Hunt the Moon

by Kari Cole

  Dean drove around a pothole that could swallow a car. “I don’t understand how these guys are evading us. Someone must be helping them. Hiding them out, or at the least, not patrolling their freaking area properly.”

  “Let’s switch up the teams and their sections tomorrow morning. Tell ’em we want fresh noses and all that.”

  “’Kay.”

  “And tell them to be careful. Do not separate from their partners for any reason. I meant it when I said no one is to be alone. Not to track, travel, hunt, or even stay at home. That goes for you, too, Dean.” Luke wouldn’t allow the pack to be easy targets.

  “I know,” Dean said. “Got to keep Sarah happy, remember?”

  They turned onto the gravel drive leading to Rissa and Freddie’s, and Luke practically vibrated with the need to be there, right the hell now. When it came to Isabelle, the rational part of his psyche had left the building.

  Before they came to a complete stop, Luke jumped out and ran up the back steps. Rissa opened the door. Behind her, packmates were putting on their coats.

  “Shh,” she said to him. “Freddie and his parents are in bed. And I finally convinced Izzy to head that way an hour ago.” At his crestfallen expression, she added, “Though it’s possible she’s still up if you want to have a look.”

  Isabelle’s scent lingered in the air and beckoned him down the hall to her room. He’d taken three steps toward it before his mind caught up to his body and his wolf. “No,” he said. With a monumental force of will, he turned away from that tantalizing trail and walked back to Rissa. “She should sleep. She’s still healing.”

  He acknowledged his mother and other packmates. Knowing they’d been there to back up Rissa and help protect Isabelle and her family had eased some of the energy jangling in his veins. And he told them so.

  “That’s what we’re here for, sweetheart,” Mom said. She gave him a tight hug before leaving.

  Marianne brushed past Luke. “Hmmph.”

  Hand in hand with her mate, Rick, Daphne rolled her eyes, then kissed Rissa’s cheek. “Get some sleep. ’Night, Ris.”

  “Alpha,” Rick said as he passed.

  They’d never liked each other, but there was no need to be a rude dick just because he was a grumpy, horny mess. “’Night,” Luke called after him.

  “Wait a minute, Dean!” Rissa called before he could step off her porch. “I need to talk to you and Luke.”

  Dev Crandall clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Take your time. We’ll be in the truck.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You staying at Haven tonight?” Luke asked Dean.

  “Yeah. Sarah and the boys are in our rooms there. Per your orders, Dev’s my buddy tonight. What’s up, Ris?” Dean asked.

  Closing the door, she said, “My friend at the IRS called. He owed me big, otherwise I don’t think I’d have gotten this information. He had to dig through more layers than a drug kingpin uses to hide his offshore accounts. But I think we’ve found Branson’s money men. A company called Apex.”

  * * *

  Izzy watched the last of the headlights disappear down the driveway. Finally.

  Admittedly, most of the pack she’d met so far were nice—well, except for Marianne, and Rick was plain weird—but she could only take so much of their curious stares and discreet sniffing. The odor-as-emotional-barometer thing was starting to wear on her.

  Thank God they’d all left.

  Well, almost all. Luke’s presence in the house rang in her head like a gong.

  Soft footsteps passed her door—Rissa going to bed.

  Izzy shook her head. She’d spent the evening with Freddie’s mate and couldn’t believe how much she actually liked the other woman. Rissa was smart, funny, tough, and so obviously gaga over Freddie it was hard to keep up a good hate simply because Rissa was a werewolf.

  Izzy’s head buzzed. Impossible to ignore, really. I hear you, she told her wolf. I know he’s out there.

  Down the hall, Rissa’s bedroom door closed.

  The droning grew so loud, it was like sticking her head into the engine of a C-130. Okay, okay. I’m going already.

  Her hand was on the doorknob and she was down the hall, into the living room before she knew it. Damn. She’d moved so fast, she might as well have teleported.

