Hunt the Moon

by Kari Cole

  Luke seemed even bigger than before as he loomed over her, glowering at the werewolves who milled in the hall. Once again, he stood so close, the heat radiating from his body warmed hers. She gulped and he looked down at her. His expression softened, and a tingling sensation swirled from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. The flush that followed burned her ears.

  The corner of Luke’s mouth quirked up and he raised a hand as if to touch her face. Behind him, the cop stepped inside the open door and Luke dropped his hand. The cop scanned the crowded hall with shrewd green eyes that looked remarkably like Luke’s. Closing the door, he nodded to her and assumed a place to Luke’s right.

  Someone cleared their throat, and Luke’s gaze shot back to the crowd. “Move,” he said, his voice quiet. Clothing rustled and hurried footsteps sounded as most of the crowd hustled down the hall.

  The Barbie whined, “Luke—”

  A low growl raised the hair on Izzy’s neck, and she froze along with the others who had remained in the foyer. Barbie’s gaze dropped to the floor.

  “Come on, Tanya,” Rissa’s sister hissed to the Barbie as she tugged her down the hall.

  “Dean, Rissa, Freddie,” Luke said. He jerked his head to the left, indicating a glass-enclosed office.

  A hand of steel clasped Izzy’s arm when she tried to walk away. “Not you, sugar,” Luke said.

  She stiffened at both the tone and the endearment. A tug got her nowhere. She glared at him. He frowned but said nothing.

  Four others had resisted Luke’s initial demand: Rissa’s mother; a beautiful woman with silver and brown hair; a tall, blond man with ice-blue eyes; and the man with the goatee.

  Goatee’s brown eyes danced as he looked between Izzy and Luke. “Hello, dear,” he said with a silky drawl. Luke’s chest rumbled with that low growl again. The man continued smiling. “How very interesting.”

  Huh? Before she could ask what that meant, the man held out a bent arm to Marianne. After one more scowl for Izzy, Rissa’s mother tossed her head of blond curls, took the proffered arm, and strode down the hall like a queen at court.

  The blond man nodded to Luke—“Alpha”—then to Izzy before turning and following the others.

  Alpha? Of course. She peered up at Luke through her lashes. His shadowed jaw worked as he stared after the retreating weres. Irritation rolled off him in waves.

  “Well, that went better than expected,” Freddie said, earning a swat on the arm from his fiancée. “Ow,” he said half-heartedly as he followed Rissa and the chuckling cop into the office.

  The remaining woman walked over to Luke—which in Izzy’s opinion made her freaking insane—and, stretching to tiptoes, kissed him on the cheek. Luke’s posture relaxed and he returned the gesture. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Darling.” She gave Izzy a curious look and smiled. “Hello. I’m Lena. I’d love to chat, but going by the expression on my son’s face, I think it’ll have to wait a bit.” She gave Luke a pointed look. “Be nice.”

  Lena started down the hall, laughing softly.

  Break Luke’s hold on your arm. Come on, Iz. You know how to. But like a big dummy, she simply stood there staring at him. His grip slid from her forearm down to her bare wrist, and heat spread up her arm, burning away the last of the drive’s chill from her body. He watched her with open interest. Instead of scaring her, his attention shot swirling electricity low down into her abdomen. She’d chalk it up to her incessant hunger, but that would be a lie.

  What the hell? He was a werewolf—and the pack’s freaking Alpha. She should get as far away from him as possible, but a perverse desire to stay and test her bizarre reactions trumped her apprehensions. She shook her head. When had she become so self-destructive?

  “You can let go of me now,” she said.

  He looked down to where his thumb stroked over the pulse in her wrist, back and forth. A hot shiver raced up her spine.

  “Don’t want to,” he said.

  Izzy blinked.

  “You look like a runner.”

  * * *

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to chase you,” Luke murmured in Isabelle’s ear. When she gasped, he fought the grin threatening to break out on his face. He placed his free hand on the small of her back and pushed her toward the office. “But right now we have a lot to discuss. Playtime will have to wait.”

  He liked the way her pulse jumped then raced as he whispered to her. And the way her scent ripened. It reminded him of fresh-baked cookies. He really liked cookies.

