Omega Moon Rising (Toke Lobo & The Pack) (5 page)

“Keeping the baby safe in its mother.” Granny’s blue gaze bored into Abby’s eyes. “Making the mother strong enough to carry the baby. Keeping you pregnant.”

“What?” Macy stared at Abby, too. “Mom wouldn’t be trying to make you miscarry while the males are arranging your mating—marriage to Luke.”

“Marriage?” Abby must have missed that, distracted by the really weird use of language. And Macy had just done it again.
Male
instead of
men
. And mating? She’d thought her terror had done something to her hearing, but she wasn’t as scared now as she had been at the hall. And Macy had definitely said
male.
Maybe it was some kind of code talking in Loup Garou.

“What did you think we meant when we said Luke would make things right?”

“Child support payments,” Abby muttered. Married? To Luke Omega? The thought boggled what was left of her mind.

There was her parents’ marriage, before a freak accident killed her father. Once upon a time, when she’d still been a dreamer, their life had been her ideal. Two adults who loved each other and their children. Nobody using anyone else for their own purposes. A family agenda.

And then there was Gary.

Mama had known she was sick, but not as desperately ill as she really was. Gary, who’d known her father, started stopping by the house. He’d acted pleasant enough, interested not only in Mama, but also Libby and Abby. When Mama accepted his proposal, she explained her motives to her daughters. “I’m not trying to replace your daddy. But Gary’s nice, and he has a steady job at the brewery, along with health benefits. It’ll be good to have a man in the house again.”

Mama had traded her daughters for health insurance.

And if Abby had anything to say about it, her mother would never know what she’d done.

“Drink up.” Granny tapped the bottom of the mug with her forefinger.

Abby made a face, held her breath, and chugged.

Colette returned to the bedroom. Her cheeks were flushed, her pale hair windblown. She carried the scent of the autumn night with her. “Done. Don’t fret about your sister. Tokarz will send someone to watch her. Trust me. After what we all witnessed earlier tonight, no one is taking any chances.”

“What Colette is trying to say,” Macy said, “is that you are now safer than you’ve ever been in your lives.”

The porch light was on at Tokarz’s house in the center of Loup Garou. The Garniers had led the pack since emigrating from France in the eighteenth century. Keeping their homestead in the center of their town made it easy to run things.

Luke was numb as he mounted the porch steps. The door opened, silent as the night. Tokarz filled the frame. “Delilah finally got Daniel to sleep,” he said. “I didn’t want the doorbell to wake him.”

Babies. There were babies all over Loup Garou these days. Tokarz and his human wife had a son. Hank Hawkins, who played bass in the band, had recently mated with a pregnant woman. Baby Charlotte Eleanor was full-blooded human, but adored by the pack. Rumor had it keyboard player Stoker Smith’s human wife was pregnant, too.

And Luke now was going to be a father.

Gary’s words hadn’t clicked before. Luke’s knees wobbled. He wanted to sit. Because he was going to be a father. There was a
baby
. A sweet, helpless innocent being who was part of
him
.

And that scat-eating, son-of-a-diarrhea-drinking vampire Gary Porter had beaten that baby’s mother. Gary had to die.

Luke was about to turn around when his father grabbed his elbow.

“Thanks for the audience,” Gramps said.

“Sorry about your wife’s birthday party,” Tokarz replied. He led them to his office in the front of the house.

“Not your doing. And hearing she’s going to be a great-grandmother really was the best birthday gift she could have gotten.”

Smooth, Luke thought. Gramps had years of practice sucking up to pack leadership.

Luke kept his mouth shut while his grandfather explained about the pill and the picnic. Not the part about Luke’s motivation. Tokarz wouldn’t understand what it was like being omega. Luke uttered a prayer of thanksgiving to the Ancient Ones that his father and grandfather were standing by him.

“That’s all fine and well,” Tokarz said when Gramps was done, “but the fact is Luke has to marry the girl. He has to admit the child is his.”

“I don’t deny it might be,” Luke said.

“What if Gary demands a paternity test?”

Chills and perspiration took turns battering Luke.

“We can’t allow a DNA test. Any kind of paternity test. You know that.”

“I’m not denying I’m the father. I think it was her first time, too. I thought I smelled blood. Don’t women bleed the first time?”

“Did you hurt her?” Tokarz’s tone was sharp.

“No, and I made damned sure she was happy, too.”

Tokarz nodded. “You have to make it official, Luke. You can’t send her back.”

“Can’t she live with Granny and Gramps?”

“No.” Tokarz’s tone was cold. “I don’t know how mating works with you. She might really be your mate, and you simply don’t know what signs you’re looking for.”

There it was again. Tokarz’s jab was more subtle than some of the other crap he’d been dished over the years, but the prejudice was there. It was always there.

“Mating worked fine for me,” Marcus said.

