by Lia Connor
Full Moon Night
Lia Connor
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2006 Lia Connor
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ISBN (10) 1-59596-480-0
ISBN (13) 978-1-59596-480-9
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Editor: Vikky Bertling
Cover Artist: Zuri
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Prologue
“Tonight, we celebrate!”
Letting loose with a wild cry, part man-voice and part howl to the moon, Saint Sin jumped down from the sandy verge that surrounded the square of beach he’d marked as his. He landed in the middle of three women who laughed and started to fawn over him. Red-head, blond, and brunette, each one of them pretty in their way, but not what he wanted. Ruffling up their hair, Saint Sin got himself out of the tangle and headed over to a seat by the bonfire, settling down next to Juarez.
His second-in-command nodded to him, kicking at the sand with one tough boot. “Take your shoes off,” Saint Sin ordered, glancing down at his own bare toes and at the women, dancing all but naked. “We’re all friends here.”
Juarez gave Saint Sin a dark look, but obeyed, toeing off the boots and placing them behind him on the log.
“That’s my boy,” Saint Sin approved. He planted his hands on the log and leaned back a little, watching the men and women of his gang dance in the glow of the setting sun. They weren’t perfect, not strong or tall like himself or Juarez. Some were small, some had imperfections, and most of them were skinny.
That’d all change soon, though.
“Tonight’s the night,” he said, twisting open a bottle of stolen beer. He tipped it back and drank even as he felt Juarez’s dark gaze fasten upon him. “She’s held out for a long time, but it’s a full moon tonight. She won’t be able to resist coming to play with us.”
He grinned to himself in a way that would have left no outsider in doubt of what he meant by playing.
Juarez dug his toes into the sand. “You’re sure about what you’re doing?” he asked in a low voice, beneath the wailing cries of jubilation from the rest of their Pack. “Taking a chance like this is risky for all of us.”
“What’s life without a little risk?” Saint Sin passed over the bottle. “I did what I thought was best for the Pack, and that’s all there is to it.”
“I still don’t see why you had to --”
“Is it your place to question me?” Saint Sin snapped. At Juarez’s reluctant shake of the head, he grinned again and grabbed the bottle back. “Sun’s setting, moon’s rising,” he said. “Pretty soon we’ll see what’s what. Bet you twenty she shows up tonight.”
Juarez shook his head. “You’re on.”
“Easy money.” Saint Sin braced himself with one hand on the log and one hand loosely cupping his hard erection. God, he’d been permanently aroused since he’d first seen her, with her dark skin and wide, black eyes, all crowned by that head of loose curls that spilled free of her braid and wisped around her cheek.
Chantal, he’d heard the people in town calling her. Looking forward to seeing you, Chantal. Bet you just can’t wait to see what we’re all about.
Laughing, Saint Sin raised his face to the sky and let out a long, baying wolf’s howl. “Tonight we party!” he shouted. “Dance!”
And the tumbling chaos went on, his Pack of Wolves cavorting on the shore.
God, this was the life. And it could only get better, or would once Chantal arrived.
Chantal…
* * *
The distant sound of whoops and howls carried through the still twilight air. The wild gang that had moved in down on the beach were having a party, tossing back bottles of beer, probably stolen -- a lot of merchandise had gone missing from stores since they arrived -- and dancing around a vast bonfire made of driftwood.
No human ears could have heard them, but Chantal did.
Struggling up from her bed, legs tangling in her sweat-soaked sheets, she stumbled to the window and flung it open. Closing her eyes as a cool breath of wind, laced with salt from the ocean, brushed across her cheek, she listened hard. She could almost hear the men singing and the scuffing of the sand as women danced.
She was miles away from that stretch of the beach. How was it possible that she could hear them?
Lifting one wrist to brush tangled black hair away from her face, she paused for a moment when she saw the fresh pink scars on her espresso-colored skin. She turned her arm first one way and then another, looking at the places where teeth had sunk into her flesh.
The breeze curled through the room and riffled up the pages of a book she’d left lying open on her desk. She’d had to borrow it special from the college library. They hadn’t wanted to let her take it home, but she’d begged and pleaded and even gone so far as to display her cleavage as she leaned over the checkout desk to talk to the male librarian.
It was an old book, full of woodcuts instead of printed pictures. The pages turned as the small breath of air shuffled them, flipping past Chantal’s bookmark and opening on a page with a picture of a creature who was half-man, half-beast. From the waist down, he looked human except for the vast size of his erection, standing up tall and rampant. From the waist up… he was a wolf, complete with muzzle and dripping fangs.
Werewolf.
Chantal breathed in and out, trying to calm herself. The new scars on her wrist ached just as her pussy burned for something to fill it besides her fingers or a toy. The changes that had come on her since she was bitten… all the reading she’d done… and the gang that had invaded South Beach… everything clicked together in a terrible kind of sense. She knew what the gang was made of. They walked tall and acted tough, but she could smell them now in a way she’d never been able to before.
