A Shifter's Claim (Pale Moonlight Book 4)

by Marie Johnston

  Compassion threatened to rise, but no. Not for him. Not anymore.

  Armana rattled off instructions to Waylon about contacting her regularly so she could update the Guardians. When she was done, Waylon pushed back, the flex in his biceps hooking Shilo’s attention. She ripped her gaze away.

  If he had so much as sent her a text or an email, or hell, a candygram, since he’d walked out on her—on them—she might be willing to soften. But he hadn’t and she wouldn’t. If Waylon couldn’t handle the courtship, then he couldn’t handle a full bond. She had even more responsibilities than before, and she was barely hanging on to her dedication to her pack. Her mental state would snap if he left a second time and then she’d be mindlessly homicidal. Since fate hated her, the shifter sent to kill her would probably be Waylon.

  “My Jeep’s outside, princess.”

  Ugh! That name. She lived in a modest house in a failing community, but she’d been born with more than Waylon had arrived at their colony with. “Princess” ought to be the name of the chasm separating them.

  “You still have that old thing?” She rose and followed him out. Armana and Gray were on their heels, probably trying to decide how bad of an idea this was.

  “No, I went and bought a brand new one off the lot.” He didn’t spare her a glance. “Or better yet, one of my pack members gifted me with a brand new one, fully loaded.”

  Ass. Her childless aunt and uncle had bought her one car and now Waylon thought it was a regular occurrence.

  “You have another pack?” she asked, adopting a haughty tone. Her parents had kicked him out of Ironhorse as soon as they’d seen her sobbing on the floor.

  “I’m not some rogue piece of shit.”

  She stiffened and glanced around like a hit squad was going to materialize out of the walls and get her. She maintained pack law, as much of a struggle as it got to be some days. Disobeying her parents, who happened to be not only pack leaders, but also colony leaders, was still within bounds. Passive-aggressive rebellion. If it’d been anyone but her, there’d have been some serious discipline doled out. For now, Shilo was just getting her mother’s exasperated sigh.

  “I never said you were,” she muttered.

  “But you never said I wasn’t,” he retorted.

  She stopped in the middle of the hallway. He walked a few steps before he caved and stopped, too. “If this is going to work, we can’t constantly be egging each other on. I don’t like you.” The lie stuck in her throat. “You don’t like me.” All her previous heartbreak threatened to well up. “We’re working together, nothing more. Quit calling me princess and I’ll call you Mr. Wolf.”

  “Waylon. Just call me Waylon.”

  He’d never shunned his last name before. They hadn’t known his real one when he’d been found, and Waylon had adopted the last name of the reclusive shifter who’d taken him in.

  Armana and Gray walked them the rest of the way out, much like nervous parents sending their daughter off with a date they didn’t know well. Or vice versa. Shilo could only guess when she was going to snap and try to rip Waylon limb from limb.

  Oddly, she was feeling less ragey today than she had in a while. Perhaps it was her efforts last night. Surely it had nothing to do with Waylon.

  Her breath caught at the sight of Waylon’s beat-up, rusting Jeep. Why that thing? They’d had sex in it. Long talks. Laughter.

  The memory of his prideful smile as he’d showed it off after buying it from C&C’s used-car lot in Ironhorse Falls played through her mind, bringing all the emotions of the day with it. She and Waylon had made love in it and on it so many times—and she could remember them all if she tried.

  “Damn,” she said.

  “Sorry it’s not a Lexus.” He misread her dismay and that was just fine with her. He’d probably written over all their times together with someone else.

  She ran her tongue down a fang. It wasn’t her business. Just like her dating life wasn’t his.

  “Unless you can read minds, don’t assume you know what I’m thinking.” And it really was a good thing he couldn’t. He’d see flashes of their frantic fucking in the back, or the time he’d laid her across the passenger seat, with the console prodding her back, and stood in the open door to take her hard.

  That’d been one of her favorites.

  These thoughts were going to drive her crazy. “If we leave now, we can get back before nightfall.” It was a good six-hour trip and the late summer light faded by eight p.m. They’d get back in plenty of time, depending on the delay Passage Lake would inevitably make.

  “Not so fast, princess.” She bristled at his pet name, but he didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t care. “I need to swing by my place and pack an overnight bag. And I gotta eat or I’m going to get hangry.”

  “Oh no,” she deadpanned. “You’re going to get crankier than you are now? How will I ever tell?”

  He shot her a sidelong look and walked around to the driver’s side. There had been a time when she’d almost never opened her own door, especially not when they were riding together. Looks like that time had passed. She crawled in and was swamped by his scent. Along with the more familiar woodsy musk of her mate was the cloying scent of alcohol and pheromones. She breathed in. Not just his own pine smell, but that of the crowd at the bar. All those shifters seeking to work off the high sex drive that nature had bestowed upon them were like walking perfume spritzers, spattering their lust-filled scent on everyone they crossed paths with.

  Unlike many of them, she knew how cruel nature was. Sex with a mate was phenomenal, addicting, so good it made it possible to imagine eternity with only one person.

  Since Waylon had walked out, sex now left her merely physically satisfied if she was lucky, but emotionally empty regardless.