  Luke sat on the big family-room couch, his feet on a leather ottoman, a fire burning in the fireplace. One long arm rested on the back of the couch as if pointing at her. His fingers curled, beckoning her closer.

  “Sugar,” he said, his voice low and sweet, filled with obvious pleasure.

  Wonder hushed the racket in her brain. She made him sound like that?

  She walked around the couch. Taking his outstretched hand felt like the most natural thing in the world. So she did, and let him pull her down beside him. Their bodies pressed side to side. “It’s two o’clock in the morning, Luke.”

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Been a long day. Did I wake you?”

  “No. Are you okay?” He didn’t look okay. Dark shadows marred the skin beneath his eyes and deep grooves creased the skin between his brows. With her thumb, she tried to smooth them away. “Headache?”

  His eyes drifted closed and his head fell back against the couch. “Gettin’ better now that you’re here.” He played with the ends of her hair. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “No. I was worried about you.” The words burst from her and she realized they were true. She was in so deep.

  Dark green eyes fixed on her face. The look in them...it made her heart pound and a profound sense of peace settle over her all at once. “Isabelle.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry I worried you.” Another soft kiss. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Caring.”

  That one word held so much.

  Snuggling into his chest, she breathed in his pine and sunbaked-stone scent. His arm curled around her, and he stroked her hair. His heart beat steadily beneath her ear, the rhythm a song she could listen to forever.

  “This is crazy,” she said.

  He didn’t misunderstand her. “It is. It’s the mating dance.”

  “Don’t you mind? Magic pushing me at you?”

  “No.” He cupped her cheek. “It’s perfect.”

  A hundred—no, a thousand—questions popped up in her mind. So many problems faced them. So many obstacles stood in their way. Danger loomed like a gathering storm. But she didn’t give voice to any of her fears. Because he was right. It was perfect. And for once, she allowed herself to bask in the perfection of belonging.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The sun hadn’t even risen, and already Caine was deeply annoyed. Not that he could see the sky right now, since he’d made the homeowner close all the drapes in his office before Caine would even enter it. Why did these local shifters never understand security? Or discipline and patience, for that matter? If they did, he wouldn’t be forced to come and clean up their messes.

  Really, what was about to happen was their own fault.

  “What do you mean, ‘Mr. Holt couldn’t make it?’” the homeowner asked, sitting behind a polished mahogany desk, like it was his own little island of power. He reminded Caine of a professor in a movie, with a scarf draped around his neck and a sport coat that had actual elbow patches. The professor flashed an exasperated look at one of his cronies, as if he couldn’t believe someone hadn’t jumped when he’d wanted.

  If Caine were a typical dominant wolf, that entitled attitude would have grated. Instead, he found it pathetic and small, like the male delivering it. He didn’t even deserve the minuscule courtesy of Caine using his name. None of them did. Not even in his own mind.

  “I already told you, my employer had other business to attend to.” As if Holt would waste his time visiting this backwater. This territory’s remote locale
was the only reason Holt and Apex were interested in it. It certainly wasn’t for the culture or stimulating company.

  “That’s unfortunate,” the professor said, after a sip of coffee. “I always prefer dealing directly with the person I’m doing business with. But I’m sure you and your soldiers are up to the task.”

  Caine grinned at the absurd statement and the other werewolves in the room stiffened. Pulling a cell phone from his pocket, he called up some information and set the device down on the desk. “An example of our work.”

  He turned away to prowl the room, picking up knickknacks here, touching an antique there. The trinkets of people’s lives baffled him. Why on earth would they fill their dens with such flotsam?

  A truncated gasp, followed by several other sounds of distress drew another smile. He knew what they were looking at. He had taken the photographs, after all.

  The first was a picture of a man. His throat was a hollowed mess, showing the spine. His head was twisted too far to the right to be natural, and the visible side of his face was grotesquely swollen and bruised. Intestines spilled out of his abdomen to drape onto the blood-soaked floor.

