Changeling Moon (12 page)

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Authors: Dani Harper

BOOK: Changeling Moon
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And found herself nearly nose to nose with a massive wolf, the same silver and black creature from her nightmares, its pale gray eyes fastened intently on hers. Zoey yelped and jumped backward, bashing her hip against the rim of the countertop. The pain served to interrupt the vision and the wolf disappeared abruptly. There were only Connor's eyes, wide with concern.
“Zoey, talk to me. Are you all right? What happened to you?”
“What happened to me? What the hell happened to
you
?” She gripped the counter with one hand and held the other to her throbbing hip. Another day, another bruise, she thought ruefully. Connor stepped closer but she held up a hand—the one that had been on her hip. She didn't dare let go of the counter with the other just yet. “Please don't crowd me for a few minutes, okay? I mean it, just back off and let me breathe.”
Let me breathe and try to figure all this out.
This was no doubt what she got for actually trying to use her unwanted psychic ability. She was seeing things, and damn
scary
things at that. Was she more tired than she'd thought? She picked up the nearly empty glass of mango slush and gave it an experimental sniff.
Jessie moved in and put a gentle arm around her. “Hon, you've had a long and difficult day. I shouldn't have given you that drink without something to eat first. Why, knowing you, I'll just bet you haven't had a thing since breakfast.”
Zoey latched onto the idea with relief. “Yeah, that Helfren guy really messed up my lunch hour.” And if she hadn't eaten, then maybe her blood sugar was down. Really, really down. Didn't people sometimes hallucinate when that happened? She'd fainted from low blood sugar once before, but maybe seeing things was possible as well. And she
was
tired. . . . That nagging voice within told her she was grasping for straws, but she decided to ignore it.
“What say we find you the most comfortable chair in the yard, and you can just relax and put those hardworking editor's feet up while I get Bill to bring you a steak? I've got my best cajun chicken on the grill too.”
“Works for me.” Zoey allowed her friend to lead her outside. “Jessie, you just won't believe what I thought I saw—”
 