  They didn’t speak on the way to his place. She couldn’t think about spending not only today with him, but who knew how many days until the mystery of her friends’ deaths was solved. Concentrating instead on who could’ve pulled off a double beheading kept her occupied until Waylon parked in front of a square steel building. Windows dotted the side and the parking lot was empty except for two other vehicles in no better shape than Waylon’s.

  “Is this where you live?” She frowned at their surroundings. A tire store was across the street, a gas station at the end of the block, and the closest building was a double row of storage units with standard-sized garage doors. This neighborhood didn’t scream residential.

  “Did you think I was holed up at the Ritz?”

  “Freemont doesn’t have a Ritz, jackass.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. Her insult lacked conviction, and she hadn’t meant it to. She crossed her arms and rested her head against the back of the seat. “Take your time.”

  “I’m not going to leave my charge by herself in a parking lot within the first half hour of being a bodyguard. Come on up.” He got out and slammed the door.

  Her stomach clenched. Go into his place? See how he’d been living without her? And witness how he was doing just fine?

  She couldn’t sense any instability in him. And while she was staggering under the grief from her friends’ deaths, Waylon acted like the same male she’d once loved.

  Jack. Ass.

  Growling under her breath, she climbed out and followed him. He unlocked the glass entrance door and held it open long enough for her to get close enough and grab it before he took the metal flight of stairs up two at a time.

  The door thudded shut and clicked solidly in place. She was locked in with him.

  The bottom floor had been sectioned into offices. A long hallway ran to the exit at the other end of the building. Doors and the occasional business logo broke up the monotony of white walls.

  As she took the stairs, one at a time, she eyed the directory of businesses. West Creek Parole Office. Check In Cash Out Money Services. Hail?—I Don’t Bail Insurance Company.

  “Interesting neighbors,” she commented.

  Waylo
n’s voice came from above. “They’re quiet during the day.”

  She crested the top. One massive wall blocked off the second level. Waylon unlocked a deadbolt in the heavy gray metal door. Once he swung the door open, he paused like he was going to usher her in first but thought better of it and breezed inside, pushing the door open far enough that she could catch it before it shut her out.

  The inside was…not surprising.

  Bare metal walls, exposed beams in the ceiling, and ratty linoleum came together in a lackluster industrial feel. A kitchen lined one wall with a counter to separate it from the rest of the…apartment? A bed with rumpled gunmetal sheets was at the end of the place and a walled-off square that must be a bathroom made up the only interior wall off the kitchen.

  A sagging punching bag hung from a beam in the middle of the room.

  “Your interior decorator should be fired.” She crossed to perch on a barstool at the counter as he ignored her and headed toward his bed. She had to put her back to him. Waylon by a bed was too much for her psyche to process today. The urge to scent the place was irresistible, but the lack of a female smell was surprising. He slept and ate here, got a workout in, and that was it. He kept the sex out of his home.

  She wasn’t sure what to think of that.

  Fabric rustled and drawers opened and closed. He was packing. His muscles were probably flexing and bunching as he bent and stretched to pack a bag, but she refused to watch him.

  “Are you going to shower before we go?” she asked. On the other hand, the stench of sex on him was a turnoff. Should be a turnoff. Maybe wasn’t as much as it should be.

  “After you. If I have to smell that rich bastard on you, you can smell…”

  She barked out a laugh to cover her relief that he couldn’t seem to remember his partner’s name either. “Trixie? Melinda? Davina?”

  “I’m not sure we got that far,” he grumbled like he wasn’t happy about it.

  “Eau de rich bastard it is then.” She stood. “Oh wait, you needed to eat.” Her stomach rumbled. Had she not eaten yet, either?

  “We’ll grab something on the way.” He was going for the door, but she went to his fridge. A package with the butt of a loaf of bread was wadded in the corner. Moldy cheese slices were next to it, and in the middle was a carton of milk that could probably walk itself to the sink. Takeout Chinese containers and pizza boxes littered the other shelves.

  Waylon was the best cook she knew. Was he boycotting cooking?

  “Good thing shifters don’t get clogged arteries.” She stared at the pizza boxes. The pizzeria in Ironhorse Falls had shut down. She’d love to sink her fangs into a greasy slice.

  “Are you hungry or horny?” Waylon’s voice broke in. “It was always hard to tell with you.”

  She couldn’t be angry. He was right. She liked food as much she liked sex. “Starving. Mia’s Pizza closed. Let’s grab pizza.”

  “Why the fuck did they close?” Waylon’s jaw was slack, like hearing Mia’s was no more made the world a darker place. And Shilo would agree.

  “Their shipments were always delayed to the point that their goods were spoiled by the time they arrived. Most businesses are having those issues in Ironhorse Falls.”

  “Covet pack?”

  She nodded. “We can’t prove it. Flat tires. Blown engines. They get hopelessly lost in the country. Lately, orders have been getting canceled or amounts get messed up to the point of breaking the bank, and since Langdon Covet is a tech genius, you can see why it’s been so hard.”

  His jaw tensed, the muscle she used to nibble jumping. “We’d better get going.”