  Only a few hours ago, he’d been jealous of Dean and Rissa’s relationships with their mates, wondering if he would ever find his. Since the day he’d displayed Alpha tendencies, a long line of exquisite females had been shoved in his face. The pack held out hope a bond might develop with someone he already knew—it happened sometimes. Yet Luke had always known he hadn’t met his mate.

  Until now.

  Here she stood, smelling sweet and delicious. The instinct to toss her over his shoulder and bring her to his cabin to claim her nearly overwhelmed his judgment. Blood pounded in his veins and his pants became impossibly tighter.

  He longed to run his nose along the column of her throat, lap at the soft spot behind her ear. Instead, he contented himself by leaning closer to her dark brown hair and drawing in her scent.

  He frowned. Something lingered just beneath her cinnamon sugar essence...a sour note marring the sweet. He pulled back to study her.

  Christ, she’s thin.

  Of course he’d noticed how petite she seemed in comparison to him—and now that he thought about it, in comparison to the other females in the pack, too. About five and a half feet tall, she looked smaller somehow. Now he realized why. She was all sinew. Sharp bones cut her pale cheeks like blades, the tendons in her neck severely defined.

  Her wrist bones pressed against the skin, stark and hard. He rubbed his thumb over the joint again, feeling the fragility. His wolf whined and a thread of worry snaked through his gut.

  “Luke!” Freddie shouted. “I want to talk to my sister. You think you could let go of her for a minute?”

  Luke bristled at the interruption. Rationally, he understood the human’s reaction. But it wasn’t smart to come between a werewolf and his unclaimed mate, especially a sick one. He bared his teeth.

  Isabelle twisted her arm again, trying to break his hold. Neither he nor his wolf liked that at all.

  Swallowing a snarl, he drew her over to an armchair. His mate needed to rest. Dark smudges marred the skin beneath her whiskey-gold eyes. “Sit,” he commanded.

  Her eyes narrowed and her pretty pink mouth molded into a sneer. He must sound like a demanding asshole.

  “Please,” he said, holding out his hand to help her sit.

  Isabelle raised a brow at his outstretched hand, and then promptly ignored it. She plopped into the chair, rested a booted foot across a knee, and gave him the kind of look that must have made enlisted men question their career choice. He hid a smile behind his hand as he rubbed his jaw.

  Dean snorted. He sat on the couch, kitty-corner from Isabelle, long arms resting along the back. The jackass didn’t even bother trying to conceal his amusement.

  Rissa’s mate made a disgusted sound, and Luke heard the man’s teeth grinding.

  “Freddie,” Rissa said in a cautionary tone.

  “What?” he asked, his voice hard. “I’m not supposed to be upset by this?” He flung his hand at Luke and Isabelle.

  Before Luke could tell Freddie to go to hell—politely, of course; he was trying to be nice, after all—Isabelle popped to her feet.

  “I’m sorry, Fred,” she said. “I—I don’t even know where to start.”

  Wait, what? Did she think her brother was just upset about not knowing she was a lycanthrope? Didn’t she realize they were mates? How could she not have connected the dot
s yet?

  “We couldn’t tell you,” she said, looking stricken.

  We?

  “Wait. Who’s we?” Dean asked.

  Anger flashed in her eyes. “Who the hell are you, cop?” The title erupted like a curse. Then she rounded on Luke. “And you?”

  Running his hand through his hair, he called himself all kinds of stupid. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t introduced himself to his mate yet. Hell, he hadn’t even offered to take her coat.

  “Hell, sugar. I’m sorry. There’s no excuse.” He held his hand out to her again, hoping she’d take it this time. “I’m Luke Wyland, the Alpha of this pack.”

  “Of course you are,” she said, with a sour twist to her lips.

  A tense moment passed before Isabelle reached out to shake his hand. Her eyes widened when a flash of heat jumped between them. She let go as if burned. Luke certainly was. Her touch branded him all the way to his marrow.