“Your human blood had nothing else to compare mating to. Luke has been . . . exposed to things. Like pornography.”

Luke braced himself for yet another lecture. Werewolves didn’t understand the allure. They weren’t hardwired to be sexual with anyone but their fated mates.

“I put up with all the online sailing—”

“Surfing,” Luke muttered.

“I put up with all the womanizing after the shows,” Tokarz continued as if Luke hadn’t spoken. “And that makes me a bad leader. A bad alpha. I should have put my foot down about your behavior. I’m responsible for this mess, too. And we’re going to make it right. That babe is going to be not quite half lycan. We’ve seen what environment Abigail isn’t thriving in. We
have
to keep her here.”

“Of course,” Luke agreed. He wasn’t going near the porn-womanizing topic. Especially in front of his father and grandfather, who, as far as he knew, were ignorant of his on-the-road activities. “As my grandfather said, I will support the woman and the baby. I don’t deny my responsibility. I only ask that I not be bound to her with a human marriage. Not forced to take her as my mate. I want to be available when the Ancient Ones lead me to my true soul mate.”

“Luke, Luke, Luke.” Tokarz shook his head, his yellow curls bouncing on his shoulders. “Do you listen to yourself? Do you understand how you use your mixed heritage as a convenient excuse for selfishness?”

Not something a guy wanted to hear from his alpha. “What?”

“I’ve been listening to you excuse your fondness for pornography as your human blood at work, and yet you stand in front of me and try to tell me you are lycan, that you want a lycan life. A werewolf doesn’t watch porn. A werewolf doesn’t swallow pills to make his private parts hard so he can have sex with a random woman. A lycan waits for his mate before having sex. So if you want the lycan life you claim to desire, welcome to the mated state. You fucked her, she must be your mate.”

Bitter bile filled Luke’s mouth. It was all he could do to keep from puking on his alpha’s floor.

“Restin found the marriage requirements. You both need government issued ID. A license is thirty dollars. You will go to the county seat tomorrow, with Abigail, and procure the license. Restin will accompany you. He will also stop at Abigail’s home so she can pack her belongings. And keep you in line.”

Luke couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t pull oxygen into his lungs. He couldn’t even see for the red haze clouding his vision.

“Oh. And one more thing. Where are the songs you promised to show me?”

Chapter 4

“I don’t have a driver’s license.”

“Everybody has a driver’s license,” Luke said. Even sixteen-year-old werewolves had driver’s licenses. It was un-American not to possess one.

“Not if your father was killed in a trucking accident and your mother was too scared to let you learn to drive.”

“Oh.”

They were standing on his grandparents’ porch, waiting for Restin. Luke would have rather had anyone else in the pack escorting them, but Restin was the pack beta. And Tokarz’s cousin. He caught a lot of the less desirable responsibilities of leadership. He was also a power hungry vampire, and that wasn’t a rumor. Luke had first-hand experience. Restin played fiddle for Toke Lobo and the Pack. They spent way too much time together.

Abigail looked as tired as he felt. The prettiness he remembered had faded with the summer. Maybe once the bruises were gone, her sparkle would return.

Like most werewolves, he tended to be nocturnal and had stayed up after his audience with Tokarz playing his drums. Sometimes hitting those skins with his sticks was the only outlet he had for the inherent violence of his lycan blood. Tokarz had laid a lot of crap on him, including the status of the songs Abigail had written. Luke didn’t know what he’d done with them, so he’d had to search for those, too. He usually went to bed with the dawn. Unfortunately, bureaucracy didn’t cooperate with his natural rhythms. He’d sleep after he got married.

He wondered what Abigail’s excuse was.

“Look,” Luke said. He tried not to let his exasperation creep into his voice. Impatience wouldn’t help an already dreadful situation. “I’m trying to do right by you. For a change. I admit it. Okay? Give me some help.”

“I have to get Libby out of there.”

Right. The kid sister. Who was a pain in the flank.

“That’s being taken care of. Tokarz sent a guard last night, and since we haven’t heard anything from him, your sister is okay.”

The band was going on tour starting that weekend. Luke didn’t care who Abigail had hanging around. Having a wife wasn’t going to change anything.

Granny would extend an invitation to Abigail for the monthly gathering at the lodge. All the older women who could no longer shift, the pregnant women, and the pre-adolescent members of the tribe gathered on the full moon for their own lunar celebration. Abigail and her sister couldn’t be left alone. Granny would know that. Full moons in Loup Garou were hairy. Very hairy. And toothy, too.

“No, I mean I have to get her out of that house today.”

“You think your stepfather will hit her? Won’t your mom protect her?”

The look Abigail bestowed on him could have melted diamonds. “My mother is too out of it to know what’s going on. If she wasn’t dying, I’d bring her with me too. Remember the night you took me home and an ambulance was there?”

