Hunter Moon (The Moon Series) (30 page)

Cormac’s deep rumble of laughter caught Finn’s attention. His cousin stood leaning against a corner shelving unit. “Did you have anything to do with this?” Finn accused.

Cormac shook his head, holding up his hands. “Nope. Rafe just asked me if I wanted to see something funny.”

Finn turned an angry eyeball to Rafe. “Chocolate pudding, huh?” He took an experimental lick of the goop that coated his forearm. “So nothing’s wrong with my bike?”

“It’s perfectly fine, you big baby,” Rafe answered.

“Here,” Kess said, having finally caught up to him. She handed him an old towel. “You’re going to need this.”

Finn accepted it and began trying to get the pudding off of him. The towel wasn’t doing much aside from smearing it around. He’d need to take a shower.

“You’re going to clean up this mess,” Kess warned. “Both of you.” She glared at Finn and then Rafe.

“Fine,” Finn grumped. “Let me just get cleaned up first.”

“What the hell happened to you?” Laila asked, having missed the whole thing because she stopped by the kitchen for a popsicle.

“Ask skinny over there,” Finn answered, jerking a thumb in Rafe’s direction. “He and Kess were in cahoots.”

“I was not,” Kess denied. “Rafe told me there was oil leaking from the bike and I should get you to look at it. I had no idea that it was part of another prank.”

Finn didn’t believe her for a second, but he couldn’t prove it. Kess was a very good liar. “You know, this means war,” the werewolf groused, stepping back into the house to try and get the pudding out of his hair.

“Hey Finn,” Rafe shouted after him. “I think the word you’re looking for is Gotcha.” His high-pitched hyena like laughter followed after Finn as the werewolf stomped down the hall.

Chapter
Forty-Six

It was the middle of the night; check that, it was early morning. Laila patrolled the grounds of Kess’ house, jogging between the guesthouse and the pool, then around to the front of the house and back again. She couldn’t sleep; she was too keyed up. Sebastian had told her that they’d be leaving tomorrow, and she had no idea of the reception she’d receive from her parents. She hoped they weren’t too disappointed in her.

Everything still felt strange, although the hollow emptiness she’d felt at her core had faded. Getting to say goodbye to Mebis had helped, but she still missed him deeply. Sometimes she’d forget he was gone, thinking of how she had a funny story to tell him or news to share. When she realized she’d never get to tell him anything ever again, the wound reopened. Laila knew it would get better, that it would take time, but it didn’t help. She wasn’t exactly the poster girl for patience and restraint.

As she rounded the corner of the house, the flesh on the back of her neck prickled. Someone was here. She pulled a knife from the sheath at her back—Keepers never went unarmed unless they were in animal form—and dropped into a crouch. Laila sidled along the side of the house, poking her head around the corner.

“Boo,” whispered Zamiel, directly in her face.

Only rigid training saved her from crying out in surprise or stumbling backwards. Instead she came to her feet, tucking the knife back into its sheath, then walked away from the demon. There was nothing she had to discuss with it.

“Oh don’t be like that,” he wheedled, following after her. She ignored him. He kept humming along beside her.

“What are you doing here, Zamiel?” she finally asked when he showed no sign of departing and his humming was beginning to drive her around the bend.

“Coming to see you, of course.” He grinned, sharp teeth all present and accounted for.

“Imagine my joy.”

“Ah ah,” he chided, shaking his finger at her. “No more of that or I won’t give you my prezzie.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, not believing what she was hearing.

“Too precious?” the demon asked.

“Just a little,” she answered drily.

He took something out of his pocket. Laila wondered how he got anything into those pockets with how skintight the suit was, but she decided she was better off not knowing. With Zamiel, most things she was better off not knowing.

He opened his palm with a flourish. “A gift for you,” he said. A chain dropped from his hand, at the end of which swung a black stone.

It was the necklace Lukas had been wearing before he died. Why on earth would she want that? “No thanks,” she said, moving away from him. A demon’s gift came with strings. She’d paid enough already.

“I have no further use for it. It’s yours. Keep it, give it away, throw it in the ocean—it doesn’t matter much to me. I just wanted you to have something to remember me by.” He smiled, and it was almost a leer. “So you’ll think of me. Just like I’ll be thinking of you.”

Laila spun, grabbing two throwing knives from the braces on each leg and tossing them at Zamiel’s chest, but he had already disappeared. She was sick of the demon’s games. She knew she wasn’t going to come anywhere near hitting him, and even if she did, the knives would have no effect on him, but the action made her feel better anyway. Having an infernal stalker wasn’t nearly as exciting as some romance novelists would lead one to believe.

Something shimmered in the grass where he’d stood. She Laila reached out and picked up the chain and stone. It was warm against her palm. Slowly she walked back to the guesthouse, contemplating the best thing to do with it. Zamiel had said she could keep it or give it away. She certainly didn’t want it.

Laila climbed back into bed beside Finn, the stone still in her hand. It had grown warmer as she approached the bed; now it burned against her palm like a small sun. She looked down on it in surprise, wondering why it was heating up. What did it mean?

She moved her palm—and the necklace—closer to Finn, nodding when the stone grew even hotter. Laila wasn’t sure, but she thought this might be the way Lukas had determined someone was a were. It would require some more testing, preferably on someone who wasn’t, which left out everyone in this house, but if she was right, Laila might just have the solution to a problem that Finn and the rest had been worrying over for months.

“Hey, Finn,” she whispered in his ear, shaking his shoulder. “I’ve got something for you…”

Again, enormous thanks to my critique partners: Melissa Marr and Tracey Peake, and to my Beta reader, Nancy Potanovic. As always, you rock.

To Woman with a Red Pen--thank you for editing my books and being a joy to work with! And thanks to Char Adlesperger for all of my gorgeous covers. They would not be half so lovely without your amazing work.

To everyone who has supported me and continues to support me every day with your wit, your kind words, and your infinite snark: thank you, thank you, thank you
.
And Infinite Snark is the name of my new band. Look out for it.

Jeanette Battista graduated with an English degree with a concentration in medieval literature which explains her possibly unhealthy fixation on edged weapons and cathedral architecture. She spent a summer in England and Scotland studying the historical King Arthur, which did nothing to curb her obsession. To satisfy her adrenaline cravings--since sword fighting is not widely accepted in these modern times--she rode a motorcycle at ridiculously high speeds, got some tattoos, and took kickboxing and boxing classes. She gave up the bike when her daughter came along, although she still gets pummeled at the gym on a regular basis.

When she’s not writing or working, Jeanette spends time with family, hikes, reads, makes decadent brownies, buys killer boots, and plays Pocket Frogs. She wishes there were more hours in the day so she could actually do more of these things. She lives with her daughter and their ancient, ill-tempered cat in North Carolina.

You can read more about her and her books at
http://www.jeanettebattista.com
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