A Shifter's Claim (Pale Moonlight Book 4)

by Marie Johnston

  One time with him would satiate her more than an entire night with a human, that was for damn sure. Even a whole night with another shifter still left her aching and planning her next excursion, a feeling she knew she wouldn’t get with Waylon.

  Yet she couldn’t bring herself to call one of her hookups in Ironhorse Falls and ask to come over tonight. Odd, both in that she cared about what Waylon thought after what he’d done, and that she wasn’t willing to override her best intentions after a day of hearing her parents throw their weight around. That usually tickled her developing dark side, the unbonded part of her that was left without anchor and raging against authority.

  But she wasn’t balanced. She still had a problem and meditation wasn’t going to will this internal itch away. Restless energy. A lonely shifter’s worst enemy.

  I’m not a fucking rogue.

  Well, she might be soon. She was winning the battle momentarily, but as soon as the sun set, she needed to run. To hunt.

  Her stomach turned at the thought of waking up tomorrow morning with a gut ache and a vague recollection of small animal screams and fur between her teeth.

  The room emptied out, pack leaders splitting off with her parents into the hallway where they could tackle their own agendas. They ignored her for the most part as if they recognized that with two healthy parents, she wasn’t taking over anytime soon.

  “We still need to grab groceries.” Waylon’s rumble interfered with her thoughts.

  “Are we going to play up our discord?” Because she was tired and the longer he was around, the harder it was to be angry at him. Defeated, maybe. Her own internal battle used too much concentration.

  “It’d be a good time to test it out. It won’t be hard, will it?” Waylon’s teasing tone tweaked her nerves.

  “Not at all,” she snarled. “I think anyone who remembers you will recall your attitude.”

  She got up and stomped out. Hopefully, he thought she was hungry and not ready to maim something or someone.

  He stayed behind her all the way to his Jeep. They might as well announce his presence in the light of day.

  The drive to the grocery store was quiet. His avid gaze touched on every part of Ironhorse Falls that they passed. Five years wasn’t a long time to creatures like them, but the days could be eternity. She scanned her surroundings. Nothing had changed, and that wasn’t for the better. Limited shipments meant fewer home improvement supplies. But gardens flourished. Pens of chickens took over backyards and fruit trees were manicured and maintained for optimal production. They were back to growing as much of their own food as they could.

  Langdon might think he was hindering Ironhorse Falls, and he was in a way. But there was strength in the old ways, resource in being self-sufficient. It made them tighter as a community. Modern didn’t always equal fittest. They were creatures of the Earth, charged with protecting the land, and it would provide. How would Langdon lead if Covet were cut off from modern amenities? Would he hitch up his Hermès belt and get his Brooks Brothers loafers dirty digging in the dirt? Other than to manipulate and dominate, did he even remember what being a shifter was like?

  How ironic that as she was fighting the lure of going rogue and freeing herself from pack constraints, he was undermining her in order to control her. Wrong time of the lifespan, buddy.

  Waylon parked facing out at the warehouse that was Ironhorse Grocery. She got out and shut the door with more force than she’d intended.

  He walked three steps behind her the whole way into the store. The only time he got close to her was to choose an item from a shelf and carefully place it in a pile that didn’t touch hers in the cart. God forbid his bacon mingle with her chopped fruit.

  “Would a vegetable kill you?” Would trying to be nice kill her?

  Just putting on a show. Her crankiness fit the situation.

  He pitched his answer low. “The ones in here might. No wonder everyone grows their own.”

  “The trip to Freemont before this last time, I brought back as many canning jars as I could fit in the Suburban C&C lent me. I think I bought out two Walmarts’ and three Targets’ worth of jars. But it’ll be worth it in the winter.”

  She puffed up with pride. Langdon Covet wasn’t going to keep her people down. Surprisingly, Waylon didn’t question why they hadn’t confronted Langdon and physically fought against him. Waylon had enough faith in her family to know that they would make sure they had proof of his machinations before they attacked. Mother and Father hoped to throw Langdon off his game when they finally made their play. But first they had to know what the game was.

  Langdon left no hard evidence, and Waylon’s arrival and bold claims threw a fuzzy wrench into her parents’ plans. And Shilo couldn’t argue that it wasn’t for the better.