Luke nodded.

“We almost lost her that night. That’s when we called in hospice.”

Luke figured he could always kill Gary and the three women could stay in their own house in Oak Moon. That would be his ideal solution. But he couldn’t think like that. Tokarz had been crystal clear about what Luke needed to do.

“Can hospice move her to Loup Garou?” It wasn’t as if he and Abigail were in the throes of uncontrollable passion, although Luke wouldn’t have minded a repeat or two of that night in his truck. Although the pills had stopped working for him, his cock seemed to recognize Abigail. Wanted to say hello to her.

Abigail shook her head. “But thank you for the thought.”

She still wore her sagging jeans and ugly gray sweater. While Luke didn’t expect her to don a fancy white wedding gown, he felt she should at least try to be attractive on her wedding day. He wore black trousers and a white dress shirt for the occasion. “I have a student ID,” Abigail said. “But it’s at home.”

“We’ll go there first,” Luke said. “You can pack your stuff. Change your clothes.”

Restin pulled up in his Grand Cherokee.

Scat.
This wasn’t going to work. He normally would have sat in front with Restin, but he was supposed to be playing the loving groom. Which meant sitting in the back with Abigail. If she were his true mate, this would all come naturally to him. But it didn’t. Another sign he’d messed up big time.

He opened the door for her, then helped boost her into the high-riding vehicle. He didn’t remember her being so short. He half expected his palms to be scorched from touching her.

“Well, pups,” Restin said. “Ready to get married?”

“We’re going to her house first,” Luke said.

“I have my orders. Wedding first.”

“No wedding without her ID.”

It was such a minuscule victory it shouldn’t have mattered, but Luke savored every triumph over Restin’s arrogance.

They were about half-way to Oak Moon when Abigail said, “Stop the car. Please.”

She pulled on the door handle. Luke grabbed her before she fell out of the still-moving vehicle. And got to watch her lose what must have been one of his grandmother’s substantial breakfasts. Puke sprayed along the outside of Restin’s vehicle before he finally stopped.

“She asked,” Luke said before Restin could embarrass her. “You took those curves way too fast. She’s pregnant. Use your head. You were around Delilah when she was first pregnant.”

Restin glared at him. Tokarz’s wife claimed Restin had Berserker eyes, and Luke caught a glimpse of what Delilah meant.

“Sorry,” Abigail finally muttered. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Do you have a bottle of water?” Luke asked Restin.

Score another one against Restin. Maybe the day wasn’t going to be as bad as Luke thought. Abigail didn’t even know she was teaming up with him against the arrogant beta. Luke wasn’t used to having anyone on his side.

“No.” Restin’s response was curt.

Most werewolves didn’t like bottled water because it tasted too plastic. The best water was fresh from a spring, bubbling up from the earth.

“Well, see if you can find some,” Luke snapped.

“She’s your mate, not mine, Omega.”

“And your alpha put you in charge of us.”

Restin’s spine stiffened. “You wouldn’t.”

“You want to risk it?” Luke raised an eyebrow. “I have a lot less to lose than you do. I’m nothing. What’s he going to do to me? The only thing left would be to banish me from the pack, and if I run, that happens anyway.”

Luke rubbed Abigail’s back as he taunted Restin. The cool autumn air helped contain the stench of her sickness. When Delilah was first pregnant and on tour with the band, they’d all learned human women barfed a lot in the beginning. But he couldn’t remember what she or Tokarz had done.

“Don’t forget payback is rough, and I owe you a lot.” Years’ worth of cuffs upside the head, of being forced to run trivial errands. Of never measuring up and always being humiliated. Luke’s debts were staggering.

“I don’t have a container.”

That was a problem. If Abigail were lycan, she could shift and drink from a stream as a wolf. Except pregnant females couldn’t shift.

Oh, scat, what did he know about females other than anatomy?

“I’m okay,” Abigail said. “Motion sickness. Can we please . . . go?” She pulled the door shut. And didn’t apologize for the mess on the outside of the Jeep.

Except for giving Restin directions, no one spoke. Abigail grew tenser with each city block closer to the house on Silver Moon Terrace.

“Here,” Luke said.

He hadn’t seen the house in daylight. Now he wished he wasn’t seeing it at all. It was shabbier than its neighbors. The pale yellow siding could have used a good power wash. A couple of windowpanes needed replacing. The front door begged for several coats of paint. And none of it was his problem.

His only problem was resisting his urge to kill Gary, and with any luck, Gary would be working a shift at the brewery. But luck had deserted Luke the day of the Moonsinger picnic.

Abby had hoped to slip into the house, gather her things
, pack Libby, speak to her mother, and sneak out while Gary slept. Working second shift at the brewery meant he slept days. When she saw the number of vehicles parked on the street in front of the house, she abandoned her plan.