Connor watched from the porch as Jessie settled Zoey into a sprawling Adirondack chair. The two women were laughing now but he wasn't cheered. He wanted to kick something. Better yet, he wanted to chase something around and bite it. Preferably Helfren. He would definitely go looking for him in the very near future. . . .
Jessie walked by the grill, still smiling, and spoke to her husband. But as she turned and made her way back to the porch, her expression was all business. Connor followed the Pack leader into the kitchen.
“There was power here just now,” she stated. “A helluva lot of it.”
“It's Zoey—she has a gift of some kind. It feels like
farsight
to me, but it's different. Is that what happened to her? She saw something, didn't she?”
“She saw your wolf.”
What?
“That's not possible.”
“There is only one saddleback wolf, animal or Changeling, in this part of the country. One black and silver wolf with pale eyes. And she saw it in your face just now.”
“Good God, I didn't feel anything, not a thing. My wolf was close to the surface but it was under control. Not like when—” he trailed off. “I meant to talk to you, Jess, about what happened the other day when I was with her. Something really weird is going on.”
She snorted at that. “We're Changelings.
Something really weird
is always going on. We'll talk about it after the party, Connor. For now, go get yourself a drink.”
Chapter Twelve
Z
oey finished the last bite of her chicken and put the plate on the little table beside her, settling back into her chair with a happy sigh. This was
so
what she needed. Great food, a little relaxation, good company. Normally she would have made the rounds, made sure she met everyone, but her leg was bothering her and she was more tired than she'd initially thought. To her delight, most of the party guests wandered over to her and said hello or introduced themselves. For someone who was new in town, she couldn't have felt more welcomed. Geoff and Melly Lassiter had invited her to their goat farm. Holt LaLonde had offered to fly her over the Peace River valley in his Cessna. Martin Beauchamp and René Ghostkeeper had brought over samples from the dessert table, most of which they'd baked themselves. Zoey grinned as she pulled a small notepad from her purse and scribbled a couple of story tips she'd received from Jeannie Rousseau, the bookstore owner. Her grin faded when Connor appeared out of nowhere and sat in the chair next to her.
“So,” he said, looking over at the patio where some couples were dancing under bright lanterns. He was pointedly
not
looking at her. “I was wanting to tell you that I'm sorry for having left so abruptly the other day, but I haven't figured out how.”
She considered his words carefully. “You were tired,” she offered at last.
“No excuse.”
“Okay, then you could have picked up the phone.”
“I certainly should have. Birkie was right.”
“I thought she was in Scotland. She told you to call me?”
“No, no. She's been warning me for quite a while that I've been too wrapped up in my work and need to make time for a life.”
That was something she could relate to.“Seems to be the challenge of the twenty-first century. Most of us have to learn how to do that. She sounds very wise.”
“There's an understatement. I should pay more attention to what she says, a lot more and a lot sooner.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at her then. “You know, I came here tonight hoping to get you alone long enough to apologize, then Bill told me what that Helfren character did and I just saw red. Then, in the kitchen,
you
saw something . . . .” He let it hang.
“Jessie told you?”
“I twisted her arm.”
Zoey snorted. “Jessie? Try again.”
“Okay, maybe I acted pathetic until she felt sorry for me and told me what I wanted to know.”
She wasn't sure she could picture that either. “And what do you know?”
“That you thought you saw a wolf when you looked at me.”
“That's hardly your fault, Connor. Jessie was right, I was tired and my blood sugar had sunk to my shoes. I haven't been sleeping well, so it's not all that surprising that I started seeing things. Pretty disturbing, mind you, but not surprising.” She had decided to ignore the fact that the vision had come through her psychic gift, since surely the gift was influenced by her own physical and emotional condition, and therefore suspect. She sighed and shared the conclusion she'd come to. “I hope this doesn't sound dramatic—I'm wondering if I might have a mild case of post-traumatic stress after all.”
He nodded. “Makes perfect sense. The wolf attack was a very intense and terrifying experience, and it's going to take some time to fade. But I sure don't like the thought of you being frightened by
me
.”
“It wasn't really you. And besides, I'll have you know I
wasn't
scared, I was just startled.”
“Startled?” There was a pause. “Is that your story?” His expression lightened considerably.
“And I'm sticking to it,” she said. She slid her hand over his on the armrest. Heat radiated from his skin and she caught her breath as her mind painted pictures of other places she'd like to be touching.
“So things are okay between us?” he asked. There was no mistaking the hopeful note in his voice.
“Only if you dance with me.” She grinned at him. “Cruel I know, but it's a strict policy of mine. Can't accept an apology that doesn't come with a dance. Sorry.”
“What about your leg?”
“I'm light on my feet, and besides, I was hoping for a
slow
dance.”
His hand seized hers at once, and she was pulled from the chair and into his powerful arms in the blink of an eye. The heat, the scent of him, surrounded her, filled her senses, as they began to move together. Her sore leg cooperated to the point that she could almost forget it.
“Hey, the dance floor's way over there.” Zoey said with a weak laugh. Every hormone she had was in overdrive at the proximity of Connor's powerful body. She half-expected spontaneous combustion to claim her clothing as her body brushed against his. And didn't
that
just paint a picture in her mind?
“We'll get there. Eventually.” He guided her subtly but unerringly through the crowd. She was amazed at how smoothly he moved in spite of his size, and for a moment she had a vivid impression of a powerful predator stalking silently in the shadows—
“Zoey?”
“What?” The impression disappeared like a soap bubble, and she shook her head a little to clear it. “Mind's wandering, I guess. Sorry.”
He laughed then, and she could feel the rumble of it in his chest. Something deep and low within her clenched delightfully at the vibration, and she gripped his broad shoulder hard. Her bruised arm protested a little but she was too busy watching Connor's eyes go from gray to silver as he lowered his head. Her arms traveled up of their own volition to circle his neck.
Within two seconds she realized it wasn't going to be like the last time. There was no trading here, no gentle testing, no give and take. And she was
so
not in control. Connor's mouth was hot and soft yet relentless all at the same time. Wrapped tightly in his powerful arms, held against his well-muscled frame, her body was not her own. Not hers at all. She was already pressed against him from chin to toe but it wasn't enough, not nearly enough. She wanted to wrap herself in that luscious glowing heat that radiated from him. Something between a whimper and a moan escaped her throat as his large, strong hands massaged her back and shoulders, leaving that delicious warmth behind. His heated hands moved lower to knead her bottom. She wound her fingers in his long dark hair. Her breasts felt strangely tight, almost tingly, and she wanted his mouth on them. Needed it.
A burst of distant laughter snapped her to her senses and Zoey pushed away from Connor. She didn't get far—she was pretty much caged in those arms. But frantic glances around her revealed nothing but shadow. She could hear the party somewhere off to her right but she couldn't see much.
“Where the hell are we?”
“Side of the house. Behind the garden shed to be exact.”
“I thought we were headed to the dance floor.”
“We are,” he said as he nuzzled her neck. “This is the scenic route.”
She breathed him in, felt her insides melting. He pulled back for a moment and as she looked up into his face, all she could think was
damn fine scenery
. “Well, then”—she grinned—“sign me up for the full tour.”
Moments later Zoey's blouse was open and she was thanking the lingerie gods for front-hooking bras. Connor's large hands were hot, one at the small of her back pressing her to him and the other engulfing her breast. He was trailing kisses along her collarbone, working his way lower and lower with his lips and tongue. She could hardly breathe for the anticipation. A low moan escaped her as he closed his questing lips around a nipple.
Oh yes. Yes-yes-yes.
Her hands worked through Connor's wavy hair, twisting and tangling, as he worked her tender nipple with his tongue, nibbled it delicately with his teeth. Drew her breast strongly into his mouth, again and again, until answering pulls from deep within her core had Zoey gasping for breath. He flicked open her jeans then and slid them slowly down her hips, with his mouth still working her breast. A hot burst of moisture dampened her thong just before it went south and she wondered why the cool evening air didn't flash into steam as soon as it brushed her skin. Then Connor's mouth was on hers again. A picture blossomed in her mind, showed her plainly how the subtle thrust of his tongue was symbolic of another, more complete, possession.
And she wanted it.
Needed it.
Needed everything. Needed
him
. She parted her legs for his hand, rocked her pelvis forward to meet his questing fingers. Moaned deep in her throat as one slid inside her. She gripped his shoulders and rode first one finger, then two. She was soaking wet, desperately hot to the point of aching—and nearly cheered when he crooked his fingers
just so
, dragging his fingertips across her most sensitive spot as she moved. She could feel the approaching storm now, bearing down on her like thunderheads on a hot summer night.
Oh geez, oh Connor, oh—
He sealed his lips over hers and she screamed into his mouth, as the violent orgasm flashed through her like sheet lightning.
 
