasures of Drake’s company for a while longer, why resist?

  I shoved the empty plate aside and licked my lips clean. “That was a good breakfast.”

  “A compliment?” He shook his head with fake sadness. “I have broken you.”

  I snorted. “As if. But they’re rare, so take it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Is it too early to call Sable now?” I glanced around for a clock, but couldn’t find one. “Where’s the number?”

  He stood and retrieved a small booklet from deep inside his messy drawer.

  I blew a laughter-snort combo. “You have Sable’s name in a little black book? If we hadn’t established you’re sexually pure, I’d call you a walking cliché.”

  “Smart ass. If I was sexually pure, you surely changed that last night. And this is an address book that happens to be black.”

  “Ever heard of smartphones?” I flicked through the pages. “What’s Sable’s last name?”

  “Spencer. You really think she’ll tell you stuff she hasn’t told me?”

  “She was Raven’s best friend. Are you telling me she didn’t know about her boyfriends and crushes?” I blew a raspberry. “You clearly never had a BFF.”

  “Fine. Talk to her. Maybe she does know more. When you’re done, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  I put the book down while holding the correct page open. “Who?”

  “An old lady who was around when your mother still lived here. The new pack didn’t mingle with anyone, but maybe she has a few good stories.” His gaze traveled to my mouth.

  I wiped my face but didn’t detect any crumbs or dried egg. “What if this woman didn’t like the newcomers, and I have to sit there for an hour, listening to her diss my mother?”

  “I wouldn’t suggest it if that was a possibility.”

  “Okay then. Yes. That might be interesting.”

  I held my hand out for my phone, which lay all the way over on the counter.

  He squinted and let his dominance swell and ebb a few times.

  I sweetened the deal with a “Please?”

  He got up and fetched me my phone.

  I nodded my thanks. “I’ll tell Jonah how helpful you’ve been in my investigation.”

  “You’re pushing your luck.” Yet he ever so casually kissed my cheek and then stacked our plates on top of the dishwasher.

  After I’d found Sable’s number, I waited for ten rings until the answering service activated, and then hung up.

  “Not leaving a message?” Drake asked.

  “This is a conversation I don’t want to have with a machine.”

  He rested against the dishwasher and crossed his arms. “I’ll pop over to my brother’s in a sec. That’s where I keep the rest of my books. I’ll drop you off at Greta’s on the way. She’s a hoot. You’ll like her.”

  I got up. “I’ll take your word for it. But before I do, I’d like to change and brush my teeth.”

  “Anything else, your highness?” He shook his head and gave a loud sigh.

  I wasn’t half as high maintenance as he made me out to be. “Maybe later.”

  He left the kitchen and returned a minute later carrying a packet of replacement toothbrush heads.

  “Nice.” I fumbled with the packaging until I’d freed one, and darted to the bathroom.

  Once my mouth was minty fresh, I stepped into the hall and nearly collided with Drake.

  He pushed a T-shirt into my face. “Wear that. It’s clean.”

  “One of yours?” I frowned.

  “Hardly. You’d get lost. No, this is my brother’s.”

  I unfolded the fabric. It was too large, but it was better than wearing my jacket-over-bra again. I slipped the T-shirt over my head and smoothed it down to way below my ass.

  “How do I look?” I twirled.

  “Adorable.” Drake pointed at my chest. “Worthy of your royal status.”

  I glanced down at the Queen logo across my chest. “Quite.” Then I lifted my head. “Why—”

  Drake’s mouth claimed mine just as his solid grip claimed my body. He held onto the back of my head, burying his hand deep inside my hair. His other hand explored my waist. Then hip. Then butt.

  I gasped, and his air filled my lungs with his taste.

  How had he convinced me this was what I wanted? Because I did, more than anything. I wanted him, every inch of him—on me, around me, inside me.

  With my arms tight in his grip, he hustled me across the room where we fell against a wall. His frame pressed against me, forcing my legs wide, and he slid his free hand under my T-shirt.

  Hell, yes.

  He chuckled into my neck.

  “What’s so funny?” I tugged on his shirt, scouting beneath to feel his skin against mine.

  His fingers circled a spot on my arm. “I can feel your goosebumps.”

  “Maybe I’m cold.”

  He stopped the exploration of my body and stared. “It’s ninety fucking degrees outside.”

  Making out, or being right? Not the toughest of choices. I yanked him back against me by his tight ass and traced the grain of his jeans with my nails.

  His movements got slower the closer I got to his inseam.

  I chuckled. “Look who’s come out to play.”

  His hand found purchase inside the top of my pants and disappeared inside my panties where his fingertips slid down toward my apex.

  I sucked in air.

