Hunt the Moon

by Kari Cole

  Luke frowned at the cereal. “Isabelle—”

  The quick look she tossed him narrowed his eyes. She may be a coward, but give her some credit. The damn beast in her head was already buzzing. Izzy knew the only way to shut it up would be to feed it.

  “Can I have some of those scrambled eggs, too?” she asked Abby.

  The bowl of eggs fell from Abby’s hands onto the island. The serving spoon flipped out, flicking eggs all over, before clattering to the floor. Dead silence reigned.

  Finally, Freddie said, “Get the fuck outta here.”

  It was a testament to how shocked Abby was that she let that bit of profanity pass by without comment. Ignoring the eggs splattered all over the counter, she leaned toward Izzy. “Are you serious, sweetie?”

  The hope in Abby’s voice made her feel like shit. Abby had worked hard over the years to put out some amazing vegetarian meals, but no amount of lentils and couscous was going to keep two adolescent werewolves healthy. Why had these wonderful people put up with her all these years?

  She took a breath before answering. “Yes, ma’am. Please?”

  Abby burst into motion. A plate materialized in front of Izzy within seconds, and Hank muttered, “Hot damn.”

  As Izzy picked up her fork, she sensed every set of eyes on her. Nothing like being the main exhibit at the zoo.

  The eggs looked a hell of a lot better than the tofu ones she normally ate. Not that she’d tell Luke that. He was smug enough already. But the smell... Saliva flooded her mouth and her stomach growled with such force she shook.

  Come on. You’re a big girl, you can feed yourself. Spearing a small bite, she brought it to her mouth. Oh God. Soooo good.

  “Mmm,” she said, saluting Abby with the fork before scooping up another bite.

  “Whoa,” Freddie breathed.

  Hank dry-washed his face. “Can’t believe it.”

  Luke set a glass of chocolate milk in front of her and she tried really hard not to gulp at the hot look on his face. He really liked watching her eat.

  “Me either,” Abby said. “Though I’m not complaining, mind you. I have to ask, Izzy. Why the change?”

  Deliberately, Izzy laid the fork down and clasped her hands in her lap. Her scar throbbed, but hell if she was going to let it stop her anymore. Finally, she said, “It’s been pointed out to me that my body obviously isn’t getting what it needs from a vegetarian diet. That it’s making me weak.” Her stomach clenched as she looked at Freddie. “Maybe if I wasn’t so weak from poor nutrition, I could have saved—”

  Abby slapped her hand on the counter. “No. Don’t you dare.” She pounded the granite again. “I won’t have you blaming yourself. Your brother told us what you did. How you fought for that poor man.” Her voice broke. “You could have been killed.”

  “Abby—”

  “No one could have landed that bird any better than you did, Iz,” Hank said, his voice gruff. “You should be damned proud of yourself. I know I’m proud.”

  Tears sprang into her eyes and she ducked her head. She didn’t deserve these people.

  “Knock that shit off right now,” Freddie said, bumping her shoulder with his own. “I was there. Not every bad thing that happens is your fault, you control freak. Let it go.” His brown eyes burned. “What you eat, though, that you can control. And not that bitch that had you before us. Got it?”

  More tears welled. She couldn’t speak, so she just nodded.

  Hank reached around her and biffed Freddie in the forehead. “Ow! What the hell, Dad? Crash survivor here,” Freddie whined, rubbing the red spot on his head.

  “Not for long, boy, you keep using that kind of language around your mother,” Hank said. “No matter how accurate it is.”

  Luke barked a laugh and Rissa giggled, clapped a hand over her mouth, and giggled some more. Freddie glared at both of them.

  Keeping her head down, Izzy picked up her fork again. But she couldn’t resist. Leaning toward Freddie, she bumped him with her shoulder. When he looked at her, she said in a singsong, “You got in trouble.”

  Sometimes, laughter really was the best medicine.

  * * *

  Luke wanted to kiss Isabelle’s family. Well, not Freddie. Freddie was a dick. Maybe he’d give Freddie a friendly punch in the arm instead.

  Friends could punch hard.

