High Moon

by Kati Wilde

  My fingers tighten on his shoulders. “Ethan?”

  His eyes are blazing when they open. “You smell so goddamn good,” he rasps, and I glimpse the edges of his sharpened teeth. “So here’s what’s going to happen. We’re both about to get something we need. I’m going to give you something to get you through your long day.”

  On a rumbling growl, he sinks to his knees, dragging down my shorts along the way, his claws skimming the lengths of my thighs. Chill air prickles my bare skin and tells me how wet I am.

  And I’m drenched. That must be what he scented. Now he can see up close exactly what he does to me.

  Ethan growls again, and looks up at me in that way he has. The way that makes me want to take all the steps.

  I push my trembling fingers into his dark hair. “And what are you getting?”

  “Breakfast,” he says, hungrily parting me with his thumbs, exposing my aching clit. “Enough to hold me until dinner.”

  Enough to hold him—oh god. Because, Ethan.

  He eats a lot.

  * * *

  Despite three orgasms and a brisk shower, I still feel hot and slick and needy when Jonas parks in front of the county building an hour later. But I doubt it’s just the after-effects of Ethan’s breakfast. Instead it’s because I can’t stop thinking about tonight.

  But tonight’s a long way off. And I’ve got a lot of important shit to do today. So I need to get my head in the game instead of thinking about how incredible Ethan’s long, thick cock will feel inside me.

  So deep inside me.

  Oh god, I’m a mess. Though it probably doesn’t show. I’m wearing what I call my banking clothes—though usually when I stop at the bank, I’m just in my regular jeans and boots. A few times a year, though, the financial side of the business requires me to dress up a bit. But only a bit. No one would call my black blazer and pants fancy. My shoes are a different story, and are as cute as hell. I don’t often get to wear heels so putting on my banking clothes gives me a good excuse. And I like the way they make me really, really tall.

  I stride into the county building feeling like an Amazon, ready to take down all the bad motherfuckers in the world. Kyle’s in his office behind a closed door, so I cool my cute heels in the sheriff’s department’s tiny waiting area and chat with April, who’s at the front desk. Jonas occupies himself with a People magazine that I’m not sure if he’s really reading or if he’s simply holding it as a pre-emptive shield, in case someone else comes in and might want to start a conversation with him.

  The door to Kyle’s office opens, and out walks the bad motherfucker that I most want to cut down—Luc Fauconnier, the head of MDC. But I didn’t expect to see him here. Because both Carrie and Kyle advised me not to say anything about the mines until we talk to the state’s land use department. We don’t want to tip off MDC before the inspectors can get into the site.

  So I’ve got Fauconnier by the balls and am ready to crush them…but I can’t yet. Instead I just stare at him, wondering what the hell he’s doing here. Especially this early, because it’s not even seven o’clock in the morning.

  Unless Charlie already confessed and claimed that MDC paid him?

  God, I hope so. And that might be the reason why he’s here. Because accompanying Fauconnier is his lawyer, Bradley Williams, a condescending little weasel who’s been out to the ranch several times with ever-increasing offers to buy. He’s not a local man, and I get the feeling that every time he touches something in Fortune City, he’s desperate to run off and wash his hands. Nobody in town is ever sorry to see him go, either.

  Fauconnier, though, he does all right here. Maybe it’s partly the money—and that he doesn’t look like he’s got money. His clothes are just clothes, and though they’re probably not straight off the rack at Walmart, nothing slick or fancy. He’s good at blending in with everyone, especially in his mannerisms. He can be easygoing and charming, and has a quick smile. It doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes, either. Carrie once commented that he looks like Tom Hiddleston’s bigger, older brother. Which I don’t really agree with, but I also couldn’t unsee it after she said it. Maybe there’s a slight similarity in shape of his narrow face and his peaked hairline…but once you get to his eyes, no. Just, no.

  He might smile, he might laugh, but those eyes show no signs of life.