  Clearing his throat, he tried to regain his composure. “Um.” He pointed to his cousin. “This is our Beta, Dean Simmons. And, well, you’ve met Rissa.” He couldn’t read the look that passed between the females. But the absence of the animosity displayed at the airfield surprised him. He’d never seen Rissa let a challenge go unanswered. Certainly not one as blatant as the one delivered on the tarmac. What had gone on during the ride here?

  “Rissa is the pack’s Alpha female. The Luna,” Freddie said, pride ringing in his voice.

  Isabelle sucked in a breath, her gaze hopping to Luke. Confusion creased her brow and hurt flashed in her eyes.

  Luke hurried to explain. “Rissa and I are friends. Not lovers. She’s my partner, yes, but she and your brother are true mates,” he said, tracing Isabelle’s face with his gaze instead of his fingers, like he wanted. “No one in this pack would disrespect that.”

  Freddie laughed. “And if they did, Ris would rip their face off.”

  Isabelle’s eyes widened. “I hope you mean that metaphorically.”

  Glad when no one corrected her, Luke cleared his throat and tried to channel the gentleman his mother wished she’d raised. “Here, let me take your coat.” Without waiting for a response, he helped his mate shrug out of the heavy leather jacket. When his fingers brushed her nape, she shivered. Satisfaction at her response thrummed through him like a tuning fork ringing true. His palm tingled, and he ached to rest it on the back of her neck, declare to everyone that she belonged to him.

  The gray sweater she wore hung loosely around her frame. A thick brown belt, cinched at the second-to-last notch, held up navy jeans that bagged in the front and rear. Despite the excess fabric, the clothes couldn’t hide how painfully skinny Isabelle was.

  Luke winced. She wasn’t merely small-boned or slight. Hell, she wasn’t even just thin. His mate was emaciated.

  He wasn’t the only one who noticed. Rissa’s eyes widened in alarm and Dean bolted upright out of his negligent slouch. A troubled look crossed his face, and Luke knew Dean had caught the sour undercurrents to her sweet natural fragrance, too.

  Dear goddess. Luke started moving for the door to call in Dean’s mate, Sarah, their healer.

  “Jesus, Izzy,” Freddie said with a respectable growl. “When was the last time you ate a decent meal?”

  The bitter change in her scent declared the flush that spread up her neck to her hairline was due to anger rather than embarrassment. “What? Don’t you remember the burger the size of my head?”

  “Apparently that’s been the only thing you’ve eaten for a long time.”

  Isabelle’s eyes narrowed on the human stalking toward her. When Freddie grabbed her arm, Luke launched into action. He smacked Freddie in the chest, sending him flying over the coffee table onto the couch.

  Rissa and Isabelle both shouted. But while Rissa jumped to her mate’s side, Isabelle spun and clocked Luke with an uppercut to the jaw that knocked him into the desk, nearly upending it. A laptop and lamp clattered to the floor. Glass shattered.

  When he straightened, wincing at the pain in his face and the backs of his thighs, he found Isabelle crouched between him and the couch, her nostrils flared, fists clenched, and liquid gold bleeding into her eyes.

  Goddamn, she was beautiful. A fighter, just like Dean said.

  Desire, thick as honey, warmed him.

  As Luke flexed his jaw, a loud snort cut through the tense silence. It devolved into rollicking, gut-busting laughter. Freddie lay sprawled across the couch, almost in Dean’s lap, hooting and gasping for breath. Dean, too, roared with laughter. Isabelle blinked, and much to Luke’s disappointment, the wolf began to fade from her eyes.

  The door opened, showing Sarah and his mother. Several other packmates peered into the office through the glass wall beside them.

  “Hi, honey,” Dean gasped, sobering.

  Sarah appraised the situation with a cool eye. “Anything need healing?”

  “Just Luke’s pride,” Freddie said, before he and Dean erupted into laughter again.

  “Again?”

  Everyone’s a comedian.

  Chapter Five

  After shooing the last of the pack out the door, Luke walked into the kitchen. Isabelle tracked his every move. He’d like to think it was because she felt the connection between them, but the way she pressed her back to the wall and kept everyone in her sight told a different story.

  What had happened to her to put that wary look in her eye?

  Slowly, as if approaching a skittish horse, he stepped in front of her. Isabelle tensed even more, like she expected a blow. Ignoring his beast’s whine of distress, Luke said to her, “Come on, sugar. Let’s sit down.”

