Moonlight Kin: A Wolf's Tale (2 page)

It never came.

Nothing was there.

“Told you it was a dog,” she mumbled to herself.

She forced down the anxiety that threatened to lock her muscles and hurried along the frost slick road. The exertion caused puffs of breath to form eerie circles in the cool night air. Her feet and her hands ached from the numbness.

One more block to go.

Something that sounded suspiciously like claws raking stone came from her left. Fear quickly turned to terror. Why had she gone to the midnight horror show? She wished now that she had sided with the town council when they’d suggested more lights on this end of Milford Street. Why hadn’t she driven to the movies? The cold punched at her lungs, snatching her breath away.

The bright yellow door to her apartment shone like a beacon up ahead. Unconcerned with how it might look to anyone watching, Madie sprinted toward home. She grabbed her purse off her shoulder and plunged her frozen hand inside, ignoring the pain in her fingertips as she searched desperately for her keys. Her hand closed around the familiar heart-shaped keychain. Triumphant, she snatched the keys, then promptly dropped them onto her stoop.

Her actions mirrored every slasher movie she’d ever seen, including the ones tonight. Desperation clawed at Madie as she bent down to pick her keys up. Whatever was in the alleyway felt
closer
.

“Open, open, open,” she commanded. Her fingers trembled as she shoved the key into the lock and turned it. With a soft click, the door opened.

“Thank goodness,” she muttered as she rushed inside.

The interior of her apartment was dark. Darker than it had been outside. Madie’s heart thudded in her chest, beating double time against her ribcage. She listened for anything out of place. Silence met her.

Did that mean she was alone?

The scrape of stone came again. Madie slammed and locked the door behind her, then threw her back against the wooden structure for good measure. She’d take her chances.

Despite the deadbolt, Madie knew in her bones that what was outside could get in if it truly wanted to. She rubbed her hands along her arms, fighting a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

She pushed away from the door and flipped on all the lights. Madie checked all the prime monster-hiding areas, behind her yellow throw-covered couch, in the closet, the shower, and under the bed. Grateful for once that her apartment wasn’t spacious.

Handpicked for its coziness, this dwelling stood for so much—college, future dreams, and true freedom. It might be small, but it was home...at least until she graduated.

Madie walked across her modest parlor into the kitchenette. A cup of green tea would banish the last of the cold and steady her frayed nerves.

Holding the mug with both hands, she blew on the surface of the hot liquid, inhaling the pungent musty odor as she debated whether to phone her father. They’d been close at one time. Well as close as a father, who’d wanted a son, could be to his only child. But those days were long gone. They’d died the same day her mother passed.

The warmth of the mug chased the last of the chill from her hands, but couldn’t penetrate the bone-deep fear. The howl kept forcing its way into her thoughts. She remembered childhood stories passed down by Papa about two-legged wolves that walked upright. Said to look human, the creatures could stand beside you, enthrall with a single thought, and you wouldn’t know the truth until they ripped your heart out.

At the time, Madie had dismissed the stories as nonsense, thinking Papa had obviously read one too many fairytales. Yet, there was no mistaking the howl. It
had
been a wolf. Hadn’t it? She knew wolves didn’t come near the city. In fact, other than Wolf Hollow in nearby Ipswich, they were extinct to the area.

Something else lurked in the darkness tonight.

A shiver tickled her spine and traveled all the way to her toes. Madie took a sip of tea, praying the warm elixir would ease some of her tension. “You’ve just watched one too many movies. Let it go.”

She shook her head and finished the contents of the cup. She wouldn’t call. There was no sense feeding Papa’s delusions. They were already bad enough and were growing worse by the day.

Madie put the cup in the sink, then headed upstairs to bed. “No more midnight horror movies for you. Next you’ll start believing that werewolves are real and the grotesques on the courthouse come to life.”

Even as she said the words, Madie walked unerringly to the corner of her bedroom and picked up her baseball bat. The weight of the heavy wooden club in her hand calmed her instantly.

Better safe than dead.

Chapter Two

Damon arrived home agitated by his response to Madeleine Valois and the information he’d obtained.