  Isabelle sat on a stool at the island, being fussed over by her mother, who reminded Luke of the Oracle from the Matrix movies, with her chin-length salt-and-pepper hair and caring, intense focus. Despite being a Chicago native, Isabelle’s father looked like he’d fit right in with the ranchers and loggers of rural Montana. Throw a Stetson on the man, and he’d be camera-ready to play the grizzled sheriff in a John Wayne Western, complete with the steely-eyed gaze he kept directing at Luke.

  Luke met Hank’s I’m-watching-you-boy death glare with a determined look of his own. He’d allowed Hank and Freddie the illusion that they’d successfully blocked him from Isabelle’s side. But nothing and no one could keep him from his mate.

  Hank’s eyes narrowed further. When Luke didn’t look away, he said, “Hmmph.”

  “How ’bout some bacon, Iz?” Freddie asked, wafting a piece under her nose. “It’s like meat candy.”

  Isabelle slid her brother some serious side-eye. Then she snatched the strip out of his hand and ate it. “Ohmigod.”

  “Will wonders never cease?” Abby said.

  His mate’s moan of delight tested Luke’s control. He’d been trying so hard not to think about the erotic thrill of feeding and kissing her. Or waking up twined together with her in bed this morning.

  Thankfully, Rissa stopped him from embarrassing everyone. “Oh! I almost forgot,” she said. Opening a drawer at the end of a counter, she pulled out a matte-black pistol and something dark brown. With care, she set the gun and a leather sheath with a knife on the island in front of Isabelle.

  Isabelle’s face lit up like the full moon on a cloudless night, then crumpled, tears filling her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, her voice a strangled whisper. She fingered the intricate engraving on the sheath. “My sister gave me this. I thought it was gone.”

  Luke tamped down the instinct to grab the dangerous silver blade out of his mate’s hands. “It’s unusual,” he said instead. “The handle and sheath...they look handmade.”

  “They are,” Hank said. He gave Isabelle a warm smile. “Bess was awful proud of those.”

  Isabelle nodded, holding the deadly thing to her chest like a beloved child.

  “She made them?” Luke asked. He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. Carrying silver was one thing; heating it, working with it, a whole other ball game. Just breathing the fumes could kill a werewolf.

  “Parts,” Abby said. “She was an artist, our Bess. She made the loveliest things. But leather and metalworking weren’t her areas of expertise. She designed the knife and holder, and had friends help her with what she couldn’t do herself.” She shook her head, giving the knife a disgruntled look, like she couldn’t understand giving such a gift to a sister.

  “Thank you so much,” Isabelle said again, the salty smell of grief giving way. “These mean a lot to me.”

  A blush pinked Rissa’s cheeks. “You’re welcome. Freddie cleaned and oiled the gun for you.”

  Luke’s phone vibrated in his pocket. “Excuse me.” He stepped into the hall where he could still see and hear his mate. “Hey.”

  Dean’s deep voice rumbled in his ear. “Got a problem. A big one.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “This had better be good,” Luke said to Dean as soon as he got out of his truck. The county morgue occupied an ugly, one-story beige brick addition to the back of the local hospital. “I had to leave Isabelle at Rissa’s.”

  “I know,” Dean said. “But your mom is heading over there, right?�
��

  “Yes.” He scowled at his Beta. “And Marianne, under the guise of wedding planning. That should make Isabelle so happy.”

  “Uh, yeah, not good. Sorry, but I didn’t want to do this over the phone.” Dean motioned for Luke to follow him.

  “What exactly are we doing? Have you guys discovered the rogue’s identity?” He couldn’t believe how much time it was taking to identify the bastard Isabelle killed. No one in the area admitted to knowing him or any other new werecougars. The guy’s fingerprints and DNA weren’t in any law enforcement databases. None of the werecougar clans they’d contacted would admit to missing two males. The guy was a freaking ghost.

  “No. The bastard’s body is gone,” Dean said.

  “What the hell do you mean ‘gone’?”

  The drive-in entrance of the morgue, where ambulances and hearses made their sad deliveries, stood wide open, revealing the empty bay within. Before Dean could respond, the wind carried a thin trail of citronella to Luke.

