Blue Moon Saloon Box Set 2

by Anna Lowe

  When she’d first stepped foot on the place, she’d been tempted to turn around, head back to Arizona, and report that the Blue Bloods were defeated, once and for all. But there was an undercurrent to the scrappy little settlement of seventy-plus shifters. An unsettled feeling that made the back of her neck itch. Maybe the hatemongers were still at work here. Maybe the danger wasn’t in the past.

  “Summer!”

  She halted in her tracks. Of all the things that made her shiver in Utah, none beat the nasal tone of Gretchen’s voice. She turned and forced a neutral look over her face. “Hello.”

  “Come on over, honey,” the fifty-something woman called.

  The honey rippled with some subtext she was afraid to read into, and come on over was a command. When Gretchen patted the crooked seat beside her, Summer’s instincts screamed at her to turn and run.

  Gretchen Walker, née Whyte. Sister of Victor and Emmett Whyte — the men who’d taken the Blue Blood organization from a loose band of fist-shakers to a marauding gang of murderers. Victor and Emmett had been killed in attacks they’d staged on the Blue Moon Saloon, which served them right. But Gretchen…

  Summer still wasn’t sure of the woman’s role in the rogue pack, but she didn’t have a good feeling about it.

  “You settling in well?” Gretchen studied her with that piercing look, and her nostrils flared.

  That was the hardest part of going undercover at Hope Springs. Wolf shifters like Gretchen were sensitive to the slightest change in facial expression, and they could sniff out a person’s emotions. Like fear. Like shame. Like disgust. Summer couldn’t let her guard down for a second.

  The problem was, lies didn’t come naturally to her, and neither did deception. But hers was a life-or-death mission. The peaceful existence of countless shifters was at stake.

  Plus, she could do unremarkable and emotionless like a champ. She’d had to for the awful months she’d been dragged along by the rogues. In fact, she’d unconsciously taken on that role for most of her life. No one noticed her moods. Hell, they rarely noticed her presence.

  Drew noticed, her wolf murmured. He didn’t miss a thing.

  She locked the thought away in the back of her mind. She couldn’t afford to let the hunky bear sneak into her thoughts now.

  “Well, I’m still getting used to it all,” she said. The closer she stuck to the truth, the better her chances of going undetected. “Thanks for asking. How are you?”

  She bit back a scowl, hoping Gretchen wouldn’t go into another tirade over the death of her brothers.

  Gretchen sighed. “Good thing I have my boys. They keep me going.”

  The “boys” were four hulking, dim-witted wolf shifters close to Summer’s age who’d been brought up on a gospel of hate. At first, she’d worried they might become the next generation of extremists. But without the strong leadership of a Victor or Emmett Whyte, Gretchen’s sons were lost, rudderless. The most they got up to was drinking, polishing their rifles, and taking potshots at any jackrabbit unlucky enough to bounce through their sights.

  No, Gretchen’s sons weren’t the men Summer worried about. She worried about the Emmett Whyte look-alike coming toward her now.

  Her inner wolf growled, and she forced herself not to bare her teeth.

  “Hello, Mett. Care to join us?” Gretchen called.

  The man went by Mett, but Summer knew who he really was. Emmett Junior — son of the Blue Blood leader she despised.

  “Hiya, Aunt Gretchen.” The tobacco he chewed showed with every lazy syllable. When his eyes moved to Summer, they slid up and down her body in a slow, greedy path. “Hiya, Summer.”

  “Hi,” she forced the word through gritted teeth.

  “You doing good?” he asked, shifting the wad of tobacco from side to side.

  She felt sick to her stomach, but she could hardly say that.

  “Fine.”

  “You thought about what I asked you before?”

  Her fingers curled so tightly, her nails bit into her palms. Mett had come up to her soon after she’d arrived, asking her about his father’s death.

  Those no-good bear shifters did it, right? he’d all but spat.

  Which made it pretty damn clear where Mett stood in terms of the purity issue.

