Broken Moon

by Catherine Vale

  Catherine Vale

  Broken Moon

  A BBW Werewolf Paranormal Shifter Romance

  Copyright © 2015, Catherine Vale

  Published by Wild Hearts Press

  Website: http://www.CatherineVale.com

  Facebook: http://facebook.com/CatherineValeBooks

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, brands, incidents, and places are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About The Author

  Other Books By Catherine Vale

  Chapter One

  The first thing Harley did when he walked into the bar, was scan the area for enemies. His laser blue eyes skimmed across the patrons that sat at the scarred wooden tables, the lacquered bar top that had seen better days, and the faux leather couches shoved into corners in a poor attempt to provide a more cozy setting to customers who wanted to ‘get to know each other’ a little better.

  Normally the dim light would have made it a little difficult to see faces, but Harley’s eyes were sharper than a human’s, and he caught every nuance of expression, every drop of sweat rolling down the foreheads of the men who felt the scrutiny of his gaze. Though no one met his eyes, everyone instinctively sensed his presence, and knew without question that he was the biggest, baddest thing to walk into the bar tonight… or perhaps ever.

  One might think it was Harley’s visual impression that intimidated other men. After all, he was six-foot six, and two hundred sixty pounds of carved muscle, bone and sinew, dressed in a leather jacket, jeans and chunky black boots that had the added bonus of shooting out blades from the steel toes. He carried an unholy amount of weaponry in his pockets that would send metal detectors haywire and probably give the hardened bartender behind the counter an apoplexy if he decided to lay them all out on the semi-filthy countertop. The fact that he was handsome, with tawny skin and perfect features marred only by the hint of stubble grazing his jaw, didn’t help at all – the stone cold look in his eyes was enough of a deterrent to keep most women away when he didn’t want company.

  But no, it wasn’t Harley’s looks that scared the shit out of people. It was the waves of menace rolling off him, waves that marked him as the alpha and told everyone to stay the fuck out of his way, if they wanted to live.

  So far, everyone seemed to be listening. Which was a good thing for them, because he really wasn’t a big fan of killing, much as his appearance and attitude would suggest otherwise. Confident that there was no threat in the bar, he made his way toward a table in the corner where a man in a ratty grey trench coat, and a stained fedora sat, clutching a mug of beer between his grimy hands. Harley could smell his foul stench – a mixture of beer, pot, and Chinese takeout – from across the room, and for once wished that his werewolf senses weren’t so damned acute.

  “Get up,” he demanded, pulling out the chair that faced the back of the room, and gesturing for the man to sit in it.

  “What?” the man trembled, but surprisingly didn’t jump up right away to obey the order. He clenched his mug tighter, his head sinking further down between his shoulders, as if he could hide behind the beer-filled glass. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t sit with my back to a room. Ever. Now move.”

  The man quickly obeyed, and after they had traded places, Harley settled back into his chair and scanned the room again to make sure everything was still as it had been when he walked in. To his surprise, they came into contact with a brunette sitting at the bar who certainly hadn’t been there before – one who was staring at him with sultry dark eyes set in a pretty face that looked as if it had been carved from porcelain. She was dressed in black leather, and as she lifted her martini glass, she ran her tongue slowly along the edge of her bright red lips before taking a delicate sip of the glass.

  Holy shit. Desire shot straight to his groin as her perfume wafted his way – some heady, artificial scent that normally would have turned his nose, but there was something about it that made him want to get out of his chair and drift closer to her, just so he could bury his nose in the crook of her neck and inhale more of it.

  “Oi.” The man’s nasally Queens accent skittered nervously across Harley’s consciousness, drawing his attention away from the woman. “We gonna talk, or what? I’ve got places to be, things to do, people to see.”

  Harley snorted. “I can guarantee you have nothing better to do than sit here with me tonight.” He partially unzipped his jacket, pulled out an envelope, then opened the flap and briefly flashed the stack of bills within. A grim smile curved his lips as the informant’s dark eyes lit with greed, and he shoved the envelope back into his jacket, satisfied he had the informant’s attention. He could practically see dollar signs flashing in the guy’s muddy brown irises.

  “Yeah, okay, fine,” the guy said, relaxing a little bit now that he knew he was about to be paid. “But still, I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible. It’s not good for the two of us to linger out here in the open like this.”

  Nodding, Harley lifted two fingers, signaling the waitress to come over. As he ordered a beer, he could feel the woman’s eyes from the bar on him, and he cursed inwardly as her scent washed over him again. What the hell was going on? He never allowed himself to be distracted by a woman, ever, and it had never been a problem before when he’d been on a mission, even when the mission had called for him to get naked with one. What was the difference now?

