Trial by Moon

by Lizzy Ford

  In the few minutes I was swimming in my senses, he’s transformed. I freeze, staring at the massive, pony-sized wolf before me. His fur is silver-gray, his mane as thick as a lion’s. His eyes glow golden, and his teeth are the size of my fingers.

  I start to worry until his scent washes over me, and I sigh, recognizing him at a primal level despite the sudden shape change.

  The wolf moves across the field to me. I hold out a hand, and he nips it playfully. I dig my hands into his fur, astounded by its softness and thickness.

  Then the pain hits. Agony rips through me, hot and fast, driving me to the ground with its intensity. I drop and writhe, biting my tongue hard enough to draw blood and giving a choked cry before my throat tightens too much for me to scream aloud.

  But I scream silently. I hadn’t thought twice about his claim of my body breaking itself to rebuild itself anew. For what feels like an eternity, I’m in the throes of agony, unable to move or stop what’s happening to me. It’s as if a steamroller is running me over - and I’m helpless to move out of its way.

  As fast as it came, the pain vanishes. Tears are on my face, and the scent of my own blood is in my nostrils. I’m too weak to move, too exhausted to open my eyes. The cacophony of the forest is louder, the air filled with even more scents, and my senses darting every which way to the point I can’t focus. I want to cry and scream, to run and sob, to devour whatever it is that smells like ice cream then dive into the lake in the hopes it can muffle the sensations.

  Someone nudges me.

  One of my eyes opens, then the other. The great gray wolf is standing over me, panting lightly. I start to get up only to see a paw where my hand used to be.

  But I don’t dwell on it for long, for I can’t wrangle in my senses. The werewolf is right. Instinct is overpowering rational, because there’s just too much for me to process.

  I climb to my feet, aware of him, the grass, the forest, the night. My legs hold me and I take a few steps, fall, and climb to my feet. He nudges me along and I turn on him, unable to recall when I’d seen anything so incredible as the wolf twice my size. I do what I ached to do when he held me and rub my face against his side, covering myself in his scent, somersaulting when he moves and then rolling on the ground, breaking delicate grass stalks so I can smear their sweet scent all over me, too.

  He nips me and growls, tossing his head towards the forest.

  The moment I understand where I am and what lies before me, I bolt. Scents, sounds and sensations smash into me. The faster I run, the more there are, peeling away my human self.

  I’ve never known this freedom, never experienced pure adrenaline and instinct. Branches can’t penetrate my fur, and my feet are surer than they’ve ever been. I smell him racing alongside me at a distance, sometimes ahead, sometimes behind, always close.

  The wolf takes over, and I stop resisting. I surrender. I flee my sorrow and grief, my fear and uncertainty.

  I run. And run. And run. Away from my duty, my life, myself.

  Chapter Three

  At some point, I black out.

  When I wake up, I’m smiling. Silk sheets slide against my sensitive skin, and I’m perfectly warm. The air outside my warm cocoon is cool enough for me to snuggle deeper beneath the sheets.

  He’s here. Naked. Pressed to my back. The slow, strong beat of his heart is the only sound in the large bedroom, and his smooth skin is pressed to mine. We’re spooning, and his arms are around me, with the fingers of his top hand interlaced with mine. I can feel every inch of him at my back, and his scent is embedded into my senses. I smell like the forest and him – and I love it on a primal level I’m not sure is really part of me, if I weren’t turned into a werewolf for the week. I’ve never felt any peace this deep, which makes me believe it’s magic – but wish it wasn’t. The emotions I’ve been fighting for a month are safely at bay, unable to torment me when I’m safely tucked in his arms.

  Intimacy with a stranger, a dangerous one keeping secrets from me, edges me out of the desire to linger in bed, in his arms, for the next week or two.

  He’s awake. I don’t know how I know it, but I do, just like I know his eyes are open, and he’s been up for some time now, watching over me while I sleep. The way he touches me, as if I belong to him, has to be part of this alpha deal. I shouldn’t be comfortable with it, shouldn’t want to burrow deeper into his body.