  “Son of a bitch,” he said, unable to keep from snarling.

  “You won’t need a mask this time. Smell doesn’t get too much worse. Of course, my olfactory system could just be burnt out at this point. Been a long goddamn night.”

  For the first time since he’d arrived, Luke took a good look at his cousin. Dean’s eyes, bloodshot and red-rimmed, bore dark circles beneath them. “Have you been to bed yet?”

  He shook his head. “Come on.”

  The citronella grew stronger as they walked deeper into the building, but as promised, it didn’t overwhelm them. In fact, it was no worse than walking through the outdoor patio section of Home Depot. As soon as they entered the reception area, the source of the smell became clear.

  “What the hell?” Luke asked.

  A gallon jug of citronella oil sat on top of the reception counter. Dean pointed at it. “When I got here, the cap was off and lying next to the jug.”

  “It’s not splashed all over anything?”

  “No. It’s like they wanted us to know it was them, but didn’t want to deal with the stench anymore either. Come on into the exam room.”

  The exam room and coroner’s desk were about as far from a fancy TV autopsy suite as a rusty Ford from a showroom Porsche. Just beyond the dull metal entry door lay cheap industrial tile floors, dingy beige walls, overly bright fluorescent lights, and more battered metal. Everything was clean but worn, and stank of strange chemicals, bleach, decay, and—

  “Cougar,” Luke said. “The other one.” He sniffed again. “Is that a bear shifter?”

  Dean nodded. “Yup. I don’t recognize him, but like I said, my nose is messed up. You?”

  “No. That’s not anyone I know. Fuck.”

  Luke paced around the room, trying to detect any other scents that didn’t belong. He didn’t find any. “So, what? These two guys broke in here, took the body, and left? I thought there was a guard on duty.”

  Anger flowed from Dean, bitter and strong, like burnt coffee. “There was. Sam was here until a silent alarm was tripped at the jewelry store on Main, 911 received an accident with injury report out on 37, and someone lit up a Dumpster outside the grocery store. It set the siding on fire before the fire department was able to put it out. Sam handled all those calls on his own.

  “When he got back here a couple hours later, all the doors were still locked. He had no idea anything was wrong until the coroner arrived this morning. Then they found the jug of oil on the reception counter and the missing cat. The lock doesn’t look like it’s been tampered with. So either these guys were let in, or they had a key.”

  Luke rubbed a hand over his face. “All right. Why were you so shorthanded last night?”

  Dean’s jaw bunched and Luke heard his molars grinding together. “Ellis and I were out in Spokane County last night following something up.”

  A side door opened and Deputy Sam Vogel walked in. Color drained from his face in a rush. “Alpha, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to bother you. I should have called the other deputies in, but I didn’t want to wake them. They’re human and I thought I could handle everything myself. I didn’t know—”

  “Sam. Don’t.” Luke squeezed the kid’s shoulder. “It’s okay. If you’d been here, you might have been hurt. These guys aren’t afraid to kill.”

  Head down, Sam nodded. The guilt poured off him in a sour-smelling wave.

  “Whatcha find, Sam?” Dean asked gently.

  The young deputy’s head snapped up, anger burning in his eyes. “Assholes hit the computer files, too.”

  Dean swore viciously.

  Sam nodded his agreement. “Looks like they wiped the files clean.”

  “Guess it was too much to hope for,” Dean said. He turned to Luke. “The paper files on the shifter are missing. Fingerprints, pictures, autopsy notes, et cetera. And now...”

  “The electronic ones, too,” Luke finished for him. “They really don’t want us identifying him.”

  Dean obviously had more bad news to share. They waited until Sam excused himself and left. Once they heard the office door close, Dean said, “Last night we found the mechanic from the airfield in Spokane. Dead.”

  “Of course he was.”

  “Guy’s neck was broken and his car dumped into a lake. Kind of dumb, actually. They should’ve just left the car somewhere isolated or in a storage shed or something. The broken ice on the lake might as well have been a beacon. They wanted us to know they’d killed him.”