  “There’s more,” Caine said, waving his hand absently at the phone. They really should enjoy the full show.

  The next picture was a group shot of a woman and young man in the same room as the previous guy. Both were bloody and obviously dead. The woman’s clothes were not just torn, but ripped away to reveal her body. It had been a nice body, too. From the obscene way she was positioned, they would surely understand she’d been raped prior to death. Another swipe would show a close-up of the woman’s beaten face and bloody blond hair. Next, the young man. His mouth gaped open, exposing jagged, broken teeth. There were several more pictures in the gallery, cataloging the gruesome accomplishments of Caine and his men.

  He was quite proud of his collection. Much better than some old clock or gaudy lamp.

  The scent of fear drenched the room with its smoky-sweet perfume. Caine looked around at the assembled shifters. Couldn’t they control their emotions even a little, instead of giving it up like a human?

  The professor alone had the balls to look him in the eye. The male picked up his coffee mug and sipped. Interesting. Did he really think what he had was so important he was safe?

  Please. The moment the professor or this territory became more trouble than they were worth, Caine would burn it all down.

  “You’re very thorough,” the professor said.

  Caine inclined his head and strolled over to the display of several framed photographs lined up on a cabinet. He picked up a group shot that included the former Beta and Alpha, Darren Ellis and Greg Wyland. “You were at the top of the male hierarchy,” he said to the professor. “Holt was under the impression that the Alpha’s son was not active in the pack.”

  “He wasn’t,” the male said, with no small amount of bitterness. “Luke’s activities kept him out of town for the most part.”

  “And yet...” Caine spread his scarred hands. “It’s been over a year since your Alpha and Beta were killed. Why are you not in control yet?”

  One of the lesser wolves stammered, “We couldn’t—”

  The professor cut him off with a look. “It’s complicated. I wasn’t in a position to fight Luke Wyland for Alpha. As I told Holt, I was injured. Asking to postpone the challenge would have given me away.”

  Caine regarded the male. “Interesting.” The professor bristled, but before he could speak and waste any more of the day, Caine said, “Your Luna is a problem. I know you hoped to spare Clarissa Townes, but she’s stuck her nose where it doesn’t belong. We’ll have to deal with her.”

  One of the cronies sighed, but the professor said, “Agreed.”

  “What about the sheriff? Has he come around?”

  “Ellis won’t be a problem,” Crony One said, finally having recovered himself.

  “Like Alan Branson wasn’t a problem?” Caine asked, his voice a quiet growl. “That was very messy, sabotaging a helicopter. Messy and attention-grabbing.”

  The crony puffed up. “We thought it was the best option for deflecting blame if someone discovered our business relationship. No one would believe we’d destroy our own helicopter.”

  “You thought?”

  The idiot nodded.

  Caine bared his fangs. “Who told you to think? You were supposed to quietly get rid of Branson. Now the human government is involved. Then, to make matters worse, you gave Wyland and the sheriff all the evidence they need to tie the county clerk’s death to Branson’s.” When they all stared at him like the idiots they were, he added, “The citronella. It was used at the clerk’s disposal site and the mechanic’s.” He loomed over Crony One, who recoiled. “Don’t. Think. Again.”

  Caine stepped back, cracked a kink in his neck, and looked at the professor. “And what of the Alpha and his Beta?”

  The professor blinked. “Would tomorrow be too soon?”

  “No. The question is, can we hit all the targets in one location, or will the healer and her pups still be staying in your den?”

  A tense silence stretched in the room. “Pups?” Crony One asked. “You’re going to kill Sarah and Dean’s sons? They’re just babies.”

  “Is that really necessary?” the professor asked.