  Though…they almost do now. Or maybe it’s just because the rest of his face freezes in the middle of the quick smile he began to give me. But his dead-eyed gaze has sharpened and focused beyond me—on my uncle, who’s tossing down the magazine and rising out of his chair.

  Then, as if it was nothing more than a blip in his programming, he finishes that smile. “Miss Laine. Good morning!”

  I offer a tight smile in return, but his attention is already on Jonas, who has come to stand beside me.

  “And the uncle. Of course. You must be Jonas Laine.” Fauconnier holds out his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before.”

  “And now we’ve met, but it still isn’t much of a pleasure,” Jonas says, shaking the other man’s hand.

  Fauconnier chuckles as if my uncle’s reply was a joke. Then he agrees, “Not under these circumstances, no. I understand you had a bit of trouble last night, and some wild claims were made by the three men who were involved.”

  So he is here because of Charlie. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Mr. Fauconnier—the wild claims that a bear tipped over a truck, or the wild claims that you paid Charlie to destroy our fences?”

  “Accusations that are completely false and that my client unequivocally denies.” The lawyer slimes his way in. “And I would caution you, Miss Laine, against making defamatory statements about my client or spreading these accusations.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I’m not the one who got drunk and ran my fool mouth,” I snap at him. “And it’s not defamation if it’s true that your client paid him.”

  “I assure you it’s not the truth, and they were simply drunken ramblings that were misunderstood,” Fauconnier says smoothly. “But we also seem to be having a misunderstanding, Miss Laine. I am not Brad’s only client or the one he’s speaking of now. He also represents Charles Langerman and the two men who accompanied him last night.”

  The floor drops out from under my feet. “What?”

  Fauconnier nods, looking almost sympathetic, as if he didn’t enjoy blindsiding me. “Charlie called him last night after he was arrested for trespassing. It seems that in his inebriated state, he’d forgotten to tell Sheriff McKinley that I’d given him permission to camp overnight on the Rudder property, then hunt there early in the morning. So if the only issue was that he consumed alcohol and fired a gun when faced with a deadly threat…well, those are no issues at all.”

  “They should be released within the hour,” the lawyer finishes cheerily.

  It’s bullshit. He’d given Charlie permission to be there? So much bullshit. But even as rage builds in my belly and fire leaps to my tongue, I feel Jonas’s hand on my shoulder.

  Because Fauconnier might have won this one. But my hand is still clamped around his balls. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  So I smile and tell him, “Charlie’s lucky to have found such a good friend in you.”

  “Isn’t he, though?” Fauconnier checks his watch. “Forgive me, but I have to run. It was lovely seeing you again, Miss Laine. And to finally meet you, Mr. Laine. It has been…an enlightening encounter.”

  So it has been. Because if I’d had any doubts about what Charlie had done, they’re gone now. So as soon as they leave and Kyle escorts Jonas and me into his office, I don’t hold back.

  “What the hell, Kyle?” I explode.

  He looks just as frustrated. “They lawyered up right away, Makena. There wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do. I hoped to go at them separately, talk to each one…” His jaw clenches. “Instead they’re walking out of here soon. I can’t hold them on shit.”

  “What if I charg
e them with trespassing? Charlie went onto my property. Hell, he left evidence that he did. That bucket was still sitting there.”

  But Kyle’s shaking his head. “He claims it threw it that direction while trying to scare away the bear, and that he never crossed the stream.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope. I’m guessing that when Williams went in there and talked with them, he found out every damn thing they did, and they made up a story to cover every possible angle. And since we’re left with their word against your ranch hand’s…we’ve got nothing.”

  I grit my teeth against a scream of frustration. Because we do have something. Just not here.

  That seems to be where Kyle’s thoughts are heading, too. “Are you meeting up with Carrie soon?”

  “Yeah. She should be here in a few minutes.” When Jonas will head back to the ranch and I’ll ride with her down to Boise. “So there’s no way to get him for those fences?”

  Kyle offers a heavy sigh. “Well, I won’t stop trying. Clint is the weak link of that group, always getting into trouble one way or another. Next time he’s picked up for something, I could use that arrest as leverage to get him talking. So maybe it’ll just take a little time.”

