Fiery Moon Page 9

  I was so focused on sucking his cock and the pleasure his tongue and lips churned that I failed to notice his fingers. They had crept between my butt-cheeks and now stroked my sphincter. I groaned about his cock at the burning sensation. He circled, teasing, and then he thrust his finger into my bowels.

  I howled about his dick.

  His finger sank into my warmth. The burning pleasure rippled to my pussy. I squirmed and came. I sucked so hard on his dick as I spasmed atop him. My fingers clawed at his muscular thighs. I bucked and writhed on him. The pleasure bathed my mind as his finger pumped in and out of my asshole.

  That naughty tiger.

  As my climax withdrew, I smiled about his cock. I could play that game, too. I cupped his balls with my left hand, stroking and massaging them while my right hand pressed beneath his ass. I squeezed his muscular buns as he tongued my pussy, my finger questing for his asshole.

  “Veronica!” he growled, bucking beneath me as my finger penetrated his bowels. “What are you...? Shit!”

  I wormed deep enough and tickled his prostate. He bucked beneath me as I massaged him. I sucked so hard on his cock. He growled and snarled into my pussy. He no longer licked me. He was lost to the pleasure I gave him. I massaged his balls and sucked so hard.

  “Veronica!” Tension filled his voice. “Fuck!”

  Come erupted into my mouth. A salty, delicious flood. His bowels clenched on my finger as spurt after spurt of his seed filled me. I swallowed, savoring the creamy texture. I squirmed on him, excited that I pleased him. His hips thrust up, forcing his cock to the back of my throat as he spurted his final time.

  “Oh, you are a wild wolf,” he panted.

  I slid my mouth off his cock and licked my lips, gathering a few drops of come that spilled out. “Always,” I purred, turning around and pressing against him. We both sucked in breaths. The air filled with our combined musks. “So you should stick around?”

  “Uh-huh,” he groaned. “Damn, you drained me dry. And your finger...”

  “First time having your prostate massaged?” I asked with a wicked grin.

  He nodded his head. “I need a drink. You?”

  “Champagne's chilling.”

  I buzzed from my orgasms as he stood. I bit my lip, savoring his caramel body. So sleek and muscular. Damn, I wanted him. The imprint surged through me, wanting to reach out and touch his soul, to bind us.

  I looked up at the ceiling before I caught his eyes. Just focus on tonight.

  Chapter Ten

  The present...

  I swam in the memories of the night in the hotel room, in the way Shane had loved my body, the passion building between us. I stared at the tiger as he sat watching Britney Murphy's trailer. I remembered how he ate me to a screaming orgasm. The way we sixty-nined, loving each other. How I yearned to let the imprint form, to take a chance with him. He had been so romantic that night beneath the fiery moon.

  I remembered how it felt, lying there on the bed as he went to pour champagne. I trembled, my memories nearing that one moment: Shane atop me, our bodies heaving together, when I surrendered my heart and love and soul to him.

  Happiness. I could remember the pure joy of finally having my mate.

  Didn't I owe myself a chance to have it again? Like Macy said, I deserved happiness. And I would always be empty without Shane in my life now. If I hadn't imprinted him, we would have parted amicably, two people who had a wonderful affair, passion we would remember as we moved on to others. I would have found another man to give myself to.

  But that wasn't to be. I had made the decision. And so had he. We let the imprint form. Was he as lonely as I was? Did he find sex with all those other women as empty as I found it with my booty calls? I had fucked Ajax today. His scent still lingering on me.

  I didn't even care about Ajax. It was all me pouring out my anger at Shane. It was him I wished I was fucking. Not Ajax.

  I studied Shane's face, his lips. Oh, his lips... The wonder and passion they churned. I glanced down to his hand, one resting on his thigh by his bulge, the other on the dashboard. Strong hands with gentle fingers. The way he stroked me. Touched me.

  My heart beat faster. My gaze flicked back to his lips. Happiness. It was worth gambling. Shane came back. He admitted there was little chance Michael was actually in town. Was this an excuse to see me? To try to fix the mistake he made? To face it like a man? The hurt, the yearning. It had to be true. He had to care for me.