Untainted—untouched.

Impossible!

He slammed his fist onto the thick antique table, shattering the wood, and sending splinters flying through the air.
Damn, that was a new purchase.
His hand stung where the small iron spike bit into his palm. Blood oozed from the cut, but in a matter of hours, the injury would disappear as if no wound ever existed.

Such was the blood of the wolf.

The fire in the hearth blazed as he tossed the remnants of the furniture into the hungry flames. The maple wood gave off a sweet odor as the smoke rose up the chimney. As if sensing his torment, the wind outside his colonial home moaned.

Damon growled, catching his wild reflection in the mirror above the mantle. He looked tired. Dark circles hung like crescent moons beneath his bloodshot eyes. His unruly sable hair stood on end, giving him a maniacal appearance.

He was running out of time. The full moon would arrive in two weeks. Already he could feel its pull by the ache in his bones as they shifted and thickened beneath his skin. Despite the tired redness, his hazel eyes had already begun to lighten. By the time the moon ripened, they’d be amber gold.

Damon decided to abide by the Lycanian Elder’s ruling, but in his own time. Finding the book came first. As far as he was concerned, the Valois’s had violated the peace treaty the second they took his brother, Jacque’s life. The act of killing left them open to Lycan law and werewolves weren’t known for their forgiveness. In the end, someone would pay for the pack’s loss—
for his loss
.

Turning away from the mirror, Damon retrieved the file on Madeleine Valois from a nearby table. Her pale beauty flashed before his eyes, causing a visceral reaction that made his attraction to her difficult to ignore. He longed to touch what his senses had observed.

She was human, he reminded himself again. He didn’t
do
humans...anymore.

Damon fisted his hands in frustration, ignoring the stab of pain as his fingernails dug into his tender palm. He raised the wound to his face and leisurely licked away the blood, groaning as the sticky substance washed down his parched throat like a crimson cocktail. The taste was intoxicatingly arousing and enough to make his cock hard. He smiled.

Vampires weren’t the only creatures aroused by blood. Of course, they didn’t exist. The bad behavior of a few Lycans centuries ago had given rise to the undead myth. Storytellers and fiction writers filled in the rest.

Damon paced back and forth in front of his gray marble fireplace, his footfalls echoing on the hardwood in the still of the house. He picked up the photo on the mantel and studied the smiling faces. He’d been ten at the time the picture was taken. Jacque had been twelve. They’d just gotten new bikes from their dad. It was a big day, a happy day. One he’d remember forever. Damon ran his thumb over the photo. So many great memories cut short thanks to the Hunters. He set the picture back on the mantel and swallowed his grief.

Madeleine wasn’t his brother’s killer. His senses hadn’t lied—at least not about that. He was sure of it. There was no way she could’ve killed Jacque without getting a drop of blood on her. Even if she wore gloves, the blood would’ve hit her somewhere. That didn’t mean she wasn’t somehow involved. She could’ve very well been an accomplice.

Nevertheless, Damon would follow orders. Carry out the decree. Kill her. Innocent or not.

Soul be damned.

Jacque deserved to be avenged. Blood was blood, he reminded himself.

Damon hesitated. Therein lay his conundrum. Werewolf blood
was
different. No amount of scouring could remove the scent. His keen canine senses would have detected its sharp tang instantly. Yet, Madeleine had smelled of fragrant flowers, feminine musk, and the onset of her monthly heat.

So if the latest Hunter hadn’t done the job, then who had killed his bother?

His mind searched back to that painful moment in time. The pack had enjoyed years of uneasy peace with the Hunter until that fateful night two months ago when several Lycans found Jacque dead.

Damon remembered the evening Luc, his Beta conveyed the news in vivid detail. Overcome by grief and rage, the beast inside Damon slipped out and nearly destroyed everything in his own living room.

He shook his head as he ran his palm over the smooth arm of the new brown leather furniture that he’d purchased to replace what he’d ruined. Even now the pain of loss sliced deep.

By the time Damon had calmed down enough to go to the scene of the crime, Jacque’s body had vanished, leaving no blood trail to follow.

