Silver Moon (Hot Moon Rising #6)

by Merryn Dexter

  “Calm down, Kirk.” Derek didn’t bother to raise his voice over the curses pouring from Charlie.

  “Not me that needs to calm down. You summoned me, and we both know what that means. Not my problem you chose to involve those who have no business here.” He sneered at the two human males and pressed against the plump little female until her ripe breasts nestled against his spine. Her small hands braced at his hips, and she made a futile effort to push him forward again.

  A look of sadness flittered across the alpha’s face, and he shook his head. “You are what I made you, Kirk, and I am sorrier for that than you will ever know. I should have realized you would jump to conclusions as to why I called you.”

  A deep growl rumbled in Kirk’s chest. He was proud to serve Derek and the pack. Every step he’d taken down the road to hell had been taken with the sure knowledge no one else in the pack would have to perform an evil deed for the greater good. He carried the sins of their survival so they didn’t have to.

  “I don’t need pity. I just need your orders. I’ve got a dump site already picked out. She’s only a little thing so the gators will make short work of the body.”

  “Body? What fucking body? I didn’t bring her here for you to kill her, you fucking freak!” Jesse yelled, straining against Rand’s hold.

  Kirk ignored him, keeping his eyes fixed on Derek’s face. He couldn’t ignore the sobs, or the scent of terror, rising from the woman though. Her tears soaked into his shirt, her fingers scrabbled against his back where she fought to get free from his weight restraining her. An inexplicable urge to gather her into his arms and comfort her rose in his chest. He snarled again, using his anger to fight down the conflicting emotions.

  “This is Silver Ellis, and she needs our protection. Needs your protection. My orders are for you to take her back to the cabin with you and keep her safe from harm,” Derek said.

  A bark of bitter laughter escaped Kirk. The alpha must have taken leave of his senses. “I don’t do protection.”

  “You do now,” Derek retorted. Nodding to Rand, he indicated to him to release the two detectives. The second wore a shit-eating grin a mile wide, and Kirk wanted nothing more than to choke the fucker. He opened and closed his fists, releasing the tension from his shaking fingers.

  “You can’t be serious about this, Derek. I came to you for help. You can’t trust this bastard with my witness,” Jesse sputtered.

  A hard look settled on the alpha’s face, and he turned the full force of his power on the human. “You are pack now, Jesse. Do not forget yourself again. I trust Kirk more than any other person in this room at the moment.”

  Jesse rammed his hands on his hips but lowered his eyes in submission. He blew out a breath, nodding once. “Okay, okay.”

  Derek dismissed him again, leaving it to Rand to lead a still protesting Charlie away and remind him about pack protocol. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back against the table behind him, body language relaxed. “Silver witnessed a murder tonight. The gang involved will stop at nothing to get their hands on her. Jesse asked for my help, and I agreed.”

  Kirk opened his mouth and closed it again with a quick snap. His mind reeled as he tried to process everything. Derek trusted him? The woman soaking his skin with her tears wasn’t to be killed? He would have to share his home with her? See her curvy little body every day, hear her sweet voice, smell that delicate honeysuckle fragrance?

  No fucking way!

  The rational side of him rejected the whole scenario as preposterous. The animal side licked its lips at the thought of all that sweet, plump goodness stretched out on his bed. Blood rushed to his cock, swelling his flesh to the point of pain. He dropped his arm casually in front of him. Trying to shield his physical reaction, he sent a pleading look to his alpha.

  Derek quirked an eyebrow at him. “Something you wanted to say, Kirk?”

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  He swallowed around the protests in his throat and shook his head. “How long do you think I’ll have to keep her?” A week? A month? Forever? Shaking off the ridiculous notion that any woman could belong to him, he tried to concentrate on the brief discussion between Jesse and Derek.

  “It’ll take some time to pull the investigation together. The evidence from the scene will need to be processed. The labs are slammed, so it takes a while for the test results to come in. We need to hit the streets. Tensions are running high after last night.” Jesse paused and gave Kirk a hard look. “I’ll come over tomorrow and take a proper statement from Silver.”