  But what if he didn't?

  Fear and desire. They churned through me. They seesawed me up and down, one moment aching to kiss him the next terrified of the pain of his leaving. Three months I grieved before I gave up and cheated on Shane. Three months of wallowing in self-pity, of questioning my worth, of wondering what I did to drive him away.

  Could I go through that again?

  Could I go through another three years of empty sex, a life trapped in a circular rut going nowhere?

  Shane, feeling my gaze, turned his head. He stared at me. His pulse quickened. Heart thudding. It was so loud. What if it beat for me? The hand on his thigh squeezed then relaxed before moving to rest on the center console beside my police laptop. Did he yearn to take my hand?

  My right hand twitched. I gripped the steering wheel. I feared I would seize his hand if I didn't. My eyes stared at his lips. What if he changed? What if he found the courage to come back and make everything right? The courage to stay? To love? To care for me?

  That had to be worth gambling on. My instincts to imprint him couldn't have been wrong. It should sense the man who would complete me. Something primal, beneath rational thought, lurking in the bestial corners of my mind. Animal magnetism. And it wasn't supposed to be wrong.

  So Shane was right for me?

  Was I deluding myself?

  Maybe.

  I leaned forward. My seat creaked. Shane licked his lips. His musk swelled. My heartbeat thudded faster and faster, breathing quickened. My head cocked. My hand shifted from the steering wheel, reaching. I brushed the back of his hand. He turned, grasped me as my heart screamed in my chest.

  Fear begged me to stop before I hurt myself.

  Pain at his betrayal spiked through me.

  Memory of his love and lust warmed my body.

  Desire to have my mate kept me moving.

  I yearned for his lips. I closed my eyes. I felt his breath on my lips. We neared. I licked one final time, moistening, readying for the kiss that would change everything. A new beginning. Not forgiveness. No. He had to earn that. But it would be the start of his redemption, of us trying to find the happiness his stupidity and fear had stolen from me.

  My eyes closed, I felt him growing closer. Air currents shifted, caressing my cheeks. His hand tightened on mine. All I could smell was him. So strong. So powerful. The musk of my mate. The man who loved me. He had to love me. I could smell it so thick and strong.

  My heart beat loudly, drowning out everything. Blood roared through my ears. My entire body tingled. Our lips neared, neared. About to touch. About to surrender to passion.

  And then the damned door of the trailer burst open.

  We both jumped back, breathing heavily. Adrenaline spiked through me as I cast my gaze at the trailer. A man had emerged, slamming the trailer door behind him. All the lights inside were out; the TV no longer painted an ever-changing portrait on the blinds. Keys jingled. The man whistled as he headed for the beat-up truck parked out front.

  “Is that Michael?” Shane asked, eagerness entering his scent.

  I leaned back, recoiling. Michael. I had to remember why Shane was really here. Not to reconnect with me. But to capture Michael. His job. That was what he truly cared about. Why he abandoned me in the middle of the night to go chasing after the coyote.

  Indignation and hurt shot through me. I was so dumb. Why did I almost fall for it? He was so good at seduction. He did it perfectly. He played me. He had wound my body up, spun me that BS about coming back, and managed to fake havin
g a hurt scent. Bastard.

  “Is that Michael? I can't get a good look at his face!” Shane asked, oblivious to the storm of emotions raging inside of me.

  I glanced at the man. He yanked open the truck's passenger door and slid into the seat. My vision was keen at night. I caught a profile of his face. Nose was bent, crooked. Brow thick, chin pointed. I recognized him. “No. That's not Michael.”

  “Fuck,” Shane groaned, leaning back in his chair. “And it looks like he was the only one in the damned trailer.”

  “I doubt Michael would be stupid enough to hole up here again. Britney probably wants nothing to do with him. Abandoned too many times. Smart girl. He must be her new beau.”

  Shane shook his head. “She never stopped writing and calling Michael while he was in prison. She was even making arrangements to visit him. To have a conjugal visit. Damn, I thought he would be here.”

  The truck started up. Headlights painted the trailer, taillights burning crimson. The truck backed down the driveway. I ground my teeth. All the tension had evaporated. Shane had lost all interest in me. It was all about the case.