  Doing his best to ignore the sultry siren call, he sipped the beer, which tasted like donkey piss, and regarded the informant steadily. “So tell me what I want to know.”

  The man’s eyes skittered across the bar, and his face whitened a little. “I don’t like the way that broad is lookin’ at us.”

  Harley cursed. “Don’t worry about it,” he said roughly. “I’ll take care of her.” It had occurred to him that she could be a spy, or even an assassin, but now that he was already sitting down here, in the middle of the deal, there was no way he was getting up before the transaction was completed. He had his eye on her if she decided to make a move before he was finished, but until she did, he wasn’t moving from this rickety wooden chair.

  Focus, dammit.

  He was here to get information on the mysterious group that was kidnapping shifters off the streets.
Twenty missing, or dead, just in the last ten months. And not a single lead on where they were taken, or what was being done with them. Or at least, not until today. Hopefully this slimy rat would finally give him the Intel they needed so the Order of Protection could take out the threat permanently.

  The Order of Protection was a special unit, in charge of dealing with any and all supernatural threats related to shifters, werewolves and other human-animal hybrids that were a threat to the nation. Harley had been with the Order for two years, and they were the most loyal bunch of hard-asses he’d ever served with, and fiercely protective of their own. Which was why the Commander had put him on this mission, even though technically this type of thing was under the jurisdiction of the FBI.

  None of them liked the idea that someone was out there targeting shifters, and if the person behind the kidnappings/killings had any inkling of the Order’s existence, it was entirely possible that Harley or any one of his fellow soldiers could be next.

  The informant nodded, then pulled a manila envelope from his own inside jacket pocket and slid it across the table. “It’s all in here,” he hissed. “Now give me my damn money.”

  Harley knew better than to pull out the contents of the envelope in plain sight. But he did break the seal and peek inside, just to make sure the informant didn’t give him a sheaf of blank papers – something that had been done to him before. The documents and photographs he glimpsed within was enough to satisfy him, and he took the envelope of money out of his pocket and discreetly handed it to the informant.

  “Good doing business with ya,” the man said, squirreling the money away into his jacket pocket. “I’ll be going now, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Go,” Harley murmured, his eyes already on the woman at the bar once more. “I’ll handle our… audience.”

  He sat back and waited for her to look his way once more, but strangely, she didn’t. The minutes ticked past, and then a good-looking blonde man joined her and struck up what appeared to be a lively conversation. Something akin to jealousy burned in Harley’s gut as he watched the woman toss her long, dark hair that gleamed in the dim light, as he listened to her throaty laugh, and his cock started to harden as more of her heady scent drifted to his nostrils through the stale air.

  Fucking hell, he was horny.

  The blonde eventually decided he had to use the john, and before Harley knew it, he was sitting himself down on the vacant barstool, despite the fact that he had a packet of highly confidential information burning a hole in his chest that needed to get back to the Commander. The dark-haired woman turned his way, a look of surprise etched onto her fine, delicate features, but the amusement lurking in her dark eyes told him that she was anything but surprised to see him sitting there next to her.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, his voice coming out rougher than he intended as more of her scent wafted over him. It was like a drug, deep and dark and sweet, luring him in as effectively as a worm on the end of a hook.

  Those beautiful red lips curved into a seductive smile. “I don’t know,” she demurred, her eyes glancing toward the bathroom. “My date might come back soon. I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  “Don’t worry about that, sweetheart. I’m more than prepared to hurt them for you.”

  He did buy her the drink, and they talked quietly at the bar for a long time – how long Harley didn’t know. The rational part of his mind, the one who knew the importance of the mission he was on, and insisted that he get his ass back to HQ – surfaced every once in awhile, but it was quickly beat back every time, either by another wave of the woman’s scent, or a subtle touch of her hand against his leg, drawing him back into the conversation.

  “What’s your name?” he asked huskily.

  “Amelia,” she told him, and her scent changed abruptly, telling him that she was lying.

  He frowned, then grabbed Amelia by her upper arm, which was exposed by the sleeveless black dress she wore. “I’m wondering what a lovely lady like you is doing in a dump like this,” he tried to growl menacingly in her ear, but the words came out more as a lover’s caress, soft and gentle. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Fear flickered briefly in the woman’s eyes, but then she leaned in closer, her breasts brushing against Harley’s chest. “I came here looking for a man,” she purred. “One who’s willing to take charge, to dominate me, to make me feel like a real woman again. And it looks like I’ve found one.”