  The cooler she approached was filled with steaks that she wanted to load into her cart. Her inclination for red, bloody meat was stronger than ever. But she chose two four-packs and left the rest for the other residents. As if sensing her wish to help supplies stretch farther, Waylon selected the same amount and a roast.

  She wouldn’t even pick as much as she had, but three families from each pack had been assigned ranching duties and their herds were growing, thriving in the lush clearings prepared for them.

  Food wasn’t the issue. But limited movement and communication also decreased healthcare availability, access to the mating pool, and general morale. Progress was the goal and Langdon and his shifters were taking that away.

  The cashier was a young girl. She eyed Waylon with appreciation, her eyes full of question, probably sensing the tension radiating between Shilo and her mate. When did she get to quit calling him her mate? Waylon, for his part, ignored the cashier and watched the store. Five people wandered in and did a double take, their shocked gazes darting from him to her. She gave each one a tight smile. Yeah, they were playing this animosity thing off well.

  She paid and started to push the cart outside when Waylon growled, “Wait.”

  She curled her lip toward him, belatedly realizing why she shouldn’t walk away from her hired bodyguard.

  Finally, his items were rung up, paid for, and in the cart. She lifted her chin as they walked to the Jeep. The two of them were the stars of the show, all eyes on them. Major, one of the pack leaders, dipped his head. Relief swirled through her. Passing one person who knew about them shouldn’t be any different than the rest of the colony. Was the relief for her sake, or for Waylon’s? He’d been the one getting shady stares. The what’s he doing back? looks. Not her. She could do no wrong.

  Tonight she’d do a little wrong. She’d eat, stomach what she could, and at midnight she’d run.

  Chapter 6

  Staring at the ceiling wasn’t getting him to sleep.

  Waylon sighed and rolled over. The central air was going, but really, how long was it going to be before Ironhorse Falls experienced electrical outages?

  Rolling to his side, he stared at the wall, getting lost in the intricate design of the wall hanging. It was a star pattern made with beads of various sizes and colors secured into a dream catcher. There was one on each wall.

  Shilo had made them. He recalled her pride when she’d displayed this one to her mom, Shilene’s bittersweet smile because Shilo could make fantastic wall hangings. Her gift was in crafting—and absolutely useless as a colony leader. Eventually, Shilo had stopped showing Shilene her pieces. An unimportant gift was better than no gift, but she used to talk to him late at night, afraid she’d let down her people without a mental ability that could protect them.

  He’d reassured her there was a reason she could conjure the crafts her people requested. And she’d gotten a lot of orders. Ironhorse Falls had several human mates, ranging from Native American to Norwegian. The mates came here from all walks of life, often leaving their cultures behind. When they learned Shilo could help them preserve traditions long after living family had turned into ancestors, they always had an order, be it jewelry, clothing, or various
crafts.

  But she had doubted herself, and he imagined it contributed to the way she’d turned on him.

  This line of thinking wasn’t going to help him sleep. He was too restless. Shilo was in her own home, therefore she should be safe. He’d limit his run to a few-hundred-yard radius from the house. It’d have to be enough.

  Not bothering to dress, he treaded to the sliding door in her kitchen and stepped outside.

  His nose twitched. Blood.

  He inhaled again. Rabbit blood. Was someone hunting on this land?

  Shifting, he relished the transition into his wolf. Bones altering, a bite of pain that hurt so good. He was stiff. How long had it been since he’d last run?

  Shaking his head, he leaned back onto his haunches to stretch, releasing tension in his torso and limbering up his legs. His wolf would blend well out here. The woods around West Creek were filled with deciduous trees. During the winter, when they lost their leaves and the ground was hidden, his rich brown fur stood out more than it would here among the evergreens. In Ironhorse Falls, the gray sprinkled through his fur aided in a natural camouflage pattern that worked better around here than West Creek. There were still plenty of cottonwoods here, but not enough to make him feel like a chocolate bar running along the stark hillside.

  It was the only sign that he belonged here.

  He followed his nose to the source of blood. It was like a line connected him to the fresh kill. Shilo’s scent was all around, but this was her home. It should be.

  A bloodied heap of fur lay at the base of a tree trunk. The floral smell of sweet clover surrounded it. Sniffing the ground, he concentrated. The kill was recent, but he detected no one nearby.

