DARKSIDE OF THE MOON (7 page)

Something was very wrong.

“You and Jaxon stay in Jonesboro until he makes contact. I can’t afford to lose any of my Guardians. Especially now.”

“What do you mean?” Lucien’s gut tightened.

“There’s more going on with Louisiana than what I’m being told. My instinct tells me that Edward Boudier is taking his vengeance to a whole other level because of the stink I raised with his Assassins.”

“That’s not good.”

“What’s not fucking good is Zane not contacting me. You make sure to tell him I’m going to have his ass when I find him.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Lucien killed the call and looked over at Jaxon, who was now eyeing him with interest.

“What’d he say? He heard from Zane?” Jaxon crossed his arms over his chest.

“Nope. And I got a feeling when he does, it’s not going to be good for our Pack brother.”

***

Zane woke up buck-ass naked in the middle of Skylar’s kitchen. The cool tile felt good against his overheated body, and he stayed still for a few minutes, reveling in the sensation.

The shadow of the descending sun crawled across the floor, signaling the impending dusk. He frowned, raised himself up, and looked around for a clock. His gaze landed on the microwave. Six thirty.

He’d been asleep for almost six hours, and he felt like he could sleep for six more.

He’d never been like that. Usually, four hours a night made him feel good and rested, but not now. Now he felt like he’d been run over by a fucking eighteen-wheeler and dragged for one hundred miles.

He forced his feet under him and stood on shaky legs. His thigh throbbed. He glanced down. The injury where he’d been stabbed had changed colors. What had been red was now dark crimson with a gray outline around the ragged edge of the cut.

He ran his finger down the injury and flinched at the sensitive flesh.

What the fuck? How had crystal meth done this to him? He was virtually immortal. It didn’t make sense.

He swiped his bundle of clothes off the counter and made his way through the apartment to the bathroom.

The apartment was small, with a kitchen that led to the living room. There was a small island that allowed for eating but clearly no room to put in a table. The kitchen counters were clean with no knickknacks or decorations, and the living room only housed a small white couch and a coffee table. He glanced around the room. The few pictures that hung on the wall were all art posters. She didn’t have one personal photo.

It seemed impersonal, like a hotel. Usually, women liked to decorate their homes, putting their personal touches on the space. But Skylar hadn’t done that. He couldn’t help but wonder if her upbringing had anything to do with it.

He entered the bedroom and stopped in his tracks. Here in her boudoir, she certainly didn’t skimp.

The enormous king-sized bed made of wrought iron and dark wood was flanked on either side with marble-topped nightstands. The bed was decorated in shades of white and cream, and it reminded him of silky ice cream on a hot Arkansas night. The only colorful things were a couple of froufrou pink pillows on the bed.

The nightstands were identical, with matching white lamps with tassels hanging off their shades. A few books and a candle decorated one of the nightstands, which he assumed was probably the side she slept on. The other nightstand looked a bit lonely with just its lamp keeping it company.

A matching dresser and chest of drawers rounded out the furniture in the room. Yet there were still no personal photos of any kind anywhere.

What had happened to Skylar to make her seem so alone? Where was the little girl he once knew? What had happened in those few years he’d not kept in contact? And why had his Katy not contacted her?

He cast a longing glance at the bed before turning to the bathroom. The last thing he needed was to get his unwashed ass in her pristine bed and stink it up.

He shoved the cream-and-silver shower curtain back and turned the shower on full force. A shower had always perked him up before. Maybe it would do its magic this time.

He stepped into the shower as the steam began to fog up the mirror like a New England morning. He stood under the spray of the hot water, braced his palms on the tile wall, and bent his head, letting the water fall on his neck in a heated rush. He let out a groan as the heat loosened up the muscles between his shoulders and the tension he’d carried all day fell to the drain with the cascade of water.

He needed to find out what the hell was wrong with him before Barrett found out.

He needed his job—no, he lived his job. There was no fucking way he was going to let some meth-head werewolf destroy everything he’d created and worked for.

Zane looked up and growled.

He was going to hunt that fucker down and make him fix him.

And then he was going to rip his throat out.

