Moonlight Kin 2: Aidan's Mate (Mid-Length Novel) (22 page)
Read Moonlight Kin 2: Aidan's Mate (Mid-Length Novel) Online
Authors: Jordan Summers
“I know.” Tristan stepped into the woods. “It’s why I intend to find them first.”
Before he could disappear, Aidan stopped him. “Once the wolf makes its decision, there’s nothing you can do to change its mind.”
Tristan looked at him, his expression solemn. “I won’t have to worry about that.”
Aidan grinned. “Funny,” he said. “I thought the same thing.”
Tristan trembled like someone had walked over his grave, then his image wavered. A second later, a white wolf the size of a polar bear stood in his place.
He stared at Aidan with those fathomless silvery eyes for a moment longer, then silently raced into the woods.
Jenna struggled out of the pool of water. Gooseflesh covered her skin. Shivering, she asked, “Should I be worried?”
Aidan pulled her into his arms and held her close, then kissed her forehead. “No, Tristan’s just being cautious. It’s his nature.
Our nature
.”
She snuggled against his chest. “I get that, but what about the rest of it? The whole human-wolf, wolf-human thing?”
“Ah, that.” Aidan laughed. “Tristan thinks he can outrun fate.”
“If that were the case, then I wouldn’t be the Alpha’s mate.” Jenna playfully nudged him in the ribs.
“No.” He nuzzled her ear. “You’d be Aidan’s mate.”
# # #
OTHER BOOKS BY JORDAN SUMMERS
Moonlight Kin 1: A Wolf’s Tale
Phantom Warriors 2: Saber-tooth
Phantom Warriors Anthology Volume 1
Phantom Warriors Anthology Volume 2
Atlantean’s Quest 1: The Arrival
Atlantean’s Quest 3: Redemption
Atlantean’s Quest 4: The Return
Atlantean’s Quest 5: The Dark King
Atlantean’s Quest Bundle Volume 1
Atlantean’s Quest Bundle Volume 2
* * * * *
AUTHOR BIO
Jordan Summers has twenty-seven books to her credit. She’s a member of the Horror Writer’s Association, Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, and Novelist Inc. For more information about the author and her work go to: jordansummers.com
* * * * *
MOONLIGHT KIN: A WOLF’S TALE—EXCERPT
Damon Phelan Laroche scented his prey as she walked alone down the frost-covered cobblestone street. She smelled of fresh dandelions on a dewy spring morning. Brightness and light. Feminine heat.
Too bad she had to die.
The Lycanian Elders had spoken. The only way to end centuries of violence was to kill the woman, Madeleine Lucine Valois known to all Lycans as
The Hunter
.
Damon crumpled the photo he carried. He no longer needed it. Now that he had Madeleine’s scent, he could find her anywhere, anytime.
The cool New England breeze brought him more tantalizing information about the doomed woman. Damon shook his head and his brow furrowed. No, that couldn’t be right. He inhaled deeply, convinced that his acute senses had somehow made a mistake.
They hadn’t.
Damon’s heart began to pound, raging in his ears as he struggled with the astonishing truth.
Blood did not taint her delicate hands.
How could this be?
The answer was it could not.
Werewolf blood may visibly wash off after a kill, but the scent took several
months
to wear off. Even the slightest drop would be evident to a Lycan. Yet there was no denying what his senses relayed.
Damon froze.
He knew Madeleine was the latest werewolf hunter. As the only child in her family, it was her duty to hunt and bear the next generation. She’d inherited the dubious title of Hunter from her aged father, the despised Gaston Valois, who’d inherited it from his father before him and his father before him.
So how had she remained unaffected?
Once again, Damon’s nose sifted the cool night air, sharing intimate details with the natural predator within. Details he wished he wouldn’t have learned.
Madeleine Valois, The Hunter was
untouched
.
Damon’s mind reeled at the news, while the visceral impact tightened his groin. As Alpha, the pack depended on him to defend and protect them. His seed would bring the next generation into being. As a man, he could not ignore the urge to taste—to conquer, the
forbidden
.
How could she have reached this age and remain untried? Unclaimed? He had to be mistaken.
Damon took a step back into the darkened alley. Humans made no sense at all. Werewolves never left females unprotected. If the women were attacked, injured or worse, there would be no way of ensuring pure bloodlines and the continuation of the species.
He shook his head.
Stupid humans
, he thought with a mixture of pity and sorrow.
When will they ever learn?
Turning, Damon allowed the comfort of night to embrace him. His eyes were as accustomed to the dark as they were to daylight. He made his way down the narrow alley, past the putrid garbage cans, until he reached the back wall of the New Salford post office.
His muscles bunched beneath his skin as he crouched and then leapt to the roof effortlessly, landing silently on the shingles. His human form was no hindrance to his wolf-enhanced athletic abilities.
Bones popped in his neck, as Damon rolled his head to relieve the tension. It had been a long time since he’d hunted a human. And he’d
never
hunted a woman. Like hogs, sheep, or cattle, he found no sport in the kill.
This was no ordinary woman, he reminded himself.
She was the Hunter and her family was the keeper of the ‘Book of Lycan’. The thought of the information that book held diminished any temptation he might’ve felt, along with any mercy. Somewhere in that weathered tome was a record of his brother Jacque’s death and Damon intended to find it, even if it meant using the woman to do so. Once he had the book in his hands, then he’d carry out Madeleine’s death sentence.
