Hidden Moon (Hot Moon Rising #4) (2 page)

had happened since he’d been away, and he hadn’t had a clue. The words
heart failure
,

though, really made him swoon in his seat. Dad was an old wolf, nearing the end of his

lifespan.

He had to go to Moonlight, straighten things out, and see Dad before…the end. After

exhaling a shaky sigh, he dug his fingers into his scalp. Vacation time wasn’t an issue.

He’d never taken one, so he had plenty of hours saved up.

His breath caught in his throat, competing with a wave of nausea. A cold sweat broke

out across his shoulder blades, dampening his business shirt.

No. I can’t go back to them. I can’t!

Even though the pack lived somewhere new, Florida was still the south. Being around

those wolves again would stir him up, regardless. He glanced at the calendar.
Shit!
The

half-moon was tomorrow. How could he revert to being a freak when he thought he’d

finally escaped that misery for good? The normal life he’d built so carefully over the last

five years crashed around his head, harder than a tidal wave.

Before he could stop himself, he pounded his fist on the desk. Cold coffee jumped in

his cup, and nearby conversations halted. He hadn’t meant to hit it so hard. The mere

idea of confronting his old pack again must have released the beast in him an inch or

two. If he didn’t get himself under control, he’d blow his cover, his job, and his life here.

Pacing inside the confining area of his cube, he took several deep breaths until his

hammering heartbeat calmed down. He hoped to hell he could control the beast when

he arrived in Florida, or they’d be sorry they summoned him.

***

4

Moonlight, FL

Shelley Fields rushed from Moonlight Diner’s kitchen, balancing a heavy tray on her

shoulder. After setting down replacement fried chicken platters in front of a family of

four—because they complained to the waitress the originals were too greasy—she

muttered the meal would be on the house and trotted toward the kitchen again.

Curtis King gripped her elbow. “Hey, slow down before you drop.”

The warmth in his blue eyes eased her pace a notch or two. His face, lean and wolfish

even in human form, felt as familiar to her as her most comfortable pair of shoes.

“I wish I could.” She brushed back a hank of hair that had slid out of its rubber band.

“But I’ve got hungry tourists to satisfy.”

From what she could tell so far, Winter seemed to be the diner’s busiest season. Don

Shifflett picked a fine time to have heart problems. She caught the rubber band as it fell

on her shoulder. In high school, she’d practically worshipped her curling iron, not

setting foot in public until every hair lay perfectly. Now, she worked so hard she never

gave her hair a second thought unless it got in her way.

“I swept and emptied the trash,” Curtis said. “What else can I do to help?”

“Nothing.”

The scar peeping out from his dark fringe of bangs twisted her belly with guilt. If it

hadn’t been for her, he never would have gotten into a near-fatal fight during senior

prom. Until then, he’d been considered the best looking male in the pack. Most

handsome wolf, too, with his perfect black coat and blue eyes.

“I insist,” he argued, following her into the kitchen.

“But you work hard all day at your distribution business,” she protested. He sold her

highest quality oranges to specialty shops that made orange liqueur, marmalade, and

the like.

“So do you,” he argued. “As if growing most of our food isn’t enough, now you’re

prepping it, ordering it, and God knows what else.”

“My helping out is temporary.” She handed him a potato peeler. “All right. Care to

peel some potatoes?”

“No problem.” He winked at her. “When you come up for air, we need to talk.”

“Sure.” She grabbed a tray of subs and salads and escaped to the dining room.

5

She wished she could escape their conversation as easily. He’d been hinting at

marriage for a while. The distribution business he’d managed to keep alive after the

attack and through the pack’s rebuilding efforts used to occupy most of his time. Since

he’d expanded it in the last couple of months, hiring someone to share his traveling

responsibilities, the hints had grown stronger.