Tad Helfren was fuming by the time he found Bernard Gervais. The old drunk was in a corner booth of the Jersey Pub with half a dozen empty draft glasses in front of him.
The investigator was in a rotten mood. The huge lump on the back of his head ached like a bitch, and his lip stung as he took a sip of his imported German beer. “Where the hell have you been? I'm paying you for your help, not to drink yourself into a stupor.”
“If I wanted a stupor, I'd have started a hell of a lot earlier.” Bernie's speech was intelligible, his eyes reasonably clear. “What d'ya want, Helfren?”
“There were a bunch of cattle killed tonight, just west of town. I picked it up on the scanner and the police are saying it was an animal attack. Fish and Wildlife are going out first thing in the morning.” Helfren leaned over the table, his voice dropping. “I know they're going to find wolf prints. It's werewolves, isn't it?”
Bernie's scarred face stretched uncomfortably with a slow deliberate smile. “Yeah, must be. Natural killers, those things. The vet's not home tonight either.”
“You still think Macleod's the one? I've had his office under surveillance for three stinking weeks but so far I haven't got a thing on him. And that little gift you suggested we leave in his office hasn't been touched yet.”
“He's the one. And the newspaper bitch is out tonight too. I'm betting the two of them went after the cattle just for fun.”
“But it isn't the full moon yet—would she turn so soon?”
“He's her sire, he can make it happen whenever he likes. You can bet he's initiating her to the kill. Just like he made her cut my face.”
Helfren refrained from mentioning that Little Miss Editor had nearly cracked his own skull and Macleod had been nowhere in sight. Gingerly, he fingered the fresh stitches in the midst of the swelling. “But she
will
turn when the moon's full? 'Cause, dammit, I want those photos. You called
me
, remember? Got me to come all the way up here to the middle of nowhere, claiming there would be proof that werewolves exist.”
“You said you'd pay for it.” Gervais finished his glass.
“When I get proof, you'll get your money. That's the agreement.”
“You'd best be prepared to make a down payment then. You still have that equipment set up where I told you? It's turned on?”
“For all the good it's doing,” Helfren snorted.
“Make sure you check it in the morning.” The old man got to his feet.
“Where the hell do you think
you're
going?”
Gervais chuckled low in his throat, but it wasn't a pleasant sound. “Just going to stir the pot a little. And the next time you see me, you better have your fucking checkbook.”
 
As Zoey's senses returned she found herself draped against Connor like a wet beach towel, and his talented mouth was doing wonderful things to her neck. Her body was weightless, boneless, breathless, a hollowed-out shell blasted clean by the sheer force of release. She was strangely ravenous in spite of the meal she'd had, but that could wait. There were other hungers to be satisfied, she thought and smiled as her fingers worked the buttons of Connor's shirt. She spread the material aside, running her hands over his chest, exploring the dusting of dark hair that accentuated the powerful muscles. God, the man was built, and she couldn't help grinning as she leaned forward to circle her tongue around a nipple. A sudden craving to cover that chest with soft, openmouthed kisses surfaced but was deflected as Connor's big hands drew her close, pressing her skin firmly against his. She'd just experienced the best orgasm of her life, yet the heat of his body seemed to incite a whole new level of languor in her. She just wanted to bask in it, melt into it, become one with it. . . .

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