  “Who is he?” Shane asked.

  “Jimmy Murphy.”

  “Britney's brother?”

  I nodded. “He's a fence and a smuggler. He skipped town after the arson and assault last spring. There's a warrant for his arrest.”

  “Really?” Excitement spiked in Shane's scent.

  “What?”

  “He's Britney's brother, staying at her trailer, and now leaving in the middle of the night.”

  “You think he knows something about Michael?”

  Shane nodded. “Let's follow him, see where he leads.”

  “Won't work,” I said and started up the engine.

  “Why not?”

  “You think he's not going to notice the car driving behind him along the backroads in the middle of the night? He's a Donovan Clan, yes, but he's not that stupid.”

  “Have to try.”

  The truck backed out of the driveway and went right, away from us. I kept my headlights off and pulled out after him. Maybe he wouldn't notice us. I hung back, watching his headlights through the trees as we followed him out through the backroads. He took a few strange turns before he ended up on the main highway.

  Turns I didn't like.

  “He didn't go straight for the highway,” I said.

  “I thought it was a little convoluted. Do you think we're blown?”

  I shrugged and turned on the headlights before I turned onto the highway. I followed after the truck. Traffic was minimal, consisting mostly of big rigs carrying freight. Jimmy drove us into Moonrise and turned off the highway onto side-streets and into residential neighborhoods.

  I followed.

  He took three right turns, circling the block before heading back out onto the main street and heading left. I groaned, following him through the turns. I glanced at Shane and saw it in his face—Jimmy knew we were following him. He drove aimlessly, taking random turns. And every time we followed, he knew it wasn't chance.

  It was too late for us to blend in with any normal traffic.

  “What now?” I asked after the third detour through a residential neighborhood. “Keep following him all night until he gives up?”

  “You say there's a warrant out for him?”

  A grin crossed my lips. “We pick him up and interrogate him?”

  “We have the perfect excuse. He must be facing, what?”

  “Twenty to life.” I laughed. “I love it. You have your vest on?”

  “No. So let's hope he's not like Micheal.”

  “Okay. We need to move fast when I get him to stop.”

  Excitement poured off Shane. The tiger in him roaring to the surface. My wolf howled in excitement. The truck took another turn, heading back out of the residential neighborhood. I sped up, closing the distance slowly, trying not to spook him. Jimmy slowed to a stop, signaling, obeying all traffic laws. He didn't want to give us an excuse to stop him.

  He turned.

  I roared through the sign without stopping and turned hard, tires squealing. Jimmy panicked, his car accelerating ahead. But I already had my foot down on the gas pedal, the car's engine roaring. I raced down the empty street after him and cut over into oncoming traffic. I drove past him then cut over in front of him. It forced him over to the shoulder, his brakes squealing as we both slid to a halt.

  “Get him,” I growled.

  Shane burst out his door, his lanky body moving with speed. I shouldered mine open, wolf howling to be set free. My boots crunched as I raced around the car, drawing my gun. I reached the trunk of my car, aiming at Jimmy.

  He was already out, pointing a handgun at me. He fired.

  I ducked, heart racing. Glass shattered. His gun barked. A beast snarled, hungry and feline. The roar of a tiger. Jimmy cursed. I rose, watching him pivot, bringing his gun around at Shane. He had transformed, his caramel skin giving way to the sleek, orange fur, striped with the black of a weretiger. His outstretched hands ended in sharp claws. He roared, muzzle open wide, teeth sharp.

  He was majestic, powerful. A gorgeous beast. I froze, drinking in the sight of him, clothing ripped from the change, his form both powerful and graceful. Different from a wolf. He was bigger, more powerful. A hunter rushing at his prey.

  “Fuck!” Jimmy snarled, fur sprouting across his skin as the werecoyote took control. He still held the gun, bringing it to aim at my mate as he let out a yipping snarl.

  “No!” I shouted, fear spiking through me. I brought my gun up, but it all happened so fast.