Their scent was especially strong tonight. Chantal shuddered as another breeze blew the smell toward her. She felt a pull stronger than the tides, tugging at her to go down to that patch of beach and make the stand she’d planned on.
Was this it, then? Was tonight the night?
She wasn’t sure. But she ached to go and join in the dance, and her pussy clenched with the thought of a wild man claiming her. Maybe their leader, the one she’d seen muscling his way through a small store. Tall and blond, with pale crystal blue eyes, and a grin on his face that said he was T-R-O-U-B-L-E.
In the past, Chantal would have been scared of him. Now, all she could do was think about his arms wrapped around her, tugging her close. She knew what she knew, and she was aware that she should be afraid, but she wasn’t.
Taking a glance back at her desk, Chantal saw the woodcut picture lying open. She’d studied that one many a time. She crossed the tiny room to touch it, wincing as the shocks creaked on her single-wide trailer. She couldn’t wake up Daddy. Couldn’t bear it if he found out the truth.
Her fingers ran across t
he illustration, tracing each harsh dark line until she reached the cock, flat-palming the book instead. Her body shook with a series of chills, each one stronger than the next. This happened every night as the moon rose. She shook and chattered as if she had a fever, but after a few minutes the feeling of sickness always passed.
The need for sex, though, that never went away. It burned between her thighs, making her pussy weep with the need for a thick, hard cock to bury itself up inside her channel. She could all but feel the strong hard-riding arms of a rough-cut man wrapping themselves around her, holding her tight. Could feel his lips on hers, demanding her mouth on his rather than kissing her gently.
And she wanted it.
Tonight, she decided. It’ll have to be tonight. I don’t know how much longer that group is going to stick around, and if I don’t make my treaties with them now --
She shivered again, feeling her skin crawl. I have to do this. Otherwise I’ll never know. What they do, what they are -- and what they did to me. She chafed her scarred wrist with one hand.
Her mind was made up. Tonight, she’d make her great escape.
And as for what came next, well, that was anybody’s guess, wasn’t it?
Chapter One
Chantal had never ridden a dirt bike before, and the feeling was like grabbing hold of a bat out of hell and hanging on for dear life. The power roaring between her legs had her pussy throbbing, begging for something to fill it, but both of her hands were tightly gripped on the handlebars.
It’d be different if she were riding behind someone. Preferably someone big and male, with hard stomach muscles she could play her hands over as he maneuvered this big machine through the night --
But so far, Chantal was alone. Tonight might change things, though.
“Don’t you go near the south stretch of the beach,” she’d heard people saying. “It’s a damn shame they can’t do anything about the squatters, but now that this gang has moved in? Stay away, my friend, keep out. Wait for them to move on.”
Trouble was, Chantal couldn’t leave them be. Rumor had it that the gang of bikers who’d taken up residence on that part of the shore kept wolves as pets, and she had taken a special interest in wolves. Read up on them until her eyes were red and tired, and her body sagging with weariness.
Turning the pages had been awkward with the bandage pulling from where she’d been bitten by a dog-that-wasn’t. She’d told Daddy she’d been bitten by a big dog, maybe a Great Dane or an Irish wolfhound, but she knew different. She knew a wolf when she saw one.
That one hadn’t been like any ordinary wolf, either. It had tracked her down one day when she was shopping for parts in the old junkyard. Run her down to earth among a sea of rusted chrome and bitten her hard on the arm, as if it meant to drag her off with it like a piece of meat.
Why it had let go, she didn’t know. The racket the junkyard owner was making and his own pit bull hadn’t fazed the wolf one little bit. But just as suddenly as he’d sunk his teeth in he had drawn back, his tongue hanging out as if he were laughing, and jumped over a pile of trashed fenders to disappear.
Chantal shifted gears. The bike jerked and humped between her legs, just like riding a man, and she sucked in a breath of sheer animal lust. She needed someone inside her, and she needed them right now. It had been part of the changes that had come to her, this animal need for sex.
Lots of things had changed after the wolf had bitten her.
She’d started eating all the red meat she could get her hands on, for one. She didn’t have much family, and they couldn’t afford steak, so she made do with hamburger and liver, gulping it down in big hungry mouthfuls. One night, she’d found herself in the kitchen of her small trailer chewing on a slab of raw beef, with no memory of how she’d gotten where she was.
When the sun went down and the moon shone overhead, she felt small and tight in her skin. Then the feeling would expand, almost like she was changing shape. However, when she looked in the mirror she was the same old Chantal as always -- dark almond eyes, curling black hair, and espresso-colored skin. She was usually dressed in a tank top and shorts as a defense against the summer heat. The skimpy outfits showed her body off too much, in her opinion, but she wasn’t gonna melt for the sake of acting like a lady.
Especially not when -- ooh -- she craved sex more than the raw meat her body demanded. Many had been the long, sweltering Southern afternoon where she’d locked herself into her room and stretched out full-length on her bed, playing with the one dildo she’d had the nerve to buy through an ad in the back of an old skin magazine she’d found.