  He kept his hand still, breathing hard, his cheeks flushed. “Too much?”

  “Not nearly.”

  Not ever.

  He inched his way down toward the heat that was building between my legs.

  My shoulders stiffened with expectation, my heart jigged and stopped, as if unsure what came next. I undid my button and zipper and held on to his hips.

  His fingers found their target, and after two, three languid strokes, he’d built up enough lubrication to scout deeper. Once again, I was on fire, a heat only the feel of him inside me could quell.

  I raked my hands across his curved, firm torso and—

  There. His heart thumped against my palm.

  Why
did this feel so wondrous? It was a natural physical response. Yet I’d made it happen. Me.

  I unzipped him and shoved his jeans down to his knees, then hooked my leg around his hip.

  He yanked it higher around his waist, when an unfamiliar ringtone played in the distance.

  Drake took a deep breath. “Don’t move.”

  He slipped out of me and wiped his fingers against my panties on the way up.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  He chuckled, pulled up his jeans, and headed to the table to answer the phone.

  I clung to the wall, catching air, afraid a step would see me dropping to the floor like a lump of lead.

  Drake talked quietly on the phone and threw me a glance that twisted my sanity. He’d had me in the palm of his capable hands, at the tip of his nimble tongue, and even from a distance he made my body hum with yearning.

  This was bad. Strike that. This was a disaster. Forgetting about Raven’s case wasn’t going to be the problem. My work ethos would see to that. No matter if it took two days or weeks, I’d unmask her murderer eventually.

  I pushed myself off the wall and, despite the morning heat, hugged myself against a chill. For the first time, I understood the real danger of working by his side. Because once my time here was up, would I still want to leave?

  Nineteen

  Greta was a hoot. From the pink wallpaper to the floral print of the curtains, her house radiated eccentricity. Statues of naked women adorned the fireplace which itself housed not a pile of wood, but a bookshelf.

  Drake had dropped me off at around noon and left me with a kiss that made me walk up Greta’s drive more prepared for another romp around the bedroom than a chat about my mother.

  Despite her round shape, Greta wasn’t lethargic or slow. When she wasn’t offering me tea or cookies, she pulled photo albums from the shelf or rifled through a box of memorabilia.

  She glanced up from a crate. “Your mother was a sweetheart, dear.”

  The diffused sunlight that came in through the narrow, yet high windows highlighted the white in her otherwise dark-gray hair.

  “So you did know her?”

  She got up, and her knees cracked. “Yes. She was a wisp of a thing. Shorter than you, but as thin. What is it with women nowadays? Are you not fed properly?”

  I patted my stomach, which didn’t bulge, but wasn’t exactly framed by protruding bones either. “I eat plenty.”

  She returned to the sofa, and her lavender perfume spread around me.

  “Let me see.” She leaved through a stack of black and white photographs, then pulled one out. “Here it is.”

  The yellowed picture showed my mother in a gray or white dress. Her long hair fell over one shoulder, her mouth curved into a kittenish smile. Over the years, my memory of her face had wandered more and more out of focus. Now, she was always out of reach, too far away to hug, or to ask questions, like, “why did you leave me” or “why the hell can’t I shift like a normal werewolf”?

  “I can’t remember her that clearly, but this picture brings it all back.” I gently stroked the photo’s smooth surface. “Dad has her pictures on his nightstand, in the living room, even in the throne room.”

  “She was cherished by her people, too.” Greta’s voice fluttered. “It’s important to be loved. It gives your life purpose.”

  Or heartache.

  I hid my doubts in my matter-of-fact tone. “My mother’s father was their leader?”

  “He spoke for them and made decisions that concerned his family, but community problems were solved by the elders of all the families together.” She giggled. “I sometimes snuck up to their camp to visit her cousin.”

  “Why were the travelers so bent out of shape when my mother hooked up with my dad?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.” She fluffed a throw pillow, while her gaze drifted to the wall behind me.

  She yanked her focus back to me. “But I can tell you her life left a mark on our community that can be seen to this day.”

  I sat straight. “Marlon? I was told he singled her out. Had she done something that upset him?”

  “It wasn’t like that.” She leaned forward and placed her bony hand on my arm. “When the new pack appeared, Marlon wooed your mother relentlessly, but she didn’t want anything to do with him. Neither did her father, and he fiercely rejected Marlon’s advances. Even laughed at him for suggesting such a mating.”

  “How did Marlon take the refusal?”

  “Not well.” Her grip on my arm intensified. “He was humiliated, and his hatred of the travelers ultimately led him to commit unspeakable acts in the name of racial purity.”

