The Midwife's Moon Read Free Page B

The Wahpawhats had a reputation for toughness but fairness. She would have a chance with them, which reminded him that he had not told the Ulfric the important part. “There’s something else,” he said slowly.
    “What,” Nolan asked already washing the blood off her fur.
    “I think this is her first change. She has the mark near her shoulder just there,” Lance said, using it as an excuse to touch her. She whimpered, and his heart melted as he gave her an extra loving stroke. “Roxy will kill her if she sees that. She says made werewolves are an abomination, and there’s a kill-on-sight order out on them.”
    “Which you’ve broken,” Nolan said.
    “Which I’ve broken,” he acknowledged. “And will break again. She’s the Lupa, but she cheated to get there. I’ll follow her for the good of the pack, but I will not kill innocents such as this one,” he said fiercely.
    “Okay. I’ll take care of her. Right now you need to go lie down in my guest room. That’s an order from an alpha. I’m not your Ulfric, but...” Nolan said, not finishing.
    He didn’t need to. Unless Lance wanted to challenge the man, he had to do as told. “I can’t stay here,” he said in protest even though he had started to where Nolan pointed.
    “You’re going to rest—and get some of the sweats on from the dresser in there—until Kamiakin can take her to the hospital. Then I’ll drive you as far as we feel is safe. Until then, sleep. We’ll take care of her.”
    With some misgivings for letting her out of his sight, he did as directed. First, he took one last look at her in wolf form, imprinting it into his memory safely to store away with his first picture of her standing in the moonlight.

Chapter Three
    Present time, western Washington
    Roxy Whitekiller wanted to run. Hard. She wanted to kill and maim, and she was stuck in a house in the city. Fury rolled through her for about the hundredth time that day. The infernal rain poured unceasingly for days on end. Something else she hated. Her hair, her makeup, her clothes, her fur—it didn’t matter how she was moving about, she became soaked.
    Boris was busy teaching Heather and the housemaid a lesson which she could join in, but she wanted a man to torture. Since she’d lost Lance with the rest of her pack, she needed to find a submissive male to be her bitch. Her body swayed as she walked, pacing the large living room of the old Victorian style house. She gazed with disinterest at the crown molding and exquisite restore job. All she saw were prison walls.
    Her frustration mounted as she tried to find out the information she wanted. With Joseph locked up awaiting a pack trial, she only had her accomplice in the police station. All they’d provided was information the Ulfric had taken a week off for personal reasons. She kicked at the eighteenth century tea cart, sending it and the Waterford crystal on it flying.
    The resulting crash helped, but only momentarily. She had her leg up, ready for another kick when the doorbell rang. Stomping to answer it because of the unavailability of the house servant, she swung open the door with a snarl.
    Twilight reigned outside, the storm making it hard to see past the front walk. Streetlights glowed on the reclusive neighborhood streets, shining their cars up like bathtub toys. Humans, so frail and full of themselves. She hated having to hide her real nature and took it out on the good-looking man before her.
    “What the hell do you want,” she snarled.
    “I have a message from my alpha,” he said, his voice quaking.
    She stopped her tirade and refusal of solicitations which had been at the tip of her tongue and looked the man over more closely. This man was pack. She took a deep breath. Yes, his scent absorbed into her. She gave him a sexy pout. He was paler than her tastes normally ran, but most of Justin’s pack were pale faces.
    She took his hand and drew him in like an old time southern belle, pulling him into her web.