  “I don’t even know your name,” I whisper.

  “Benjamin.”

  “Okay, Benjamin. Where the hell are we?”

  His chuckle rumbles his chest. “My home. I own everything this side of the lake.”

  It’s a real home, too, not a cave or wherever I though wolves live in the wild. The bedroom is spacious, with its own living area, huge balcony overlooking the forest, en suite, and two walk-in closets. A wood burning fireplace is somewhere in the room. I can smell the ashes, along with the faint scent of coffee wafting under the door. The décor is surprisingly modern for someone who walks around naked and lives in the forest. The walls are log but the bed and details luxurious, chosen more for their sensory appeal than to complement the woodsy location.

  It makes sense, given how I feel even now, when I’m me again. “Do you live in this state of constantly being turned on but like a hundred times worse?” I ask. I can smell my own arousal and am trying to suppress my body’s reaction to my surroundings.

  “Always.” He nuzzles my neck and hair and breathes me in deeply.

  “And this is how you introduce all new girls to the pack,” I guess. I can also smell I’m not the only woman who’s been here recently. The sheets, or perhaps the air, smells of no less than seven women. I’m guessing he has a new she-wolf in here with him every day or two.

  “Benefit of being the alpha. I fuck who I want,” he says.

  I shiver and roll my eyes, torn between melting at a primal level and thinking this guy is just too big for his britches.

  Which he is. I can feel his dick pressed against my ass. “Did we, uh … do anything?” I ask.

  “You won’t have to ask when we do.”

  That makes me snort. “I can’t remember anything about last night after I started running.”

  “You are, perhaps, the clumsiest wolf I’ve ever seen.”

  My face grows hot. “It’s not like I’ve done this before,” I say defensively.

  “Clearly.” He’s amused. “But you were fearless, too, and you didn’t hesitate to test or enjoy yourself.”

  I vaguely recall rubbing my face into his fur and trying to rub my whole body against him as well. For someone whose first impression screamed danger and the ability to snap at any moment, he had been gentle. “I didn’t think alphas would be so patient.”

  “It’s a complicated role. Patience is probably the only real requirement. I keep order and discipline those who get out of line, but I’m also the first person someone comes to when he or she is hurt, scared or needs help. That’s what it means to be pack leader. You’re intimately involved in the life of every wolf.”

  He’s a good leader. I’m supposed to be determining which of the three will make the best leader and file his explanation away in my mind for future reference.

  A tingle of envy goes through me, and I’m not sure why. Maybe because my father, as much as I loved him, was never the warm, touchy feely kind of guy I’d go to if I got in trouble. I hid a lot of my crazy from him, and I’ve never dated someone I would consider turning to in the same way Benjamin’s wolves trust him. There’s a selflessness involved in what he’s describing that I just don’t possess. I was raised to be self-sufficient or, failing to be so, to find creative solutions out of any situation. Alone. Without anyone’s help, because my father insisted no human or supernatural could be trusted.

  “It’s going to be different for you,” Benjamin adds.

  “Ah ha!” I say with some vindication. “Here’s where you tell me you’re not going to let me dig around for information about my father’s killer or treat
me like a full member of the clan. I totally knew this was coming!” I start to wriggle out of his grip.

  “Stop. Being naked with you is only partially for my benefit.” He holds me tight. It’s so hard to focus on anything but him when we’re pressed together. I can’t get over how much more alive I feel, how much more aware of the world I am as a werewolf. It’s a constant turn on for certain, because everything that touches my skin sends sparks of warm energy and awareness through me. I have the sudden fantasy to wrap myself in fleece and scream with joy at the softness or maybe to hug a sheep.

  Then eat it.

  I make a face. I’m not ready for that part of being a predator. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to kill.

  I realize he’s laughing and I’ve flaked off into my thoughts again, obsessed with experiencing a world I never knew was so distant from me.

  “It’ll be different for you because you will feel more than a normal wolf,” he says. “You aren’t just a werewolf for a week. You’re my mate for a week. It’s different.”