  “No. You won’t. You don’t come to my place. We’ll meet you here, but not tomorrow.” A protective surge flooded through him. “She’s suffered a trauma.” Silver was his responsibility now, and nothing would be allowed to upset her.

  Turning his back on the other men, Kirk bent his knees to meet her red-rimmed eyes. Blotches marred the creamy skin of her cheeks. Tears still trickled from the corners of her eyes, although her sobs had quietened. Ignoring her flinch, he cupped her face, using his thumbs to wipe the wetness away.

  “You’re safe,” he murmured, keeping his voice low.

  Fear and disbelief warred in her gaze, and he searched for something else reassuring to say. Women were soft, easily hurt, and he was too damn rough for all this touchy-feely shit.

  “I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you.” There, that should do it.

  “Kill?” Her voice shook, and the tears flowed harder over his thumbs.

  He twisted his lips into a tooth-baring smile. Chicks liked smiles, didn’t they? She wasn’t anything like the kind of woman he spent time with. He studied her clothing. Her drab coat, the fussy blouse with a big bow tied at the neck, the shapeless skirt hanging below her knees.

  His gaze traveled lower, and he growled at the sight of her torn stockings. Bloody scrapes showed through the ruined nylon, the source of the blood he’d scented when he first arrived. Dropping to his knees, he held her still with one hand on her hip while he used the other to brush away the dirt and stones embedded in her skin.

  Turning his head, he glared at Charlie, the first person he spotted. “She’s hurt, and you did nothing about it!”

  Not waiting for a response, Kirk stood up, swinging Silver into his arms. Holding her weight easily with one arm, he yanked the diner door open. He cleared the distance between the building and his truck with one leap, bending his knees to absorb their landing without jostling her.

  Big, brown eyes stared at him in shock, but she didn’t resist when he lifted her into the passenger seat of the truck. He reached around to snag the seatbelt, smoothing her skirt over her knee when he saw it had rucked up her thighs. He tried the smile again, and she reared back in the seat. Poor kitten must still be in shock.

  The four men lined the porch of the diner, expressions a mixture of confusion, anger, and humor. Kirk nodded once at Derek. “I’ll text when she’s ready to talk.”

  Jesse stepped forward, handing him a battered rucksack. “This is all she had with her. I need that statement.”

  “When she’s fucking ready, and not a moment before, you hear me?” Kirk snarled. He climbed into the truck. Tossing the rucksack on the wide dash in front of the steering wheel, he slammed the door harder than intended.

  “I hear you.” Derek’s quiet words drifted across the night.

  Chapter Three

  Silver resisted the urge to shift in her seat. She didn’t want to do anything to draw the attention of the man next to her. Her fight-or-flight mode had switched off somewhere along the journey in the back of the police truck, leaving her tired, scared, and confused. The brief ray of hope she’d experienced when Detective Farrell mentioned taking her to a safe place shattered the first time the big man beside her fixed his hard gaze on her. The memory of the look in his mahogany eyes as he calmly discussed places to dump her body sent a shudder of fear through her.

  “What is it?” The man froze in the middle of starting the engine, head swiveling in all direc
tions.

  He leaned closer, wide shoulders brushing against the front of her body. She pressed farther back into her seat, trying to avoid the contact. He stared past her at the inky darkness. His weight pressed nearer, and she held her breath, not wanting to risk his anger. He turned his face. The thick beard covering his chin scraped along her jaw, his warm breath ghosted against her cheek. Nudging her head up and left, he buried his nose in the spot just beneath her ear and drew a deep breath.

  “Something scared you, kitten. Tell me what.”

  She felt more than heard his low voice rumble through her. How could she answer him? Only a fool would tell a man who so casually talked of death that they were the source of terror. His clean, zesty scent confused her senses. A cold-blooded killer shouldn’t smell like fresh citrus. He should smell of dark things, ugly things.