  Caine sighed. “There is no room for sentiment. Children who are given a pass simply because of their age eventually grow up and become nuisances. Look at your Alpha’s mate as a prime example. If the soldiers who staged the coup on the Chicago pack leadership had the balls to take her and her twin out when they were supposed to, Miss Meyers wouldn’t have been here to so skillfully land the helicopter you went to all that trouble of sabotaging. Nor would she have been able to kill one of the men you hired. See? Why go through the hassle of letting them grow up?”

  The professor nodded slowly. “The sooner we eliminate Luke and the others, the better.”

  “Wyland and his supporters won’t be a problem for you after tomorrow,” Caine said. “Now, I’d like to clarify something.” In a flash of movement, he grabbed the least of the wolves in the room, a paunchy male with an unfortunate appreciation for onions, and snapped his neck. Before any of the others could move, he extended the twist to completely sever the spinal cord. Werewolves were hearty creatures. But not even one of the goddess’s own could come back from having their head attached to their torsos by nothing more than a bit of skin.

  Caine allowed the wolf to enter his eyes and voice. “You do not work with Holt. You serve him. It’s in your best interests to remember who your master is.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Luke heard the sounds of a door opening and hushed voices coming from down the bedroom hallway. Despite the low volume, he could hear the speakers as clearly as if they were standing in front of him.

  “He’s out there with her,” Hank Dodd said.

  “Shh, you’ll wake them up,” Abby said.

  “Good. What does he think he’s doing with our daughter?”

  “Do I really have to explain it to you?” Abby asked. “Pfft. He likes her. And more importantly, she likes him. You leave them alone.”

  Hank huffed as the door closed again and their voices faded behind it.

  Smiling, Luke kissed the top of Isabelle’s head, careful not to jostle her. Sometime during the night, they’d snuggled down into the cushions of the oversized couch. Isabelle was tucked between them and Luke’s body, her head resting on his chest. He couldn’t remember ever waking up feeling this content. Given everything going on, it was an absolute miracle.

  “Well, that was embarrassing,” Isabelle said. She lifted her head and took in the way she was half-draped on top of him. Crimson flooded her cheeks. When she started to pry herself out of his embrace, he let her go. She’d spent the night in his arms. He could be magnanimous.

  H
e swung his legs around to the front of the couch and sat up. “Your mom says you like me.”

  Whiskey eyes narrowed on him. “I don’t think Hank likes you.”

  “He’ll come ’round. I’m charming.”

  His mate’s laugh lit him like the sun streaming through the glass walls. “Jackass,” she said. But he knew she didn’t mean it. She liked him.

  Then he heard Dean’s truck approaching—fast. Isabelle heard it, too. Her brows pinched together and she stood. Luke was at the door before the F-150 slid to a stop on the snowy gravel.

  Rissa ran up behind him. Fear and anxiety followed her like a cloud of smoke. “What’s wrong?”

  “The sheriff in Missoula called,” Dean said, jogging up the steps. “Jenny Erlington’s been murdered.”

  Chapter Forty

  Bright afternoon sunlight slanted through the branches of the subalpine firs clustered along the edge of the escarpment. The trees’ elongated crowns cast fingerlike shadows over the pristine snow, as if they were laying claim to the remote mountain slope. Maybe they were, because Vaughn had the distinct, and weird, sensation of being unwelcome.

  “I’m still confused about why you wanted to search here,” Vaughn said to Rick. They often tracked together, since Rick was one of the few males who could keep up with him, and his nose was almost as good as Vaughn’s. “Didn’t you already inspect this section by air?”

  “Uh-huh, but since no one’s been having any luck tracking the rogues, Liz and I thought we should re-examine some of the outer areas of the territory.”

  Outer? Far-flung was probably a better word for this section of the pack’s territory. It had taken them more than two hours to get there by car. Roads never ran in a straight or convenient line in the mountains.

  “Besides,” Rick continued, “with Freddie’s Bell being out of commission, we’re down to Dev and his Huey. He can only see so much from the cockpit and your mother can’t fly over everything.”