  Shit. But at least it’s something. I nod and glance at Jonas, to see if he has anything to add, but he just shakes his head.

  As I rise to my feet, though, Kyle has more. “You tell Grimmson not to go using his fists and coercing a confession out of any of them. Because that might be tempting, but when the courts and the lawyers get involved, it’ll do more harm than good.”

  Ethan wouldn’t do that, I almost reply. But…maybe he would.

  So instead I say nothing and head outside. Out on the front steps, Jonas says, “I’ll tell him.”

  I have to laugh. Because I wasn’t sure if Ethan would, but apparently my uncle is. Shielding my eyes against the early sun, I search for Carrie and spot her car coming down the street.

  “You tell him, too,” Jonas surprises me by adding. “Just in case he doesn’t listen to me. You tell him not to get anywhere near those boys for the time being.”

  My stomach tightens. He’s using that voice again. The one that reminds me he wasn’t always a rancher with a talent for training difficult horses. “Why?”

  “I’ve met men like Fauconnier before,” he says. “Those men don’t like weak links—or loose ends that can talk at any time. And it’d be real convenient if one of those loose ends could be tied up by blaming a drifter with a history of getting into fights.”

  I stare at him. Sure, I think Fauconnier’s a soulless asshole. But does Jonas really believe he’s capable of that? “You think Fauconnier would kill them to make sure they don’t talk?”

  “That’s the impression I got, yeah.” Then he shrugs. “I could be wrong.”

  “Are you?”

  He shakes his head. “Maybe he’ll figure they won’t be worth the trouble. But I suspect he’s pissed off at Charlie. By calling in the lawyer, there’s a link between them now—and there’s no damn way Fauconnier would have wanted that. Most likely what happened is Charlie called him last night and said that if Fauconnier didn’t get him out, he’d tell the sheriff everything about what happened with our fences. And Charlie’s just full of himself enough that maybe he’ll try it again. ‘Give me a little cash, or I start talking.’ Thinking he’s real smart and that no one will dare touch him. If that happens, yeah. Either Charlie will end up in a foundation of a new hotel, or beaten to death and dumped on our land. And there’s Carrie, waiting for you.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” I couldn’t miss her arrival, not when she rolled down her window and yelled ‘Road trip!’ But I’m still reeling, trying to take in everything else Jonas said. “I, uh…might be late getting back.”

  “All right, then.” He gives me a little nudge toward Carrie’s car. “You go give those bastards hell.”

  Like an Amazon. With MDC’s balls in my hand.

  I take a deep breath, nod. And pray that the rest of this day doesn’t turn into the same shitshow that the past fifteen minutes did.

  17

  Makena

  Carrie drops me off at home just before eleven. We’re both exhausted, yet completely pumped—and probably high on junk food and caffeine. A shadowed form is waiting for me on the porch swing, and even though I know at a glance that it’s Jonas, my heart still gives a silly, hopeful leap that Ethan will be close by, too. Waiting for me.

  Grinning, I trot up the porch stairs—carrying my cute shoes by their straps, because somewhere around four o’clock this afternoon, my feet remembered that I don’t wear heels very often and started screaming. The dogs heave themselves up from the boards near my uncle’s feet to greet me, tails wagging slowly, as far past their bedtimes as Jonas is.

  “You didn’t have to wait up for me,” I tell him.

  He grunts a little at that, standing up out of the swing. “Did it go all right?”

  “I think so. Those pictures helped. They’re sending someone in tomorrow morning, first thing.”

  He looks impressed. “That fast?”

  “Because of Carrie,” I say. “She’s kind of amazing.”

  “I suppose so. You got something to eat?”

  “We stopped at McDonald’s.” Which makes him grimace, but since there aren’t any fast food chains in Fortune City—and the nearest one is a forty-five-minute drive away—both Carrie and I thought it was a pretty awesome treat. Sure, the hamburger patties can’t compare to my grass-fed beef. But my god, Big Macs are tasty. “Is Ethan already out?”