  “What makes you say that?” Luke asked.

  “Well, first off, you don’t twist your neck clear around in a crash like that. So the guy was dead before the car went in the water. And then, of course, there was all the goddamned fucking citronella all over the place.”

  That explained Dean’s eyes. “This was last night?”

  “Uh-huh. Ellis got a call from the Spokane County sheriff when the car’s plates matched our search request. Ellis insisted we both go.”

  “Why didn’t you call me last night? I should’ve heard from you way before now.”

  “I didn’t want to bother you with it until I knew something. You were with Izzy.”

  Guilt settled in Luke’s gut like an oil slick. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “No, man. No.” Dean clamped a huge hand on his shoulder. “You were where you needed to be. There’s no fighting the mating dance. Believe me, I know. Besides, there was nothing you could’ve done about it anyway. We didn’t get back until after 2:00 a.m. Then we had to deal with all the paperwork and follow-up on the emergency calls. I was planning on calling you first thing this morning, but then this shit happened.”

  Luke couldn’t fault Dean for doing what needed to be done. It was his job as Beta. Especially since the Alpha had his head up his own ass. “All right. Where is Ellis anyway?”

  “At the station dealing with the Feds.” A second passed. Two. Dean took a deep breath, let it out. “It’s just...” He shrugged. “I don’t know, man. Ellis is acting weird. Or, I guess, weirder than normal. I should’ve been on duty here last night.”

  Hell. Luke’s wolf bared his teeth and snarled.

  Dean held up his hands. “Look, I don’t know if he got me out of the way on purpose or if I’m just being a paranoid asshole.”

  “The line between caution and paranoia is fucking thin these days, huh?” Dragging his hands through his hair, Luke tried to imagine what reason the sheriff could have for working against the pack. “If Ellis wanted to take over the pack, he could challenge us for it.” And he might win.

  “Yeah, but would he have any support from the pack?” Dean asked. “He has a few admirers, but a lot more are like Terry and Marianne, bigots about his dual-animal heritage. They don’t care if he’s only a wolf. His mom’s an eagle, and that’s that. He may be able to beat both of us in a fight, but not the entire pack if they don’t want
to follow him.”

  Was that what was happening? Was Ellis creating chaos to shore up support for his bid for dominance? Luke’s wolf was curiously silent on the matter.

  “Look,” Luke said. “Darren Ellis gave everything to this pack, and he loved Vaughn. We’ll keep an eye on him, but we can’t toss around accusations without any proof. We owe Darren that much.”

  “Agreed.” Dean rubbed his eyes again. “As far as the mechanic goes, we’re right back to the new moon: participant or patsy? And the more I think about it, the less I like the possibilities.”

  “Like the possibility the bomb in Freddie’s helicopter was rigged someplace else?”

  “Yeeeeah,” Dean said.

  Luke’s wolf curled his lip. “Someplace like here?”

  “Yeah. Fuck.”

  “’Bout sums up the situation.” Because they both knew what it meant if the bomb was installed at the local airfield. A place protected by the pack.

  Vaughn or not, they had a traitor.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Bright sunshine and a cold breeze welcomed Izzy as she pushed through the sheriff’s office doors. Her head ached and her stomach rumbled despite the huge breakfast and recent snack. The alarm in the federal investigator’s eyes as he’d taken in her scrawny appearance convinced her that one more Boston cream wouldn’t hurt.

  When she’d looked in the mirror this morning, even she thought she looked skeletal. Bess had too before she died. Thanks for that, Grandmother, you heartless bitch.

  “Thank God that’s over,” Freddie said, clomping behind her on his crutches. “After-accident interviews suck.”

  No doubt. Especially when you had to lie to the FBI and NTSB. Good thing Izzy had the convenient excuse of a concussion and shock to explain her “wandering off.” The still nasty wound on her forearm didn’t hurt her believability factor either.

  “Did you have any problems?” Lena Wyland asked in a low voice as she pulled her keys from a pocket.

  “Not really,” Izzy said. “Thanks for bringing us.”

  Lena beamed. “Not a problem.”