  “How?”

  “Stronger. A wolf, even an alpha, only ever takes one mate, so you’re going to experience that bond.”

  There’s a part of me that’s secretly snickering at the scents of other women lingering in the room, as if I won.

  Won what? I don’t know. I’m too self-absorbed to be a competitive person, but the knowledge I beat out every other woman this side of the Mississippi to be in Benjamin’s bed fills me with uncharacteristic triumph. I’m guessing wolves are competitive by nature or at least when it comes to the attention of their alpha. My inner were-bitch is singing with happiness, and I’m confused to feel her inside me, part of me yet distinctly not.

  “This is weird,” I say, uncomfortable for the first time. “I don’t feel like I’m really me.”

  “There’s a saying about money that’s true about power, too. More of it only brings out the traits that already exist within you.”

  “I don’t know.” I’ve woken up many mornings lately without recalling what I did the night before. My drugs and alcohol help me cope, but this … this is different. I can’t describe what I’m feeling aside from the fact I’m a little scared. Of him? Of the idea I don’t know myself as well as I thought?

  “It’s a lot to take in,” he says.

  I have this sense he can read minds. Or maybe, since he’s been an alpha for so long, he can read my body better than I can. I’ve tensed and am squeezing the fingers of his right hand. I don’t want to let go but … I really do. Confusion isn’t what I expected to go through this morning.

  “A few things to keep in mind,” he says and untangles his fingers from mine. “Don’t wear synthetic fibers. Only cotton, silk, linen, wool. You’ll want to avoid crowded places and public transportation until you adjust.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll be overwhelmed.”

  “I feel fine.”

  “My bedroom is sound proofed and I use scent neutralizers.”

  I’m stuck imagining why he needs a sound proofed bedroom. It’s too distracting to be skin to skin with him. Shaking my head to try to clear it of him, I realize I can’t. Whether it’s the mate status in action or something else, I want more of him, not less, and that’s freaking me out, too.

  My mother used to say I became my own independent person at the age of two and never looked back. My father encouraged me not to have friends or serious boyfriends, because Kingmaker’s should never come from a place of bias, never be easy to manipulate. My duty is sacred, and the entire supernatural community depends upon my decision at the end of the month. I need to keep distance between me and all three candidates.

  I’m not feeling strong right now. I’m fragile. I want to melt into Benjamin and let him decide what happens next.

  For once, I’m not sure I’m ready for next.

  As if knowing this, he rolls away. “I’ll make you breakfast,” he says.

  I shift to watch him get out of bed and cross to the bathroom. His ass is tight and round, his thighs thick and long, and I see his long erection before he turns away. Jesus, just looking at him sends my body into fits, and I ache to be in direct contact with him again.

  I don’t like that, either. I’m in control. This is my body. I don’t care what kind of creature I am for the week.

  I can’t breathe deeply until the door closes behind him. I sigh then, rattled and quivering, with the hollow between my legs wet and demanding.

  “It’s magic, Leslie,” I remind myself. I sit up and groan.

  I’m no runner, but I’m sore enough to have spent the night in a marathon. Gingerly, I climb out of the bed twice the size of a normal king and hobble a few steps. The plush carpet grazing the bottoms of my feet makes me start to giggle, at least until another step causes pain to shoot through me.

  I’m a mess. Stretching is brief agony but I can move better once I make it through it. I cross to the closet, in need of clothes, and stop once I enter.

  Oh, god. Everything smells like him. I think I could live here and be happy the rest of my life.

  “Magic!” I snap and slap my cheeks lightly. I need clothes if I plan on going home to explore the library once more. I feel more able to tackle it today, less unstable, as if this bond with him helps center me.

  I start towards the dresser, stop to stare at the hamper – where the scent of his worn clothing is beckoning to me – and then force myself onward. If I drag out one of his t-shirts, it’d not only be weird, but he’d know. This is the real reason I don’t do it – I don’t want him to think I’m as affected as I am.