God, she loved that fake cock. It’d been bigger than she’d thought it would be when it arrived, and made out of cheap plastic, semi-hard, but she’d worked her way up from fingers in her pussy to the point where she could shove the dildo in and out, her own juices flowing so hard that she didn’t need any of the fake lubrication she’d added to her order.
Didn’t need it, that was, until she flipped over on her stomach and began using that dildo on her ass, plunging it in and out of her hole as if a greedy man were behind her. Whenever she did that, her free hand massaged her pussy, sometimes pushing her fingers in up to the last knuckle in a rhythm that still left her hungry and desperate for more, more, more.
“You stay away from those boys on the beach, now. They’re dangerous,” Chantal’s father had told her one day after he’d gotten home from work. “We havin’ chicken livers tonight? I thought you didn’t eat much meat. And you went and pan-fried them? Lord, girl. Give me some cornbread and I’ll be in heaven.”
Chantal’s daddy was an old man, worn down by life. He’d fathered her when he was over fifty, but even in his seventies he kept on working. He boasted that no one knew how to take apart a car and put it back together like he did. He’d taught Chantal everything she knew, which was how she’d managed to get this dirt bike back in working order. It’d been a wreck in the corner of the junkyard when she’d dragged it home, and only after weeks of tinkering had she been able to get that motor to rev up. It sounded rough as a lion’s roar instead of purring like a kitten, but it would serve her needs.
“Don’t have any cornbread, Daddy,” she’d said, sitting down to eat with him, being patient and letting him fill his plate before she devoured what was left. After all, he’d been working all the day long, while she’d played hooky to sprawl out on her bed and fuck herself senseless with a toy. “Just the meat and some greens.”
“Greens are good. Greens are just fine.” With a sideways look at her, Daddy had taken only a few of the livers and piled his plate high with the boiled collards she’d picked from their patch out back. Chantal’s mouth had watered, and she hadn’t been able to stop herself from snatching the rest of the meat onto her plate.
“You go out today?”
Chantal had shaken her head around a mouthful of meat. “Just to buy the dinner,” she’d said once her mouth was free for talking.
“Good. Listen, girl,” he’d said, leaning on the table and suddenly looking very old, “I don’t know where you got that bike and I have no idea what you’re up to, but you be careful, hear me? Don’t go ridin’ down to South Beach where those wild boys have set up. They’ve got junkyard dogs that’ll do worse than take a bite of your arm, and as for those punks themselves…” He’d shaken his head. “I want better than them for my baby girl.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Chantal had said, the savory meat turning to ashes in her mouth. She’d known she was lying. “I’ll stay away from them.”
He’d be asleep in his bed right about now, Chantal figured. She’d snuck out of her bedroom quiet as a lamb, locked the trailer door behind her, and wheeled her renovated bike out of the yard down the road a ways. When she’d hopped on, a surge of rightness had burst through her veins, and riding that dirt road on the back of this powerful machine had felt like coming home.
She was headed to the south side.
See, she didn’t think those boys kept big dogs,
or even that they had dogs. Who’d carry a dog along when you lived on the back of a bike and set up camp wherever you saw fit? No, Chantal thought they were the dogs, themselves. Only not dogs. Wolves. Big, brutal animals that liked to play underneath the moonlight, and walk on two legs during the day.
Werewolves.
Not too long ago, she’d have laughed the idea off as crazy. But she knew, from her reading and the meat and need for sex, that what had bitten her wasn’t any old ordinary animal. It had changed her through whatever power it had in its teeth, and turned her into something halfway between woman and beast.
Werewolf.
It had to have been one of those boys, out playing games, who’d bitten her. Chantal meant to set them straight about what they’d done, but more than that, she wanted a place in their Pack.
Sorry, Daddy. I had to go.
Those boys could use her. If she’d heard right, and done all the reading she needed to, there wasn’t a strong female among their bunch. Every Pack needed an Alpha bitch, and she was just the woman to fill that position.
It never occurred to her that they might not want her. They had to want her. Otherwise, she’d be stuck in her little town forever, itching every time the moon came out and fucking herself blind on a fake cock during the daylight hours. She craved sex as much as she did meat and blood, and knew she could only find both with the South Beach Pack.
So Chantal drove her bike on through the night, the road stretching out in front of her like a curly black ribbon. The silence broken only by the roar of her engine and the blackness cut only by the occasional passing headlights of a car, which grew fewer and further between as she got closer to the beach. Not even tourists came down here -- they’d all been warned away.
When she got to the edge of where she knew the Pack was hanging out, she slowed her bike down to a rumbling crawl and edged it off the black asphalt onto the sandy verge, heading down a slope and onto the beach. From a distance, she could hear voices raised in laughter and men shouting at each other, plus a CD player blasting out something as hard and raucously loud as it could go.