  Jimmy's handgun barked. Muzzle flash lit up Shane. Then my tiger slammed into the open driver door Jimmy stood behind. Metal crunched. Shane ripped the door off its hinges and kept moving, crashing into Jimmy. The two shifters hit the ground glass shattered from the door's window spilling across the ground. They snarled and howled. The torn-off door flew out from between them as they fought.

  I lowered my gun. The larger tiger and nimbler coyote snarled. Jimmy's fur was black and coarse, his arms and legs so long now. He yipped and snarled, scratching and clawing at Shane. They rolled on the ground, both moving so fast. I smelled blood in the air.

  Had Jimmy hit Shane?

  My heart constricted. I wanted to do something, to join in, but the pair were rolling, clawing, moving too fast for me to intervene. If I tried to help, I might injure Shane by accident. I watched as they tumbled across the ground, Shane roaring in rage, Jimmy yipping in pain.

  They came to a rest on the grassy strip before the sidewalk, Shane on top of the werecoyote. Blood oozed from a wound on Shane's arm, matting his fur. His knee planted in Jimmy's back. My tiger grasped the werecoyote's arm back and twisted.

  Bone snapped.

  “Yes,” I hissed.

  Jimmy yowled and howled. He squirmed.

  “You're under arrest, Jimmy Murphy,” snarled Shane, twisting the broken arm. “Keep resisting and I'll break the other arm.”

  Jimmy yowled and then he blurred, fur retracting, a human face twisted in pain replacing the ugly coyote muzzle. I moved in, holstering my handgun and pulling out my cuffs. I knelt beside Shane, leaning in to cuff Jimmy, my cheek rubbing against his soft fur, brushing his whiskers. I froze, savoring the feel of his fur.

  The moon burned above, a fiery heat igniting inside me.

  He let out a rumbling purr, a sound of pure pleasure. I turned my head, my lips pressing against his muzzle. I kissed him, closing my eyes, the excitement burning through me. I let my tongue flick out, brushing his sharp teeth. So strong and powerful.

  He purred louder.

  “You fucking broke my fucking arm!” howled Jimmy. “That's fucking police brutality. Oh, my lawyers are going to sue the fucking Moonrise Sheriff Department. Oh, yes.”

  Anger snarled through me. “Shut up, Jimmy. No lawyer is going to take your case. They all know what a piece of shit you are. Maybe next time, don't shoot at cops when they try to arrest you. Th
at's life in prison, you know. Attempted murder of a cop and a federal agent. Why, you could spend life in our prison and still have another sentence waiting to lock you in Federal Maximum Security. I hear Leavenworth makes Montana State Penitentiary look like a day spa.”

  “Bitch,” he spat.

  Shane snarled and twisted his broken arm again. Damn, if that didn't make my heart beat faster.

  Chapter Eleven

  It took hours before we could interrogate Jimmy. Hours I spent regretting the kiss, even if it was brief. Shane had shown me where his priorities lay, and they weren't with me. The moment he thought he had Michael, all thoughts of patching things up with me had evaporated. Poof, they were gone. Soon, he would be gone. He was all business. Focused on Michael. Wanting to catch the piece of shit.

  And then I went and kissed him.

  I blamed the excitement. Shane had turned into a sexy tiger and dominated Jimmy, an asshole that had attacked my pack. The scent of blood was in the air. Excitement, adrenaline, it was enough to make any werewolf randy.

  And my mate was right there, purring, sounding so sexy, his whiskers caressing my cheeks, his fur so soft. It was a moment of pure weakness. One that ran through my mind over and over as I waited for Jimmy to be released from the hospital.

  His arm was broken. Kiernan and Xavier escorted him to the hospital while paramedics looked at Shane. My tiger wasn't shot, merely grazed. The bullet creased his arm, leaving a bloody groove, now patched. Which made him look so sexy in his ripped clothing, glimpses of his caramel, muscular body peeking through.

  When we returned to the station, I poured myself into paperwork to keep from thinking about the kiss. Maybe if I pretended it never happened, Shane wouldn't bring it up. But I felt his eyes on me, watching me as I wrote up what happened, why we performed the felony stop, and the results. I left out Shane and Jimmy transforming into their bestial forms—these were official reports—but everyone, even the judge trying the case, knew about shifters. It was an open secret in this part of Montana.