  She took a fortifying breath. Ironhorse Falls and all of its packs were in trouble. Waylon was back in her life and she was taking him back into the lion’s den. At least they could be civil. She could keep her distance. As long as he kept his.

  Chapter 4

  Waylon’s hand gripped the wheel. Any harder and he’d warp it. They’d been driving three hours, hitting the road as soon as they finished eating.

  Shilo hadn’t held back with her pizza. Her appetite had always been sexy as hell, but her pizza deprivation had ended with gusto. She’d moaned over the cheese, licked the grease off her lips, and rolled her eyes in ecstasy. He’d only been able to choke down two slices before he’d abruptly pushed back from the table and stalked to the Jeep with the rest of his box.

  And the way Shilo had smirked—she’d done it on purpose. The little minx.

  He would’ve laughed at his own reaction if he hadn’t been so uncomfortably hard. But with Passage Lake looming in less than an hour, he was winning the battle against his hormones. According to Shilo, a lot of peculiarities happened around the colony.

  Trees crowded in on each side of the highway. The road lacked a decent shoulder, dropping to steep ditches or tree-plugged countryside almost immediately. The sun was still out, gradually sinking behind the tops of the branches.

  As much as he dreaded stepping foot back in Ironhorse Falls territory, the land called to him. It was in his blood and the longer he drove, the more his inner beast celebrated being home.

  His wolf preened around Shilo, too. It was like the handful of years had drained away and he wanted to dive right back into the months before he’d left. Shilo’s parents had at least been civil. He and Shilo had been dreaming—no, planning—their future together.

  Now he was heading back where he said he’d never go back, and for a female he’d sworn off of. Damn his mating instinct that wouldn’t let him walk away when she was in danger.

  He repressed a shiver as shadowy fingers danced down his spine. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the trees.

  Shilo had been scrolling through her phone to avoid him while sitting an excruciating six inches away. She clicked her phone off and glanced around.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Just something’s off.”

  She didn’t dismiss his intuition but intensified her gaze, searching their surroundings.

  The Jeep faltered, like the pistons quit firing for a heartbeat. No check-engine light came on, but Waylon bet the closer to Passage Lake he got, the more engine “problems” he’d have.

  He didn’t believe in coincidences. “They have someone who can tamper with vehicles.”

  “We thought of that, but it’d be a helluva talent to be able to create different issues in different vehicles.”

  He bit the corner of his tongue at the mention of talent. Most shifters had something extra, a little gift that made life easier, whether it was among their own kind or to blend in with humans. He had next to nothing, and it was another strike against him and why he was such an undesirable mate for Shilo.

  “I’m sure there’s more than one,” he said.

  “That’s not possible. I mean, our gifts are usually so different.”

  “Is it that unlikely when we’re so isolated that our packs interbreed and continue to live among each other?” It’d only been this century that his people had ventured into cities. The packs closer to each other or living within larger human populations had different stories. But Ironhorse Falls and Passage Lake were lone wolves as far as colonies went. There was enough turnover in residents to prevent inbreeding, but it wasn’t like Freemont, where several packs mingled in the area.

  “But to have the power to tamper with vehicles, sometimes semis? That’s a feat.”

  “Yep.” Didn’t mean it wasn’t possible. “They have strong bloodlines.”

  Shilo must’ve agreed. Her brows were furrowed as she considered what he’d said. Hadn’t they ever thought of it before?

  They drove several more minutes without issue. Then the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

  “It’s gonna happen again,” he said. He didn’t know how he knew, he just did.

  Shilo stiffened and craned her neck out the back window.

  The engine stuttered, hiccupped, and went back to normal.

  Her dark eyes went from the speedome
ter to him. “How did you know?”

  “I feel…something.” It wasn’t unfamiliar. He’d always dealt with tingly sensations over the course of his life. But they’d never amounted to anything before.

  “Like you feel it feel it?” she asked. “Like it’s your thing?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe?”

  “Huh.”

  Had he always chalked it up to coincidence? Just one of those feelings and never exploring it further? Or was it Shilo back in his life that made this different?

  They topped a hill. Streetlights dotted the countryside. On the descent, they passed a sign that read Passage Lake, pop. 2810. That was for humans who happened out this far for hunting and fishing. Shifters couldn’t keep them out completely, nor did they want to as they were a source of potential mates, among other things.

  The trees thinned only slightly, towering taller and healthier than the clustered woods. The underbrush wasn’t as thick thanks to the locals keeping it down, whether by mowing or running their wolves.

  A gas station bordered each side of town. Like clockwork, his engine started shuddering and ticking the closer he got to the gas station. The check-engine light popped on. Surprise.

  “Look at that.” Shilo shook her head. She’d tied her long brown hair back on itself. However she did it was like magic to him, but somehow she used her own long hair to tie back the rest. “If it were me in one of C&C’s vehicles, what would’ve happened? I bet the Covets gathered details on all the cars they sold.”

  Would they remember his vehicle? Probably not. He’d hardly traveled from the colony; it’d been as close to a home as he ever recalled. When he’d been with Shilo, he’d had no reason to leave. And then he had.

  Guess he wouldn’t go back quite yet. He had to see what Langdon Covet wanted to do with him.