Blue Moon: Blood Moon Trilogy #3 (39 page)

BOOK: Blue Moon: Blood Moon Trilogy #3
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…when a baby’s cry filled the room.

My eyes fluttered open, and I looked toward Layla as she wrapped the baby in a towel and handed it to me. “It’s a girl,” she announced softly.

Taking the baby from her wasn’t awkward, and I didn’t worry I was going to fumble the way I had with Samuel in the past. This was easy and natural as I cradled her in my arms. She let out a series of whimpers and squeaks as she nestled into my arms, and I craned my neck to look at Nick.

“She has your nose,” I told him.

“Poor kid,” he quipped back, leaning forward and kissing me gently.

As we bonded with our baby, the sky outside cleared up, letting the light of the blue moon filter into the room. Slowly, the rest of the Pack came in to meet our newest member. Colby was the first to ask to hold her. Nick was reluctant to hand her over, which was adorable, but he finally did.

“What’s her name?” Colby asked, looking at me.

I looked at Nick. We’d had months to decide on a name, but we weren’t able to agree on anything. The sight of the rare blue moon outside caught my attention, calling to the wolf, and I smiled as inspiration struck. “Azura?”

Nick contemplated my suggestion before a slow grin spread across his face and he nodded. “I like it.”

Colby handed Azura back to me, and I kissed her forehead, inhaling deeply and recognizing an intoxicating combination of my scent and Nick’s, yet it was uniquely hers. “Welcome to the world, little one.”

The happiness in the room was intense. As each member of the Pack became acquainted with the newest member, I looked at each of them, remembering how each one helped me become who I am today, and I smiled.

I might not have wanted it in the beginning—at least not the way it was given to me—but I was Alpha. This was my Pack—my family. We’d been to Hell and back. We deserved this. We deserved to be happy. While I knew it couldn’t last forever, I would do what I could to make damn sure we rode it out for as long as possible until the next storm hit.

And with strays out there wreaking havoc in my territory, I knew that could be at any given moment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After closing the door as quietly as possible, I turn around and head up the stairs. Having grown up here, I know that the third step from the top has a squeak near the center, and to avoid being caught sneaking by Daddy’s room, you have to basically hug the wall—of course, you could just skip that step, but in my current state of inebriation, I’d probably fall down the stairs, and then all of my stealth will have been in vain.

I make it to the top of the stairs, smiling and mentally high-fiving my teenage-self for still being able to sneak past my father’s bedroom door at two in the morning, undetected. It isn’t that I think I’ll get in trouble for getting in at this hour—or for being drunk, for that matter, as I am newly twenty-one—I just don’t want to wake him up thinking his house is being burglered...um...burgled?
That’s a word, right?

I press my face into my hand, ashamed that
this
is what has suddenly caught hold of any working brain cells that aren't currently bobbing in a pool of beer and tequila. I open the door to my room, closing it softly as well since it’s right across the hall from Daddy’s, and I begin to take my clothes off. I’m far too unbalanced and drained to go through my bag to find my pajamas, so I crawl beneath my blankets in just my bra and panties and relax into my single bed, instantly met with the fading, yet familiar and comforting, smell of the fabric softener my dad uses...but there’s something else too—something equally familiar that awakens something in the recesses of my brain. I can’t quite put my finger on it as my eyes drift shut and sleep sets in; all I know is that I like this particular smell. A lot.

With the amount of alcohol flowing through my veins, my dreams start off strange and confusing, but eventually they change into welcome—and somewhat erotic—images. Okay, so “somewhat” might be an understatement. What can I say? I’ve been sexually repressed for the last few months. The last guy I dated was really sweet, but we just grew apart over the six months we were together. It’s unfortunate, because the sex was pretty great.

God, I miss sex.

The way a man’s hands would move over my body, up to my breasts as he lowered his face to take a pert nipple into his mouth… Or how about the way his tongue would flick the sensitive nub before he grazed his teeth over it? It was enough to drive me wild with desire.

My dream slowly morphs from the crazy, psychedelic happenings of leprechauns and unicorns racing down the rainbow path and into one where I’m lying in a king-sized bed with a faceless man who smells absolutely amazing—all sex and deliciousness—and my body begins to warm.

While I can’t hear them, the ocean waves are crashing onto the shore of a tropical beach while my mystery man and I lie in a four-poster bed, the sheer white fabrics hanging from the bedposts blowing in the breeze. It’s all very unrealistic, but I refuse to wake myself up.

There aren’t any other people around as he grips my hip and pulls me to him. His hand is like warm honey as it trails down my thigh, his fingers hooking behind my knee and pulling it up over his hip. I can feel the hard bulge of his erection press between my thighs, and I whimper, cupping his jaw in my hands and drawing his face to mine for a searing kiss.

His tongue breaches my lips and meets mine halfway; he’s an amazing kisser—which only makes sense since my brain made him up, and why would it betray me with someone who absolutely sucked? It would be cruel and quite possibly terms for electro-shock therapy to see if I could fix the glitch.

Mystery guy—who’s actually beginning to show a few features, like the blond-and-coppery color of his hair, the shape of his nose, the angular cut of his jaw, and the laugh lines around his eyes—lets his hand move up from my thigh until he’s palming my breast over the bra I still wear, and my nipples strain against the fabric. I moan into his mouth when he hooks his fingers into the top of the cup and pushes it under my breast before rolling the taut nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I thrust my hips toward him, feeling his dick tease my sensitive and wanting flesh. Goosebumps arise all over my body when he abandons my chest and moves his hand quickly down my body and between my thighs. His fingers easily glide back and forth through the wetness that has accumulated there, and I shift my hips in time with his movements. The minute he sinks his fingers into me, I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and weave my fingers into his soft hair. The sensation of him pumping his fingers in and out of me brings me closer and closer to the best orgasm I think I’ve ever had.

This. Dream. Fucking. ROCKS!

“Yes,”
dream-me moans, breaking our kiss and throwing my head back to catch a breath.
“Oh, god, yes...”

His hand begins to move a bit faster, thrusting a little harder and pressing his thumb against my clit to push me over the edge. Then he speaks for the first time. “That’s it, baby,” he says hoarsely, his hot breath tickling the skin below my ear as he peppers it with open-mouthed kisses. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”

Mixed emotions run through me immediately; while I don’t want this dream to end until I’ve come, I also realize that something is amiss. Something feels—

Holy shit! I know that voice!

While he has been the object of many fantasies over the last five years, something in my brain tells me to push him away, and when I do, I fall off the edge of the bed. Instead of meeting the warm sand on the beach, however, I meet the cool wood of my bedroom floor. My eyes snap open when I bang my elbow on the edge of my bedside table, and I look up toward my bed to find that it’s not empty.

In it, sits Owen Cavanaugh…my dad’s best friend.

 

 

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 

 

A.D. Ryan resides in Edmonton, Alberta with her extremely supportive husband and children (two sons and a stepdaughter). Reading and writing have always been a big part of her life, and she hopes that her books will entertain countless others the way that other authors have done for her. Even as a small child, she enjoyed creating new and interesting characters and molding their worlds around them.

 

To learn more about the author and stay up-to-date on future publications, please look for her on Facebook and her blog.

 

https://www.facebook.com/pages/AD-Ryan-Author

 

http://adryanauthorblog.wordpress.com

 

 

 

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