  I really thought he’d be waiting for me here. Or come to meet me when I arrived.

  “Maybe. I saw him at dinner. Didn’t see him after that.”

  “Okay.” Refusing to feel deflated, I run up the stairs to my room, strip out of my banking clothes, and pull on a pair of long sweatpants and a hoodie. Grabbing a quilt and the package of condoms that I picked up at a gas station convenience store, I head back down.

  At the bottom, I almost run into Jonas, who’s on his way up.

  His brows shoot upward. “You’re going out?”

  “Yeah.” My cheeks are on fire. “I thought I’d keep Ethan company for a while. And tell him how it went down in Boise.”

  “Ah.” That sound is loaded with so much understanding that my face flames even brighter. “I think he mostly stays up around Picnic Rock.”

  Which isn’t an official name, but the name I gave the stony outcropping on one of the hills across from the river’s bend. From it, you can see the ranch’s full spread, and when I was younger, it was my favorite place to go picnicking with my mom and dad. “Okay. Goodnight!”

  He nods and starts up the stairs. “Be safe.”

  I’m not sure if he’s referring to the shotgun I’ve kept in my truck since the slaughter, or the condoms stashed in the folds of my quilt. Either way…I guess I’m covered, safety-wise.

  I drive up the road, half-expecting Ethan to appear out of nowhere like he did last night. But I reach the bottom of Picnic Rock without spotting a werewolf, and pull off onto the shoulder of the road. Turning off the engine, I get out and listen to the night. Only crickets.

  And my own voice. “Ethan?”

  Nothing. But my pulse thunders, and my anticipation ratchets tighter.

  A blanket of high, wispy clouds dim the pale light of a quarter moon. I grab my flashlight, tuck the quilt under my arm, and begin climbing the deer trail that offers the best path upward. The hillside is mostly bare, studded with rocks and low-lying shrubs dried out by the long summer, and clumps of long yellow grass. Hiking through them is about as quiet as a kid munching his way through a bag of potato chips.

  No werewolf comes to investigate the crunchy, yummy noise.

  Undaunted, I hike on. My thighs burn from the sharp incline. I reach Picnic Rock out of breath, sweating from the exertion. A breeze slides past my heated face and I wonder if that will bring him. My scent on the wind. The rope pullin
g him in.

  Until he has to leave again.

  My heart clenches at that unbidden thought, and I close my eyes, willing it away. Not tonight. Tonight is just about being with him. The rest…I’ll worry about later.

  A soft growl reverberates right behind me. My eyes fly open and I whip around. In his warrior’s skin, Ethan looms over me, all in shadow with the moon behind him, his eyes a fierce amber glow.

  “Hey, cowboy.” I grin up at him, giddy with excitement, and show him the goodies I’m carrying. “I’ve got a blanket, some rubbers…and I put on my kissing panties.”

  Which are already so, so wet.

  His teeth gleam in a wolfish smile. His enormous hands circle my waist and pull me closer. Carefully, he swings me up into the cradle of his arms, holding me against a massive chest covered in shaggy fur.

  Then he begins racing down the hill. Not bothering with the trail, but covering the distance in leaps and bounds. I can’t stop my initial shriek when he jumps off Picnic Rock, but held securely in Ethan’s strong arms, the rest is a stunning, terrifying thrill ride—

  That abruptly ends at my truck.

  Dizzy, out of breath, I can’t even ask what’s going on when he deposits me in the driver’s seat. I watch through the windshield as he changes into human form and pulls on a pair of jeans that had been tossed on top of the hood.

  He opens the door, the overhead light illuminating his chest—which is a lot less furry now. Just hair-roughened skin over slabs of hardened muscle.

  “I thought you would come to the bunkhouse,” he says.

  “Oh.” A breathless laugh slips from me. “And I thought you would already be out here, doing your thing.”

  “Yeah.” There’s a rough edge to his voice that isn’t his usual growl, and the light snaps off when he gets in and closes the door—not giving me enough time to read his expressive face.