After a couple of hours, the dinner rush finally died down. Most of the tourists cleared

out, leaving the pack members to linger until closing time. Derek Sawyer, the pack’s

Alpha, sipped a glass of iced tea at the breakfast counter while chatting with Rand

Molina. The official pack meetings were held here, but tonight the shifters ate and

socialized.

At least being busy didn’t give her much chance to think, especially about the email

she’d sent yesterday. She plopped into a wooden chair at a corner table where Curtis

worked on a piece of key lime pie. Her feet throbbed and her back ached, but she did her

best to hide her weariness from him.

“I spoke to Derek about getting you some help.”

Irritation prickled her neck. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“Well, somebody had to.” He tossed his fork onto the empty plate. “Shelley, it’s about

time you became my wife and mate.”

“But—”

He seized her wrist so suddenly she gasped. “No more excuses. We’ve slept together.

We’ve dated off and on since high school back in Georgia. Hell, we were voted prom king

and queen. We’re part of the pack’s history. What’s left of it.”

“I know.”
Is that tired voice mine?

“Then why can’t we seal it with the mating bond and a wedding?” His mouth curved

into a grin. “I’d be satisfied with the bond, but I thought women loved weddings.”

A wave of bone-draining fatigue, which had nothing to do with the long hours,

washed over her. Why couldn’t she say yes and be done with it? Would accepting Curtis

as her mate be so bad? He knew her better than anyone, and they cared about each

other. She’d known him so long she couldn’t imagine him not being in her life.

But she couldn’t stop picturing Alan’s face. If Curtis could make her feel even half of

what she did for her old classmate, she’d marry him in a heartbeat.

When he let go, she toyed with his fork, anxious to clear the table instead of answer

6

him.
Everything happens for a reason,
Mom often said. When Don’s illness brought

Alan back to her, Shelley hoped she’d realize he meant nothing to her. Only then could

she finally give Curtis the commitment he deserved.

“Soon,” she mumbled. “I’ll give you my answer soon.”

“I’ve heard that before.” Curtis grimaced and looked away. “I really ought to find

another woman. You know that?”

She sensed he’d slept with human females on his business trips. Who could blame

him? Working so hard often made her too exhausted for sex, and when she wasn’t tired,

it hardly seemed worth the bother. Nevertheless, he kept returning to her, asking for a

commitment.

“I’m not blowing you off this time.” She covered his hand with hers. “I’ll give you my

answer in a few days, I swear.”

His voice dropped. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.” She stood. “I’m going to flip the
Closed
sign. You can help me get

everybody out.”

Curtis smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “You got it.”

When the front door opened, Shelley wished she’d flipped the sign earlier. She

assumed the strange man walking in with halting steps was a lost tourist. A business

traveler, by the looks of his khaki pants, oxford shirt, shaved head, and close-cropped

beard. The blood rushing through her veins knew differently.

Alan was here.

As soon as Alan stepped into Moonlight Diner, he wished he could turn around and

walk out. Getting off the plane at the Sarasota-Bradenton International Airport and

sniffing the warm southern air had kicked him straight to the past. According to the

directions Shelley had sent, the diner was on the way to his father’s cottage, so he’d

stopped here first.

Swallowing hard, he glanced at the paneled walls adorned with pictures of nearby

farmland. The place looked almost the same as the diner Dad had run in Georgia.

Smelled the same, too—a mixture of fried burgers and orange air freshener.

Several pack members turned to ogle him. He froze—a deer in the headlights of their

7

steady stares—and gritted his teeth.

The sound of a breaking dish pulled him out of his trance. When he turned to see

what had happened, he found a blonde woman staring at him. She held up empty, work-

worn hands. Practical, shoulder-length hair had replaced her long tresses. He let his

gaze drift down her white tank top—stained with food but showcasing her perfect

breasts—to a pair of short denim cutoffs, long, creamy legs, and the broken plate on the

floor.

Shelley. Oh God. Shelley….

Her clothes blurred before his eyes, turning into a pink satin prom dress. No sleeves.