  Something wet tickled her neck. Oh my God, did he just lick me? She needed to get him away from her. Straining, she tried to spot the diner from the corner of her eye. If the other men were still there, she might stand a chance. The darkness blinded her. The light that had spilled onto the front porch from the open diner door had gone. Nothing stirred outside. She was on her own.

  “Nothing. I thought I heard something, but it was nothing. I’m tired that’s all. It’s been a strange night, and I could do with a hot drink. Is your cabin far from here?” The words spilled out from her quivering lips, ending in a brittle laugh.

  He snarled. She couldn’t think of another way to describe the harsh noise that ripped from his throat.

  “Don’t lie to me, kitten. I can smell it on you, even through the miasma of fear clinging to you. I’ll ask you one last time, what are you afraid of?”

  “You,” she whispered.

  One heartbeat. Two. Three. She held still, braced for his reaction. A rusty, strange sound vibrated along her skin, and it took her a moment to understand what it was. Laughter. He wheezed again, as though unused to making such a sound, and pulled back to his own seat. Relief flooded her system for a moment before cold realization struck.

  They’d left her in the control of a madman.

  The engine of the truck roared into life, and she jumped at the sudden harsh noise. Grinding the gears, the man gripped the steering wheel, guiding the truck along the main road. There were no streetlights in the little town, and she had no idea how he could see anything without headlights, but he maneuvered the vehicle as if they were in broad daylight. A sharp wrench of the wheel, and they were bouncing down a rutted track.

  Silver stretched her hands forward to brace against the dashboard, but the truck hit a deep pothole, throwing her off balance. She grabbed instead for the handle hanging above her door, her right hand scrabbling for a hold on the seat beside her. Warm, calloused fingers grabbed hers, placing them on a rock-solid, denim-covered thigh. The truck lurched again, and she dug her fingers in. The muscle beneath them didn’t give. A sliver of light broke through the tree line, the moon’s soft rays picking out shadowy, twisted limbs.

  Something trailed along the window beside her and she let out a shriek, cowering away from the glass as far as her seatbelt would allow. His fingers tightened over hers, making her aware he steered the truck one handed.

  “It’s just Spanish moss. Nothing will harm you while you are in my care.”

  Silver closed her eyes, trying to calm her racing heart. She wanted to believe him, but the claws of panic had sunk too deep in her brain. Pressing her head into the leather rest behind her, she focused on what she knew. My name is Silver Ellis. I’m a teacher at Johnson Middle School. I’m an only child and I live at 243 Oak Street. My social security number is 342….

  “What are you doing?”

  Her eyes flew open, and she realized they’d come to a stop. Soft yellow illuminated the cab from the overhead light. A warm breeze brushed against her from the open driver’s door. The man. Kirk. That’s what the others in the diner called him. Kirk stared at her, body half-twisted as though he’d paused in the middle of climbing out.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “What’s with the name, rank, serial number routine?”

  A blush heated her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud. It’s a technique my father taught me when I was little, a way to center myself after having a nightmare. Focus on facts you know. A way to remind myself what is real.”

  His rusty laugh barked out again. “I hate to disappoint you, kitten. This is real life, and the boogeyman is your only hope.”

  He slid from the truck, the cab’s interior light cutting out when he slammed the door closed behind him. Her eyes didn’t get a chance to adjust to the sudden darkness. The light blinked on again as he opened her door, reaching across her to unfasten her belt. His cool citrus scent washed over her.

  “Do you get them a lot?” His quiet question puzzled her for a moment.

  “Nightmares?”

  He nodded once, eyes fixed on the lock of her seatbelt. She studied his short, dark hair in the weak light. A few threads of silver glinted amid the jet-black strands. A thick, white scar bisected the beard on his jaw, running from beneath his chin to the middle of his cheek in a slash. She wondered what had caused such a devastating injury, then decided she didn’t want to know.