  He looked just like his father. He spoke in hateful tirades just like his father. He cursed any shifter who crossed species lines, just like his father. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Mett seemed to think she’d been a volunteer on Emmett Whyte’s murderous campaigns instead of a reluctant accessory to his crimes. Mett had even slung an arm over her shoulders, breathed tobacco in her ear, and tried to comfort her.

  I know you did your best to help him.

  She’d just about retched. She’d done her best to get away, but she couldn’t exactly say that.

  Mett made her sick. Her own past made her sick.

  She’d tried wiggling away from him, but his hold only grew tighter.

  Listen, I was thinking, Summ, he’d said next.

  She hated when people shortened her name.

  You and me…

  As he went on, she went still as a stone.

  We’d be perfect together. We can carry on my dad’s work. Make sure shifters keep their species pure. He’d grinned madly at that point. And just think. I bet we’d make some beautiful, pure-blooded pups together. His hand had slid from her back to her ribs, closing in on the side of her breast.

  She had slapped his hand and stepped away as his grin turned to a glare.

  Shit. She’d managed to cover up quickly, thank goodness.

  Um, sorry, she’d said, remembering her mission. I guess I’m still, um…

  She fumbled for words for a second. Disgusted? Sickened? Appalled by what his father had done?

  Still mourning? Mett had filled in, calming again. The man was as Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde as his father had been. Yeah. I miss him, too. But think about it, Summ. Think of everything I could do for you.

  Oh, she’d thought about it, all right. And the prospect turned her stomach every time.

  A fly buzzed past while Mett and Gretchen waited for her answer.

  “I guess I’m still getting settled in,” she mumbled, hoping it came off as meek instead of disgusted.

  “Well, don’t you worry your pretty little head about things.” Mett grinned. “I got it all figured out.”

  His words echoed in her mind, and she tasted bile. Don’t worry your pretty little head…

  For so many years, she’d done just that. Back in her home pack in Minnesota, she’d worked in a diner and done some babysitting on the side. Pack politics didn’t interest her, so she’d never really paid attention to those goings-on.

  She couldn’t remember when she’d heard the first grumbled tirades against shifters who crossed species lines. It sounded reasonable enough to her. Wolves should stick with wolves, panthers should stick with panthers, and so on. Live and let live, she figured.

  God, how naïve she’d been.

  It had all seemed so distant, so unrelated to her. But then Victor Whyte started preaching about purity of blood lines and the imminent decline of wolf shifters. From that point on, everything changed. A slow, gradual change she didn’t see coming until it was too late. Hardly anyone raised a voice to question Whyte’s rhetoric, and those who did — well, they were quickly put in their place. Eventually, Victor headed west on what he called a crusade, and most people just exhaled. Then Emmett Whyte started making noises, too, and her stepfather, Clark, had nodded with every hate-filled sentiment.

  She trembled, remembering the night Clark had shaken her out of bed to follow Emmett and the others.

  “Shh! Keep quiet!” Clark had hissed.

  She went without protest, because she’d been brought up to follow her leaders and keep her mouth shut.

  Both those things became harder and harder to do as time went on. At first, Emmett, Clark, and the others left her behind in whatever place they picked as a base while they
went out “preaching,” as they called it. Later, they started using her to feel out their targets. At the time, she’d thought all she was doing was placing a few calls or asking questions around a neighborhood. Harmless little things, part of the preparation for the “negotiations” Emmett and the others had been tasked to carry out.

  Or so they claimed.

  But then Emmett, Clark, and the others started coming back dirty and disheveled. Sometimes, they were bloody from fighting. Even then, she didn’t ask questions, because it wasn’t her place. And when her stepfather died in an attack, she’d hated the shifters that did that to him until Emmett explained.

  Clark died for our cause, fighting those who are unpure.

  When she finally figured it all out, she’d been shocked. She’d been helping to hunt down mixed shifter couples. She’d arranged ambushes without even realizing it.