Just silky, bare shoulders, begging to be caressed. His primitive wolf brain unlocked the

scent of carnations until he stood in the schoolyard again back in Georgia.

His fingers trembled as he extended the corsage. “I-I brought this for you.”

But the bad feeling in his gut intensified when he realized she already wore one. A

bigger, classier arrangement than the scraggly mass of blooms he’d assembled. When

the couples standing around them snickered, her hazel eyes changed from soft but

guarded to hard and mocking.

“What on earth would I do with that sorry thing?” she asked as she tossed it to the

ground.

“Guys usually give them to their dates.” He swallowed, willing his body not to shake.

“I am your date, aren’t I? You asked me to meet you here.”

“You?” She raised her chin. “Be serious. What would I want with you?”

He’d been set up. The invitation he’d received in his locker smelled like her perfume

and was written in her handwriting. One of her friends must have forged it. Hell, the

whole school was probably in on it. And here he stood, the biggest fool of all time.

The snickers bubbled into full-blown laughter. Each hacked into him with the force of

a machete, pushing a primitive, dangerous button deep in his brain.

When Curtis stepped to her side, she wrapped her arm around him. “I already have a

date.”

“I see.” He cleared the roughness in his throat. “I must have made a mistake.”

“Or gotten carried away by a wet dream.” Curtis sneered. “Beat it, Scabs. You couldn’t

get a date if you paid a million dollars for it. Even an old hooker would throw up at the

sight of you.”

8

Alan’s shaking intensified until he dropped to all fours. Before he could stop it, the

most violent shift of his life racked him from limb to limb. When the transformation was

complete, his classmates laughed even harder.

But when he lunged forward with snapping jaws, the humor died. The taste of Curtis’s

shredded tuxedo, mixed with his blood, was as clear today as the scent of carnations.

Homeland High’s senior prom…. A night he would never forget.

Alan shook himself, dragging his mind back to the present. He blinked, finally

noticing the man standing next to Shelley. Curtis King. The man jerked as if he’d

remembered the attack as clearly.

“Well, if it isn’t Scabs,” he drawled.

Some male laughs volleyed from the breakfast counter across the room. The urge to

shift ripped through Alan’s gut and radiated to his fingers and toes, lighting up every

nerve on the way. Because of his genetic mutation, he wasn’t the typical majestic wolf

people admired. He had scabby, hairless spots in his fur, snaggly teeth, and a violent

temper.

He was the freak of the wolf world.

He forced himself to think of flow charts and If/Then logic, one orderly branch

leading to another. It didn’t work.

Don’t shift. Don’t shift. Don’t shift.

They’d laugh even harder if he gave in to the urge, and he’d end up ripping

somebody’s head off. What the hell? It was as if the past five years had never happened.

He’d deluded himself, hoping he’d magically recovered—at least a little. Standing here

among his old classmates made it clear he hadn’t changed a bit.

If anything, he felt meaner than ever.

The last thing he wanted was another vicious fight with Curtis, especially with Shelley

watching. Instead, he loped toward the kitchen and flung open the swinging door,

harder than he intended.

“Dad?” he barked out. “Where are you?”

“He’s home,” Shelley said, stepping behind him. “I called not too long ago, and Rita

Gomez, his caregiver, said he’s fast asleep.”

Caregiver? Is he really that sick?

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “We have some key lime pie left and plenty of meat

9

loaf.”

Normally, traveling would make him starved, but the emotions still swirling through

him stole his appetite. Why were her earthy eyes so soft? She looked as if she wanted

him for dessert.

He wasn’t a stupid kid anymore. She’d looked at him that way in English class, too. A

real actress. He’d actually believed she had a thing for him and was destined to be his

mate. Why else would he have dressed up and showed up at the prom?

She probably played another joke on him. Maybe she’d lied about his father being

sick to get him down here. From what he could tell, Moonlight was a small town. Had