  She flicked her eyes toward the enormous island in the center of the kitchen, where Freddie was filling a plate with food. With a stiff nod, she slid away from the wall. When Luke placed a hand on her lower back, she tried to edge away, and failed. Putting space between them was out of the question.

  Not now. Maybe not ever again.

  Isabelle stopped dead and scowled at him. He looked down into her golden-brown eyes and felt a shiver run through her. He couldn’t repress a feral grin. And when she blushed, he could no more stop his hand from caressing her cheek as the moon from rising in the night sky.

  The obnoxious clearing of a throat made her flinch and look away, the pretty pink flush turning crimson. Luke glared at Freddie. The little shit had the audacity to scowl right back.

  “Boys,” Sarah said. “Play nice.”

  “Good luck with that, baby,” Dean said, as he set a full plate in front of his mate.

  Luke led Isabelle to a stool at the end of the island, next to Sarah. The healer leaned closer and surreptitiously sniffed.

  Not even the knowledge that Sarah was subtly examining his mate for the source of the unhealthy bitterness in her scent could assuage his wolf. It paced in agitation, demanding to be let out. It didn’t care that there was no foe here to fight, or that it had no healing abilities.

  Patience, Luke told it. The wolf snorted and continued pacing.

  Waiting passively for Sarah’s verdict was beyond Luke’s ability, so he grabbed a plate and began filling it with the best of everything the aborted party had to offer: a thick slice of his mother’s beef and sausage lasagna, cut into a precise, cheesy square; a large spoonful of Sarah’s broccoli and orzo casserole, from the corner where it was browned and crispy; three slices of the rarest, most perfect roast beef, which he covered in steaming gravy; and one of Liz Crandall’s double-stuffed baked potatoes. He considered the bowl of buttered green beans, but the plate was already in danger of overflowing. Next, he filled a glass with cold milk from the refrigerator.

  He set the plate and milk in front of Isabelle with a set of utensils wrapped in a paper napkin. He unrolled the napkin and set it next to the plate, placing the fork and knife in the proper places. Well, at least not all of h
is mother’s lessons had gone in one ear and out the other.

  Freddie huffed and rolled his eyes. “She won’t eat that.” He pulled back the plate Luke had prepared and shoved a tray of veggies and dip in front of Isabelle. Pointing at her, he said, “Eat.” Then he plopped the cheese platter next to the vegetables. “That, too.”

  Luke couldn’t control the growl that rumbled out of his lips. His mate needed to eat. He would be the one to—

  A palm slapped the granite countertop with a sharp crack! Isabelle glared at him, a fork clenched in her fist like a dagger. “Stop. Growling. At. My. Brother.”

  No one said anything. No one moved. Until Luke grinned. Damn, but her dominant and protective streaks were hot—even if they were in defense of Freddie, the jackass.

  “What was your rank in the army?” Luke asked her.

  “Captain.”

  “Used to giving orders, huh?”

  Her chin came up.

  “Nice,” he said, meaning it. “Okay, sugar. I’ll try, but he’s so damn annoying.”

  Isabelle’s lips twitched.

  “Moron,” Freddie mumbled under his breath.

  Luke ignored him; easy to do with his feisty mate in front of him. “If you’re not going to stab me, how about you put that fork to good use and have some dinner?” He pushed the veggies and cheese out of the way and replaced them with the plate he’d made for her.

  She swallowed as if pained and grimaced at it. “Thank you, but I’m a vegetarian.”

  The uppercut she’d served to his jaw must have rattled his brain, because he could have sworn she said—

  “Vegetarian!” Dean’s laugh sounded like his wolf’s bark. “That’s a good one. An herbivorous werewolf.” He wiped his eyes. “Oh, goddess.”

  “She’s not joking,” Freddie said. “I lived with them for almost a decade. I never saw either one of them eat a bite of meat. Not even an egg.”

  “What?” Luke asked. “That’s not possible.” Could Isabelle have survived this long on fruit and vegetables? “Is this why you look half-starved?” he blurted.

  At the same time, Rissa said, “Are you nuts?”