  She brushed her perfect red lips against Harley’s earlobe, and he sucked in a sharp breath as lust exploded from within him. He swept her into his arms, nearly overcome with the desire to sweep the glasses off the countertop and take her right here on the bar in full view of everyone, but he settled for a deep kiss instead. She tasted like gin and oranges, and more of the deep, darky heady stuff that was making his head swim, but he couldn’t stop taking, he had to have more…

  “Let’s get out of here,” she murmured huskily against his lips. “My place is only a few blocks away.”

  Nodding, he helped her to her feet, then nearly staggered out the door, no better than a drunk as he followed her into the back alley. The alarm bells were screaming in his mind now, but they were so terribly faint as he stared at the sway of her hips as she walked toward the street. Her long, dark hair brushed against the dip in her waist, and as his eyes roamed over the sweet curve of her ass all thoughts were drowned out as he imagined what it would be like to strip that tight, slinky number off her body and lick every inch of her naked skin.

  Oh yeah. Something was definitely wrong with him. He stopped and shook his head, struggling to remember why he was here, what he was supposed to be doing, why this was so wrong, and as a gust of chilly, garbage scented air swept through the alley, driving Amelia’s seductive scent from his nostrils, and bringing him the scents of three men, scents that he should have noticed the moment he walked through the door.

  He also caught the scent of fresh, human blood, and stiffened, his head lifting like a bloodhound’s snout did when scenting prey.

  Amelia turned her head, a puzzled look on her pretty face. “You coming, lover?”

  “Wait,” he growled, but before he could turn to face the threat lurking behind him a heavy object struck the side of his neck, sending a sharp pain zinging through him. Immediately the strength left his limbs, and he sank down onto his knees, his abs trembling with the effort of trying to hold him upright.

  “Who… are… you… ” he rasped, staring up at the woman as she came to stand over him, her dark eyes glittering like black diamonds, the cold lines of her beautiful face stripped of their earlier warmth. Hatred swept through him, and he tried to shift, but his muscles refused to heed the call, to do anything except, apparently, melt into a puddle at Amelia’s stiletto-clad feet.

  “I am Justice,” she told him, an icy smile curving her red lips. “And I’m here to deliver.”

  Darkness spilled over the edges of his vision then, blocking her out, blocking everything out, and he passed out.

  Chapter Two

  Harley woke up to find himself in a cell. Not the Shawshank Redemption kind, with bookshelves and posters of Rita Hayworth, but the kind with no windows, with nothing but three sides of concrete, and a row of metal bars around him, along with a small cot with a ratty blanket beneath him.

  Oh, and then there was the matter of the chains binding his hands and feet.

  Groaning, he tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea rolled through him, and he promptly leaned over the side of the bed and threw up onto the concrete floor. The sharp, acrid stench of vomit filled the air along with the sound of his retching, and as the vomiting subsided another sound caught his ears.

  The mechanical hum of cameras whirring.

  Looking around, he saw there were closed-circuit cameras stationed in the hallway, and one installed directly in one of the corners of his cell, nestled carefully in the ceiling just out of reach. He wasn’t going to be able to reach them, not
in his current form – his human legs couldn’t propel him that high. But if he could just shift…

  “I would leave the cameras alone, if I were you.”

  Harley lurched up into a sitting position at the sound of Amelia’s voice coming through the speakers. Another retching sound echoed from his throat, but since he had nothing in his stomach left to empty he managed to stay sitting up. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

  Dark, feminine laughter bounced off the concrete walls. “I presume you’re referring to the drug we pumped into your system? It’s a combination of pure silver, and barbiturates. Rather effective, don’t you think?”

  Harley growled. That would certainly explain why he felt as though flames had scorched the insides of his veins. As a werewolf, he was unable to tolerate silver, so it made an unfortunate amount of sense to weaken his immune system with enough of it so that the drugs could take effect. “You’re one sick bitch,” he spat.

  “I’m sure that’s not what was going through your head when you were thinking about spreading me out onto the table and fucking me.”

  Harley sprang up from the cot with a roar, using his superhuman strength to rip through the chains at his arms and legs. His eyes blazed a bright, unearthly glow as he grabbed the cell bars, prepared to stretch a gap wide enough that he could burst out of here, find the bitch, and rip her throat out.

  Fiery pain blazed up his arms, and he fell back with a howl, third degree burns etched onto his palms.

  “Oops,” Amelia said, a teasing tone in her voice that Harley did not even remotely appreciate. “Guess I forgot to mention that the bars were made of silver, huh?”

  Harley simply lay back, resting his head on the cold concrete, as he waited for the burns on his hands to fade. It took awhile, as his regenerative system was still sluggish from the silver that had already been pumped into it, but eventually the burns began to fade.