  But…but… she’d stammered. You said you’re negotiating.

  Don’t be ridiculous, child. Emmett dismissed her, as he always did.

  But you’re killing them!

  Of course, we’re killing them! he’d snarled in her face. They are unpure! They weaken us all!

  She wanted no part of that sick crusade, but Emmett wouldn’t let her go. The day she finally worked up the nerve to run for the hills, she’d caught the sound of wailing babies and arguing men.

  Kill them, Emmett was saying. Just kill them.

  She’d stopped dead in her tracks. Emmett was going to kill innocent children?

  Wait! She had rushed over and found the men clustered around two petrified cubs torn from their dead mother’s side.

  What are you doing? She’d clutched the children to her body, protecting them instinctively. How sick are you?

  They are unpure, Emmett replied in a horrifyingly emotionless tone. They die.

  He might have killed her, too, if her desperation hadn’t fueled a crazy plan.

  Don’t kill them! Keep them alive.

  Somehow, she managed to convince Emmett to spare the cubs — for a little while. If Emmett hadn’t gotten sidetracked into hunting down the wolves and bears of the Blue Moon Saloon, who knows what might have happened?

  The Blue Moon Saloon shifters had killed Emmett and his gang then taken the babies under their wing. Fay and Ben had a good home now, up in Montana with Soren’s cousin, Todd, and his mate, Anna. Not only did the Blue Moon clan save the babies — they saved Summer, too, giving her a place to work and live.

  But hell, here she was, back in a den of wolves. Who was an enemy? Who might be an ally?

  Sometimes, she wanted to fold into a ball and cry to go home. But there’d be no home for her, no peace if she didn’t see this through.

  She masked her roiling emotions and faced Mett with a neutral expression. He looked hopeful, as if she was likely to squeal, Yes! I’d love to be your mate, you racist, murdering pig.

  “I guess I still need more time to clear my head,” she said.

  Gretchen scowled. And the creases on her forehead folded even more deeply when a second man joined them. A tall, blond wolf shifter whose presence made Mett take a step back.

  “Hello, Thomas,” Gretchen murmured, not at all pleased.

  He stepped up, tipping his hat and nodding to both women. “Hello.”

  Every woman in Hope Springs swooned over Thomas. He had the chiseled good looks of a daytime soap opera star, the build of a champion quarterback, and a ready, genuine smile. Like Summer, he was a newcomer to the settlement, and he seemed a perfect gentleman in every way. Apparently, he was the second son of a powerful alpha from somewhere up north. A shifter coming into his prime and ready to lead a pack of his own.

  And like Mett, Thomas’ eyes shone a little brighter when he looked at her.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What was it about falling in love for the first time — in love with Drew, that is — that made her a magnet for other men? It was as if Drew had reached into her heart and turned on a light that everyone could see.

  If she could have turned tail and run back to Arizona, she’d have done it there and then. But she couldn’t. She had to stay and figure out what direction this leaderless pack seemed to be taking, how much of a threat they still were.

  “If you’ll excuse us…” Thomas murmured to Mett, taking Summer by the arm and leading her away.

  She followed, if only to escape the clutches of Gretchen and Mett, and shot a sidelong glance at Thomas. If Mett worried her with his sick beliefs, Thomas worried her with his charisma and inborn strength. The man was an alpha through and through. If he was to take over the leadership of this pack, everyone would follow like blind sheep, exactly as she once had. And who knew how radical his beliefs were?

  She watched Thomas surreptitiously. Was he capable of horrors like those perpetuated by the Whytes?

  “How does it feel to be back home?” Thomas asked.

  Home? Hope Springs wasn’t home. The Blue Moon Saloon was. She’d only spent a short time in Hope Springs — another brief stop before Emmett and his gang set off again on their crazy quest.

  “I guess I’m still trying to figure out where home is,” she said truthfully.

  Gretchen appeared out of nowhere and patted Summer’s arm with her long, bony fingers. “We’ll rebuild, honey. One step at a time.”