***

“So you’re telling me Zane never came back or made contact with you after he arrived?” Lucien narrowed his gaze on Matt. The tattoo artist shifted his weight and looked a little uncomfortable as Lucien questioned him. Lucien always knew when a wolf was lying, and his gut told him Matt was telling the truth.

“Yeah, man. I was too busy getting your Guardian’s tatt going to even notice if he came inside or not. You know I do the Guardian ink in the back room, away from the general public.” Matt shook his head and laughed. “The last thing I need is for humans to see that tattoo and demand to get the same thing. It is pretty badass, you know.”

“Sure is.” Jaxon smiled his easy smile and popped a piece of gum in his mouth as he surveyed the latest addition to the tattoo shop in the form of a beautiful human female in jeans that hugged her curves. She gave him a sexy smirk as she bent over to pick up a piece of paper. She made sure to keep her ass up in the air so he could get a good look.

Jaxon growled his male appreciation.

Lucien slugged him in the shoulder.

“Hey.” Jaxon scowled and rubbed his arm.

“Pay attention. You’re not here to get laid. You’re on duty.” Lucien’s measured words were emphasized as he spat them out between clenched teeth. It was bad enough that Zane was missing and he’d lied to Barrett about his whereabouts. “I don’t have time to babysit you or your dick.”

“Fuck off. You’d like babysitting my dick too much for my comfort.” Jaxon snorted and returned the punch to the arm.

“Is there something I need to tell Barrett about?” Matt arched his brow as he glanced around nervously. “I mean, I don’t want there to be any trouble. He’s been a good Pack Master and I don’t want to piss him off.”

“Fuck, no. We got everything under control. As you know, your duty is to keep the Guardians tatted up. That’s it.” Lucien scowled at the tattoo artist.

Matt swallowed and let out a sigh. “Yeah. The last thing I want to do is be on Barrett’s bad side.”

“You have no fucking idea.” Lucien turned and made his exit out of the Moon Goddess Tattoo Shop. He hurried to his bike and straddled the massive motorcycle. Jaxon mounted his bike and gave him a look.

“So what is it that we aren’t telling Barrett?” Jaxon flipped the kickstand and balanced the bike between his powerful thighs.

Lucien gave him a long look. “That Zane has gone rogue.”

***

“Skylar, why does this canvas smell like wet dog?” Hector grimaced as he positioned the tarpaulin on the floor for tomorrow’s painting of the sheetrock. Her worker shook his head and said something in Spanish that was probably a lot of cursing. “Did you adopt a homeless animal?”

She grinned.

“Maybe.” If Hector only knew he was smelling a werewolf and not a dog.

“Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow to get the second coat on.” Hector stood up and ran his gaze along the wall, assessing the baseboards lined with blue painters tape.

“Sounds good.” She gathered her tools to take out to the shed. Hector grabbed the heavier tools and headed out the door. She shook her head. “Hector, I can carry my own tools. I don’t need your help.”

“That’s what you always say. You need to learn to accept help when it’s given,” Hector hollered from the yard. “You’re too damn stubborn for your own good.”

“So I’ve been told.” She snorted and cradled her tools as she followed after Hector. The sun had dipped behind the horizon, leaving purples and pinks in its wake across the sky. Despite the evening’s approach, the humidity stuck to her skin like a plastic Halloween mask that had been worn by a sweaty child. Placing her tools inside the shed, she closed the door and placed a new chain and lock she’d picked up in town around the handle. She’d hidden the evidence of the break-in from her workers. She didn’t want them asking any questions and she didn’t want them to worry that a drug-head was breaking in and stealing the equipment. If they started worrying, then they’d start looking for another job site to work.

“Nice job today. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.” She grinned and strode toward the house.

“I can wait on you.” Hector scowled.

She stopped and turned to face the man. He’d been working with her since she started, and she’d learned that he was a dependable, hardworking family man with six kids all under the age of seven. He worked long hours to give his family a life he never had.

“Hector, go home. I’m fine. You are going to miss Cecily’s dance recital.” Cecily was Hector’s older daughter and had been taking dance lessons for the last six months. She loved it more than life and told everyone she met that she was going to dance in New York City one day.