  “I used to. Full-on night terrors.” The memories of too many nights sweating, thrashing, and screaming as she tried to escape the confines of her blankets threatened to rise. She pushed the monsters back into the darkest corners of her awareness. Kirk cocked his head, and the monsters swirled in the deep pools of his eyes. She swallowed and flicked her attention back to the scar on his jaw.

  “They took me to the doctor in the end. He said they were normal, something I would grow out of. I did for a while, but then they came back.” When her mother died, leaving a twelve-year-old girl to the tender, but unprepared care of an older father. He’d done his best, could not have loved her more if he tried, but there were just some skills he lacked.

  Large arms banded around her back and beneath her knees, and she found herself lifted from the seat into Kirk’s embrace again.

  “I can walk,” she muttered, the words masked beneath the sound of the door slamming when he shoved it with his elbow.

  “The gravel needs renewing,” he said.

  His hearing must be as keen as his eyesight.

  “You might twist an ankle by stepping in a pothole, even in those.”

  She followed his gaze to the low-heeled, lace-up shoes on her feet, her pride bristling at the disparaging tone. There was nothing wrong with her choice of footwear. She spent most of her day on her feet; why would she totter around in ridiculous heels?

  She thought again about the magnificent boots Marney wore and sighed. Without a mother to steer her through her teenage years, Silver had never developed the confidence to embrace a style other than the plain, simple clothing her father preferred to see her in. That uniform of skirts and blouses had followed her into adulthood. The few times she’d tried something more suited to her age, she’d felt ridiculous and overdressed.

  His heavy tread on the short staircase leading to a single-story building chased away her musings. Squinting in the faint moonlight, she tried to make out some features of the squat structure, but it was a hopeless effort. An overhanging roof cast the building in shadow. The darkness it created swallowed them as Kirk carried her beneath it onto a wide porch.

  Shifting her weight in his arms, he half-slung Silver over his shoulder, one beefy hand gripping her ass. She squeaked in protest, but he ignored her, unlocking the door with his free hand. Expecting him to put her down, or at least return her to a less intrusive hold, she instead found herself carted through a dark room and into another smaller one. He dropped her onto some kind of shelf, keeping one hand on her waist. She rested her hands on a smooth, hard surface. Exploring further, her fingers came in contact with something colder. A sink.

  A touch on her leg startled her, and she brushed it away. “Don’t you have any lights in this place
?”

  The heat of his body moved away, and she raised a hand to shield her eyes from the white light when he flipped a switch on the wall. She blinked a couple of times, adjusting to the brightness. Her mouth fell open as she took in the bathroom. Like something out of a high-end hotel, or a luxury penthouse out of one of her favorite shows, the space glistened and gleamed. Polished tile covered the walls and floor, and a thread of pure lust struck her at the sight of the enormous shower taking up over half of the space.

  “Oh, wow!” She gasped.

  “You like it?” The shy pride in his voice—nothing like the gruffness she expected from him—drew her attention.

  His focus remained on the glass stall, and she took the opportunity to study him for the first time. She didn’t think she’d ever met a man so tall. He filled the room with those broad shoulders of his. Muscle and sinew roped his biceps and forearms, and a dusting of dark hair covered the golden skin. She knew the same muscles padded his chest from being nestled there. His torso narrowed a little into his hips, giving way to thick legs that stretched on forever. He cleared his throat, and she peeked up, heat rushing to her face at being caught looking.

  “Stand up,” he ordered.

  Using her palms to balance herself, she lowered her feet to the floor. He moved closer, until she could feel the heat pouring off his body. He jerked her skirt up, hands fumbling at her waist. Shock froze her in place for a moment, and then she began to struggle.

  “What…what the heck are you doing?” She tried in vain to shove his hands away, but she might as well try to push a brick wall. He stripped her pantyhose down her legs, crouching at her feet to unlace her shoes.

  “I need to get the dirt out of the wounds on your legs before you take a shower.” He squeezed her calf, lifting her leg to remove her left shoe, repeating the action with her right.