  Exactly what she was afraid of. She looked at Thomas, wondering where he stood.

  Thomas murmured in agreement. “One step at a time.”

  Man, was he impossible to read.

  Three pickups drove into the compound and parked by the ramshackle barn used as a meeting house. Summer watched as several shifters she didn’t recognize exited their vehicles.

  “Time to get started,” Thomas said. His nostrils flared, and his shoulders grew stiff.

  “Started?” Summer asked.

  He nodded toward the barn. “The meeting. Why don’t you come?”

  She froze and stared at the barn. Community meetings in this pack were a men-only thing. Only a select few women attended — like Gretchen, of course. Summer had never been to a meeting, and with the Whytes in charge, she’d never considered asking to attend.

  “Please come,” Thomas said in a softer voice. “I’d like you to come.”

  His eyes were softer, too, and for a second, she thought she caught a whiff of the telltale scent of a wolf’s arousal.

  Her stomach flipped. Shit. Thomas couldn’t be interested in her that way, could he? She didn’t want the attention or the complication.

  I just want Drew, her wolf cried.

  Gretchen scowled in open disapproval.

  “Sure,” Summer said, following Thomas. What choice did she have? “That would be great.”

  The scratch of hurried footsteps behind her said Gretchen was coming, too, and when Thomas held the door open for her, Gretchen shouldered through first.

  Summer sighed. That woman was as into hierarchy as the worst of the men.

  Thomas winked at her, and her gut roiled. What if her whole plan went wrong and Thomas forced her to help in more attacks? After all, Emmett and Victor Whyte had been considered charming in their day.

  She glanced over at Mett and hid a frown. Obviously, charm could skip generations, too.

  When Thomas touched her arm, she wanted to run. Instead, she took a deep breath and followed him. But when he took a place at the front, she slipped around behind the crowd and tried melting into the woodwork as she scrutinized every face.

  There were a dozen locals there already, most of them older men who’d gone along with the Whytes’ sick dream without actually participating in any attacks — at least, as far as she knew. The newcomers seemed to have come separately, and more were still filing in. Wolf shifters, all of them. The men shook hands and leaned in close to each other in private conversation.

  Can’t wait to go kill some more innocent shifters, she imagined one saying to another. Or was the man saying, It’s about time we dissolved this crazy-ass pack?

  The strongest alphas �
�� those who might vie for leadership of this pack — were easy to spot. They were the ones exuding testosterone with every bold step, every sidelong glance that put others in their place. As more and more shifters arrived, she gaped. How did she miss that this meeting was going to take place?

  She shook her head at herself. Of course, there’d be a meeting sooner or later. And of course, no one would have told her about it because it wasn’t her place. She looked up a second later, determined not to slip into her old ways. She’d tune in to every word, analyze every gesture.

  “All right, let’s begin.” One of the older locals called the meeting to order. “We’re here for nominations for leadership of the Blue Blood pack.”

  It sounded so civilized, though she suspected it would end in the usual bloody mess. Wolves didn’t just run for candidacy. They fought to the death.

  Everyone’s eyes slid to two men: Thomas and a scarred old wolf from somewhere farther west. After a weighty silence, they both stepped forward and glared at each other.

  “I’m for Thomas,” someone to her right whispered to a friend.

  “I’m for Dryver,” the other said. “He’s older. More experienced. He already leads his own pack. We could join them.”

  Summer scribbled notes on her mental notepad. The problem was, neither Thomas nor Dryver was transparent enough to understand. Well, no alpha ever was. Even when the crowd started lobbing questions at the men, they both danced around the issue of continuing the so-called crusade against unpure shifters.

  “Who are you for?” Mett slid up beside her and whispered in her ear.

  She flinched. “Whoever’s the better leader, I guess.”

  That sounded vague enough, didn’t it? Vague and airheaded, like she’d used to be. But inside, she considered what her true answer might be. Thomas? Dryver? Neither?