A smile broke out across the man’s face. “She’s wearing that pink fluffy thing you gave her.”

“It’s called a tutu. And I’m glad she liked it.” Skylar had found the tutu in a yard sale in one of the upscale neighborhoods in Jonesboro. She knew Cecily would love it the second she’d laid eyes on it.

“Maria bought her a little crown thing to go with it.” He pointed to the top of his head.

“Tiara. It’s called a tiara.” She shook her head. “You’ve got six girls, Hector. You need to learn the language of all things female.”

Hector laughed a little. “That’s what you need, Skylar. A little girl all your own. You spoil ours too much.”

She felt her smile falter. She’d never have a child because she’d never have a mate. She was damaged goods. She knew her place in this world.

She’d accepted her fate long ago.

“You’ve got enough girls for me to spoil. I don’t need one of my own.” She plastered on a fake smile that didn’t have any roots in her heart and continued toward the house.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Skylar.” Hector hurried to his truck. A few seconds later, there was nothing but a cloud of dust where his old truck had been.

She went room to room making sure no tools had been left behind. She didn’t need even one to go missing. She was operating on bare bones.

Darkness had fallen silently. She’d been too busy locking up to notice the time. Pulling out her phone, she frowned as she realized it was almost eight o’clock.

Unease slithered up the crook of her neck and pressed its weight onto her shoulders. She cut her eyes around the dark house, looking for any signs that someone had snuck in while she wasn’t looking.

No, that wasn’t it. Whatever had her nerves on alert was coming from outside.

Easing up to the living room window, she scanned the yard. Her pupils widened to accommodate the dark.

Nothing.

Stepping away from the window, she shook her head.

“I’m just being weirded out because of Zane.” Ever since he’d shown up, she couldn’t stop thinking about what kind of trouble he was in. And why he couldn’t control his shift.

If any werewolf found out that Zane was out of control, they wouldn’t hesitate to turn him over to the Pack Master of Arkansas. It didn’t matter if Zane carried the Guardian mark or not. Easy money was easy money.

And if the Pack Master found out she’d known about Zane and had hidden him, she’d face punishment as well.

“Maybe he’ll be gone when I get home.” The thought oddly disturbed her. Despite the danger he was placing her in, she didn’t want him to leave. There were so many questions she had.

When had he become a Guardian?

How were his parents?

What was going on with his sister Katy?

Unease slipped into a familiar feeling of sadness as she thought of his sister. Katy had been like her own sister until a few years ago. They’d grown up together and had lived together in Louisiana. Now, they were strangers.

Slamming the door shut and turning the lock, she hurried down the steps and across the yard to her own truck. Getting in, she started the engine and locked the doors. Old habits die hard.

She turned on the road and headed back to town and to whatever surprise awaited her.

***

Zane paced the cramped space in the bedroom as he continued to peer out the window for Skylar’s truck.

Where the hell was she?

It was dark, and she should have been home hours ago.

His skin crawled as his heartbeat jumped into a fast rhythm. His body hummed with energy, and he wanted nothing more than to shift and run off his anxiety.

The lock in the front door clicked, and he stopped in his tracks.

“Zane?” Skylar’s soft voice called out from the other room.

Relief and irritation hit him square in the gut like a sucker punch. Fisting his hands, he stormed into the living room.

“Where the hell have you been?” he thundered.

“Working.” She pulled what smelled like food containers from brown paper bags and narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you naked?”

He glanced down at the towel wrapped around his hips and then scowled at her.

“I ruined my clothes, remember?”

“I know, but you could have at least put my robe on instead of that.”

“Stop changing the subject. It’s been dark for hours. Where have you been?”

“I had to stop and get you more clothes. This time I bought extra.” She dropped the bag on the kitchen counter. She jerked her head back at him and shot him a glare. “Wait, do you think I ratted you out to your Pack Master?” Her lips pressed into a white line as her gaze narrowed even further. “I may not be a gray, but I don’t ever rat out my race. Ever.” She shoved away from the kitchen counter and stormed past him toward the bedroom.