  I pull on a t-shirt of cotton so soft, I find myself examining it up close. It’s well spun, like high count cotton sheets. He has to have a custom tailor. This isn’t something he bought in a three pack at a store. I hug myself, melting into the cloudy t-shirt, and then cheerfully dig through his clothing for pants of some kind. Nothing he has will fit, so I pull on a pair of jogging pants with a drawstring waistband.

  When I make it out of the closet, he’s gone, and the door to the bedroom is open. The lure of coffee, along with his scent, leads me towards the kitchen. I’m on autopilot, following my instincts as I peek into each room as I pass. Antiques have been mixed in with more modern décor, and there are windows everywhere looking out towards the forest.

  I wander through the house. Rather, mansion. The place is huge, and it hits me that he said he owns everything this side of the lake. The swath of land runs for miles and contains prime real estate along the lake and at least one golf course where multi-million dollar estates are being constructed on the side opposite what he owns.

  When I reach the kitchen, I pause in the wide doorway, taking in the expansive collection of copperware – polished and shining softly – that hangs above a center island and the long lines of marble countertops and commercial grade appliances. I worked in a bakery one summer, and I’m guessing this setup cost at least a hundred grand.

  “How …” I start and then grapple with myself. I’ve already slept naked with this guy. I don’t really want to know more about him, unless it’s to determine if he’s the kind of person who would’ve killed my father. Whether he’s rich or not shouldn’t matter.

  My eyes settle on him, and I forget everything for a moment. He’s bare-chested but wearing jeans, his golden eyes on me. He displays the wariness of a wolf despite appearing relaxed otherwise. I don’t know how to take the combination of guardedness and well … nakedness. All I can think about is getting closer, until I can touch him again.

  “This is gonna be a long week,” I mutter and shake my head.

  He gives a half smile, his wary gaze on the eggs in the pan he’s holding. His hair is ruffled, a la sexy chic, his jaw and neck shaded by the beginning growth of a beard.

  God, he’s incredible looking.

  But I know this sense, too, isn’t fully mine. Yes, he’s sexy and yes, I’d fuck him if we met at a bar. But this draw is not human. Not mine. Not natural.

/>   “You started to ask me something?” He turns his back to me and sets the pan on the stove. I watch the muscles of his torso ripple beneath tight, golden skin. My mouth is watering, not from the scent of food, but because I remember licking him last night and liking it.

  “Yeah.” I bring myself back from the brink of panting. “How is it you live in a mansion and own half the world?”

  “My wolves need a place to run. Makes sense to own the land where they can run without being bothered for the most part.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking.”

  He glances at me. “I know what you’re asking.”

  I wait.

  He says nothing.

  “So …” I prod him.

  “Can you really read your father’s Book of Secrets?”

  I tense fast and then curse silently. I’ve always been a terrible poker player. Now that I’m a wolf, Benjamin can sense everything about me.

  “I didn’t think so,” he says with some satisfaction. “It’s part of the trial.”

  I don’t ask. I’ve already given away a truth I know I shouldn’t have.

  He’s smiling.

  To take my mind off his biceps and the line of his jaw, I perch on a stool at the breakfast bar and stare out the window. My eyesight remains enhanced, along with my sense of smell, and I can see the squirrels and birds – even the delicate veins of leaves – in the forest a hundred yards from the house with clarity that leaves me breathless.

  “I take it you want to interrogate everyone who knows me,” Benjamin says and sets down eggs and toast before me. His arm brushes mine, and a jolt of desire flashes through me, hot and fast enough I jump.

  He doesn’t react, but I know he notices.

  “I do,” I proclaim.

  “I texted you the address of corporate headquarters. I’ve made everyone aware a Kingmaker will be conducting informal interviews and to answer all your questions truthfully.”

  Not expecting him to be helpful, I frown. “Aren’t your wolves too loyal to tell me anything bad about you?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  I’m watching him eat with fascination and shake my head, hating how hard it is to focus. Maybe, when he’s not around, it’ll be easier. I wolf down my eggs and toast, surprised by how hungry I am.