Waves from the cold Atlantic crashed with ferocious fervor against the rocky shore in the distance, echoing off the brick walls of the historic New England buildings. Madeleine’s journey home would take her right by him.
Low clouds hung ghost-like from the night sky, their figures haunting, menacing, and changing with each blast of cool spring air. A foghorn up the coast moaned deep, its lonesome bellow calling out to tiny boats unfortunate enough to be upon the turbulent sea.
Damon’s emotions mirrored the water, swirling dangerously close to the surface like an eddy.
Madeleine paused at the entrance to the alley, tilting her head from side to side, listening. He knew she couldn’t see him from his rooftop vantage point, but Damon had a clear view of her.
Untamed hair cascaded past her shoulders in a silken blanket of gold so pale that it appeared white under the half-moon. Her delicate oval face glowed, illuminating the darkness. Full red lips, the color of ripe apples in fall, practically begged him to kiss them. Her vibrant blue eyes sparkled with intelligence…and uncertainty.
Damon swallowed hard, fighting the unexpected lust that racked his body. He’d been too long without a woman. That was all. It wasn’t her nearness that affected him. The signals of anger and arousal were similar enough to be easily confused. The wires in his body had simply gotten crossed. Damon continued to watch from the safety of the roof.
Madeleine wore oversized clothing, which seemed to swallow her in the darkness. An ill-fitting shawl with bits of scraggly yarn poking out like fuzzy barbed wire cloaked her slender shoulders.
He continued to stare. Trying to see through the image she projected. To Damon’s unfettered eyes, Madeleine’s attempt to hide her form failed miserably. Without thought, he inhaled, breathing in her musky richness. In another week, she’d be in heat.
Need assailed him. Restless and angry, it reached inside and pulled at the very core of his existence. Unaccustomed to the loss of control, Damon growled, annoyed that he had to rein in his baser instincts.
If it weren’t for the book, he’d kill her now and be done with it. But his people were counting on him to get to the truth. The Elders might not care about retrieving the ‘Book of Lycan’, but the local pack did. They’d lost too many members to let the book go.
Madeleine shuddered at the sound of his warning growl, her eyes growing wide as she stared into the darkness, searching for its source.
Come to me
, Damon willed in an attempt to enthrall her.
The wind gusted, sifting through his hair, before taking tiny bites out of his exposed flesh. Yet Damon barely felt the cold as he basked in the glow of her ethereal beauty.
Madeleine’s eyes glazed and she stepped into the alley. Her footfalls tolled heavy on the cobblestones as she drug her feet forward. Damon could see the struggle from within taking place as he forced her to move toward him. Her will was strong, but his was stronger. A second later Madeleine’s face pinched with pain and a small cry escaped her throat.
The mournful sound shattered Damon’s concentration. His chest seized as her pain lashed out at him.
She blinked twice and shook her head to clear it. Free from his thrall, Madeleine whirled around and hurried down the street, without so much as a backwards glance.
Shocked, surprised, and more than a little intrigued, Damon stared at her retreating form. No one had ever broken from his hypnotic thrall. It was strong and especially effective on women.
But not on Madeleine.
Was it her Hunter instincts that made her so strong or something else?
Damon threw his head back, releasing a wailing howl, which pierced the relative tranquility of the spring night. He heard doors slamming, windows clattering shut, and locks fastening, along with the rapid beat of a fluttering heart.
Madeleine.
Her name was a curse and a dream that remained mired in his churning emotions.
He howled once more, for all to hear, claiming his pack, his territory—
the woman..
.to do with as he willed. A smile curved Damon’s mouth before he melted into the shadows.
Soon
, he thought.
* * * * *
Madie pulled the corners of her gray woolen shawl together, her fingers numb from the cold. Shivers racked her body as the bone-shattering howl shook her to the core. Her boots clip-clopped on the cobblestone as she picked up her pace.
The fog closed in, swirling around her, so dense that the air seemed to squeeze from her lungs. She didn’t know why she’d had the overwhelming urge to enter the darkened alley. Commonsense told her it was foolish, yet she’d gone anyway, compelled by an unknown force. Her heart skittered in her chest while her stomach coiled in fear.
Madie hurried along the uneven bricks, stumbling when her boot heels caught in the cobble cracks. She righted herself quickly and continued. The muscles in her legs burned and her lungs ached.
Standing sentry, like gravestones in a cemetery, a few parked cars dotted the sides of the street. Their daytime occupants now tucked safely in bed. Where she should’ve been hours ago. Long threatening shadows spread out from every storefront. Welcoming in the daylight, the historic Massachusetts’s buildings appeared menacing in the darkness. She rushed on.
The howl pierced the cloudy sky again, its mournful sound speaking to something deep within her. Madie’s steps faltered as she fought the urge to answer.
Answer?
How was she supposed to do that? Throw her head back and howl? The thought was ridiculous and a nervous giggle escaped before she could stop it.
It’s just a dog. Keep going. It probably wants inside.
The hair on her nape stood on end and her skin prickled. A tingle started at her toes and worked its way up her body. Papa had described that sensation many times when he hunted. Madie glanced over her shoulder, bracing for an attack.
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.