  “Quite the legacy for my mother,” I mumbled and stared once again at her young, happy face. “But if he ultimately made his attacks about race, how did he explain making a move on my mother in the first place?”

  “He claimed he never intended to go through with his charade. That he’d always intended to dangle a Moon Promise in front of her nose, only to drop her before the mating.”

  I averted my gaze. Whether Marlon had put on an act to save face or not, it took a cruel mind to devise a plan like that.

  “So, um.” I cleared my throat. “Did Marlon have proof that the travelers were racially impure?”

  “Oh, I don’t think he really thought that. They kept to themselves, so who knows how many of them were werewolves or how strong their genes were. To him, truth was flexible.”

  They had certainly liked their privacy. Without Drake’s knowledge of the woods, I’d have gotten lost searching for the camp. And even if I had tracked down their communal clearing by chance, finding their tents and caravans and huts would have been ten times harder.

  “Did the travelers refute Marlon’s claims that they were racially impure?” I locked my teeth together. “Did they have evidence they weren’t?”

  “I doubt they worried about what others thought. They didn’t involve themselves in our world. Marlon started a campaign against them, and when they didn’t defend themselves, Marlon’s own pack did.” She interlaced her hands.

  The travelers pack may not have cared about Marlon’s accusations, but I couldn’t say the same about me. How human was I? If my mother was fifty-fifty, I calculated my chances of finding my wolf one day at 75%. Any less, and my dreams of succeeding my dad to the crown were close to zero. Not without an alpha male by my side.

  Greta pushed the delicate china cup toward me. “You look pale, dear. Drink something.”

  I did, with the enthusiasm of an automaton.

  The stuffy atmosphere of Greta’s home served as a reminder that I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Not that I regretted a single minute of my time with Drake. In fact, considering the mood I was in now, I’d gladly snuggle back up in his arms to block out reality.

  “Have a cookie.” Greta smiled. “And listen. This is ancient history. No travelers were killed.”

  “But things didn’t go back to normal for your pack, did they?”

  “Not quite. As I said, a rift opened in our community, one that took a while to close again.”

  “Now the travelers are gone.” I took a shaky breath.

  Only Liza remained. She could tell me what I needed to know. If I confided in her, would she keep my secret? If she already knew, did she have a cure?

  “We were too focused on our differences to pay attention to them. Neighbors warred with neighbors. School friends attacked each other. It was absolute chaos. Not even a state visit from the future German king, your father, brought a halt to the violence. He stuck around for a while, though. God knows what he must have thought of our petty hatred.” Greta shook her head. “How he met your mother, I don’t know.”

  Maybe he’d needed a break and sought refuge in the woods. It’s what I would have done. And there, between the trees, a slim brunette challenged and ensorcelled him, and he, her. They’d have met at twilight, walked hand in hand until, in the end, and he slipped quietly
away with her.

  An Oscar-worthy story it may be, but the romance angle was too on-the-nose for me. Dad on the other hand was a sucker for cheese and soppy love stories, so that’s probably exactly what happened.

  And like every tragic love story, her father forbade her from marrying an outsider. Was it possible my grandfather’s refusal had nothing to do with my mother’s choice, and everything with exercising his power over her?

  I blew a strand of hair out of my face. “Do you know why my mother’s father, my grandfather, objected to Marlon’s advances?”

  “We wondered about that, my Bertie and I.” She glanced at a photo on the wall behind me.

  A younger version of her had her head tilted onto the shoulder of a handsome man with a stiff posture. Maybe he’d been a military man. Werewolf age was difficult to guess, but he could have even served with the last American king.

  “Bertie thought it was a racism of a different type. The travelers wanted her to mate with a wolf of their own line. Someone who spoke their language and understood their ways.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “I didn’t like your grandfather, but he sensed that Marlon was a bad lot.” She gave a determined nod. “That’s what I think.”

  The doorbell rang. Once again, Greta moved with the speed of an arrow.

  “Hi Greta.” Drake’s voice liquefied my insides. “I’m here to pick up the princess.”

  “What a shame.” Greta led him in by her hand. “Sure I can’t get you any tea or cookies?”

  He entered the room and threw me a glance that transported me back into the bedroom.

  “I’m good, Greta.” He dazzled her with a smile and proved no woman was immune to his charm. “We must go.”

  Face flushed, I got to my feet. Did he have news about the proverb already? Or had the case file finally come in? Or was it as tough for him as it was for me to spend any more time not being together?

  “I appreciate you speaking with me, Greta.” I lightly touched her arm.

  “My pleasure, dear. Hang on.” She darted to the low coffee table and picked up a picture. “Maybe you’ll want to keep this?”

  It was the photo of my mother. “Are you sure?”