Her heart lurched. What if she was too late to explain the situation to her mother?

Gary was in the front room. He wasn’t alone. Digger Sendall, the funeral director who’d handled the arrangements for her father and the two stillborn babies was there. He was one of Gary’s poker cronies, but he wasn’t dressed for their weekly game. His dark suit, subdued tie, and dressy shoes might as well have been a neon sign: death is imminent.

Abby stumbled, but Luke caught her elbow.

Mrs. MacDougal from church sat on the lumpy plaid sofa, wearing too much make-up and perfume as usual. The family hadn’t been to services in five years, but Abby would never forget the older woman’s singular stench. Pastor Shaw and Mr. Jeffers, the hospice caregiver, stood near the hall, conversing in low voices. Libby was nowhere in sight.

“I didn’t think you’d show up after you ran off last night,” Gary said.

So that was how he planned to spin the truth. He always had a lie handy to explain whatever was wrong. After all, he had an image to maintain: the hero who’d rescued poor Tina Grant and her daughters. He had assembled quite an audience for today’s performance.

“What happened to you? Were you in a car accident or did your boyfriend smack you around when you told him about the bun in your oven?”

Luke’s hand left the small of her back, and he took a step toward Gary. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

Pastor Shaw and Mr. Jeffers turned, their conversation stopped, and Abby’s face heated.

Restin grabbed Luke’s arm. “Not now.”

“How’s Mama?” Abby asked.

The mood in the room shifted. Abby felt it as clearly as if someone had opened all the windows and let the cool autumn air blow through the house.

“My mother?” Abby’s voice cracked as she repeated her question.

Pastor Shaw’s knuckles whitened on his Bible. “It’s not good, Abby.”

Abby brushed past him and Mr. Jeffers and ran to the room hospice had turned into her mother’s death chamber.

The shades were pulled and the curtains drawn. A small lamp burned on the bureau top. The odor of rubbing alcohol nearly disguised the stench of dust. Her mother’s wasted frame was barely visible in the dim light—barely visible because she didn’t create a presence in the bed on which she lay. She scarcely disturbed the blanket covering her.

“Mama?” Abby whispered.

Her mother’s eyes fluttered open. “Abby?”

Abby gripped the cool metal rail of the hospital bed. “I’m here, Mama.”

“I’m sorry.” The words were barely audible, spoken between harsh breaths, but Abby understood.

“Thought . . .”

“Don’t waste your strength, Mama,” Abby said. “We’ve already gone over this.”

“Will.”

“Yes, I remember.” Abby glanced toward the doorway, where she thought she’d seen a flicker of movement. But it was empty.

Abby lowered her voice. “I have your will and other important papers in a safe place. I know what to do. Don’t fret.”

Her mother’s emaciated lips stretched slightly, a mockery of the smile that had once lighted up the house. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Abby kissed her mother’s sunken cheek. “I love you, and I know you love me and Libby.”

“Careful.”

Scalding tears clung to Abby’s lashes, but she refused to release them. She had to be strong. She had the rest of her life to cry. “Of course. You know you can count on me. I’ll take care of Libby.”

Something brushed against Abby’s legs, startling her. Libby emerged from under the bed. “Don’t die, Mama.” Libby wasn’t quiet. Wasn’t subtle. “Don’t die!”

Mama inhaled deeply enough to raise the blanket a fraction of an inch. “My b’ful girls.” She gazed at Libby, then at Abby. “So sorry.” She closed her eyes. Exhaled. Once.

“Mister Jeffers?” Abby called out, her voice warbling.

A movement in the doorway caught her attention. Luke. Who moved aside to let the hospice caregiver into the room. Luke had been standing watch. Gary had not.

Mr. Jeffers placed his stethoscope against Mama’s chest. The only sound in the room was Libby’s heavy, wet breathing.

“I’m sorry, girls,” he said as he straightened.

Abby’s eyes burned. She blinked away the tears and pulled Libby’s hand into hers. Yes, she’d known Mama was dying, but knowing didn’t make the loss easier. The hole in her heart was still there. She couldn’t crack, couldn’t break. Not now. Later. When she was alone. When her escape from Gary was final.

Luke lurched from the wall where he’d been leaning. “You okay?” he asked. “Anything you need me to do?”

She considered asking him to kill Gary for real instead of merely threatening, but he was already offering her and Libby a way out. She shook her head and led Libby to the living room. To Gary, who wouldn’t mourn; to the strangers professing to be concerned neighbors, but who hadn’t done a thing about . . . the way Gary had isolated them from their previous lives.

“Mr. Sendall?” She barely recognized her voice. “I believe my mother made her final arrangements with you?”

The funeral director nodded and went to Mama’s room.

“The women’s fellowship will be bringing meals, of course,” Mrs. MacDougal said. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”