A cry of anguish ripped from deep inside him as the memory burst forth, shattering his heart again. He couldn’t bear to think about what the Hunter had done with Jacque’s remains.

Damon imagined all sorts of horrific possibilities, including his brother’s wolfen head stuffed and hanging over a mantle at the Valois family estate. Since Jacque’s disappearance, four more pack members had gone missing and were presumed dead.

Blood or no blood, the Valois’s that claimed this territory had committed the murders. They’d made sure to let the Lycans know by leaving behind their usual calling card, a silver coin with the east coast family’s crest on one side. For centuries, the coins had been the way of identifying which branch of the family made the kills. Each Valois family had their own crest and their own coin.

There was no mistaking who was behind the murder. They’d practically signed their name to the heinous deed.

Damon reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin. He rubbed the crest with his thumb, then slipped the coin back into his jeans. He carried the reminder of their treachery with him and would continue to do so until his mission ended.

The family of hunters left behind a bitter pill to swallow. Madeleine
may
be innocent—for now—but it was only a matter of time before she followed in her family’s bloody footsteps. The Valois curse would take care of it, whether she chose to or not.

There was no escaping fate for either of them. Beauty or no beauty, the killings would not happen again, as long as Damon was alive and still Alpha.

His muscles rippled beneath his shirt, straining with each inhalation. Frustrated, Damon calmed his breathing. Nothing made sense. Madeleine was the Hunter, yet she did not hunt. Was Gaston back to his old ways? Given his fragile state of health, it seemed unlikely he’d be able to take down a Lycan in his prime much less the four that had followed since his brother’s death.

Blood never lied.

It was obvious Damon needed to do more investigating before he took his suspicions to the Elders. He must be certain. The Elders did not appreciate hunches or innuendos, only facts.

All werewolves knew humans were sniveling creatures, who could not be trusted. Yet in truth, very little was known about the Hunters. Like Lycans, they’d spread out around the world and kept a low profile to avoid discovery. The Elders foolhardily offered a peace treaty with scarce information to go on. The document was intended to prevent any more needless deaths. What it did instead was bind Lycan hands, preventing them from retaliating without permission of the Elders.

Moreover, Gaston Valois complied quickly—too quickly, which should have raised a red flag. Instead, the Elders rushed in, drafting the treaty in haste, before thoroughly investigating Valois’ motives for compliance.

The pack now paid the price for their folly.

Damon opened the file the Elders had put together on Madeleine. Scanning the pages briefly, his eyes settled on her class schedule. Mrs. Raven Montgomery jumped off the page. Next to the name was a phone number. So Raven was her professor. Damon smiled, his next move becoming clear. He dialed the professor, pleased when a woman’s voice answered the phone.

This will be easy.

Within seconds, the professor was agreeing with everything he said, unable to resist the compulsion in Damon’s voice. Soon all would be arranged. The bloodline would be severed and the killer punished.

For the sake of werewolf survival, Madeleine Lucine Valois would die.

Chapter Three

Madie rushed through the door leading into the art department—late again. Despite it being a Saturday, people milled in the hallway. A sure indication that the class was already full. Students buzzed, clamoring to be heard, their voices rising in excited chatter. The heat and nervous energy was palpable.

Today marked the end of their final art project before graduation. The Professor had chosen to hire a live model to close out the class. Failure at this stage wouldn’t keep Madie from graduating, but it would lower her overall grade point average.

She paused a moment to catch her breath and tighten her severe ponytail. Sunlight filtered through the windows, causing dust particles to swirl and bob in the bright rays.

Brown wooden stools perched in front of empty easels were arranged in a semi-circular pattern around a center platform. Dr. Montgomery’s oak desk had been positioned against the wall in what would normally be the front of the class. Coats and jackets hung from old-fashioned wooden pegs at the back of the room.

Madie removed her coat in a flurry, almost knocking over one of the nearby easels in the process. She steadied the stand, then placed her coat beside the others. She scanned the room for her friend, while wiping her sweaty palms on her oversized sweater. Madie crossed her fingers, hoping against hope that Sarah arrived early enough to save them a good spot.