  Something about the scent. Extra musk. Was this Shilo, or a relative hunting on their land? He’d met all her kin in Ironhorse Falls but admittedly hadn’t spent much time around them. A guy could take only so much disdain. It didn’t matter if it was Shilene’s side or Weatherly’s, they all looked at him like he was grit to be picked from between their claws.

  In his human form, he’d have frowned at the dead rabbit. Droplets of red splattered the tree and covered the ground. Every drop had been shaken out of the tiny creature, but all its meat was in place.

  Why kill and not eat it?

  That was just wrong. It wasn’t how shifters worked.

  A faint squeal caught his attention.

  Sprinting toward the noise, he stepped lightly to keep from making a sound.

  The animal scream was cut off. Dead. He pushed his speed to catch the culprit.

  Sneaking around a wide tree trunk with low-hanging pine branches, he stopped.

  A heartbreakingly familiar wolf was crouched over a dead mound of rabbit. Shilo’s mottled brown wolf matched her hair coloring, one of the features that set them apart from regular wolves. Rich brown fur broken up by charcoal lines blended perfectly into the summery forest surrounding them. During the winter, her coat would lighten and—

  What was she doing?

  She growled and picked up the body. His ears picked up the crack of bones. Blood flew, and Shilo launched the animal into the air, only to catch it with a snap and repeat the process.

  The…rabbit?…was already dead. There was nothing he could do for it, so he watched. What was Shilo up to?

  His astonishment glued him in place when Shilo opened her jaw, dropped the rabbit, and loped off without even a small bite. The sickly sweet smell of death permeated the air.

  He let out a low howl, one the occupants of the house couldn’t hear.

  She stopped and spun around, teeth bared, and snarled.

  Whoa. There was no recognition in her gaze, just murder. He almost backed up a step.

  But this was Shilo. She rarely ate in her wolf form, did so only to keep her hunting skills sharp, but she much preferred grilled veggies and a rare hunk of prime rib.

  She advanced. He hadn’t tried mental speak since he’d gotten back, but as mates they used to talk constantly as they ran the woods.

  Shilo.

  She didn’t stop.

  What would he do if she attacked?

  She launched into the air. He skittered to the side, but she corrected and caught his flank with a paw.

  Fire lanced his side.

  Shilo! Stop!

  Don’t tell me what to do.

  Her response stunned him, and she took advantage of his pause.

  As she lunged for his neck, her fangs gleamed in the moonlight. He darted to the side and twisted out of reach.

  What are you going to do, shake me to death like that animal?

  She didn’t hesitate. Had she lost her mind sometime between supper and bedtime?

  She surged for him again. He couldn’t run to his right. A felled tree blocked his way. He pivoted and leaped over it.

  She followed, but he’d already leaped back.

  I can do this all night. He couldn’t. Shilo, talk to me.

  I don’t listen to you.

  Well, yeah. He knew that, but there was venom in her words. A deeper meaning. You’re not acting like yourself.

  As if you’d know.

  Low blow. He backed up and ran around a large, droopy pine. You can’t chase me all night.

  I said don’t tell me what to do.

  She ducked under the boughs and caught him midrun. He tumbled to the side, claws and teeth ripping at his pelt. Fucking ow. Stop it, Shilo.

  You’re not the boss of me!

  What are we, five?

  You’re. Nothing.

  Enough about the old Shilo. Where was the female he’d spent the last two days with? She wasn’t going to stop. Earlier yesterday, she’d acted less hostile when she’d had the grounds to berate him. What was going on with her?

  He writhed and twisted, moving any which way he could to keep her from gaining a hold on him.

  A weathered log lurked at the corner of his vision, and with a grunt, he shifted to his human form, the burn of her claws crisper as they slipped from his changing form. He grabbed her with both hands and flung her headfirst into the log.

  The crack went straight to his stomach. As she fell limp to the ground, he could’ve hurled. but it’d been the only way to stop her.

  His sides heaved. He looked around. The area surrounding him had fallen silent. Blood trickled down his body from the cuts and gashes her claws and teeth had left behind. But he’d heal. And so would she.

  He didn’t have time to worry about the carcasses. Getting Shilo inside and coaxing her to shift back to her human form before she went batshit again was his priority.

  Hefting her to his shoulder, he tried not to groan at the pain coursing through his body. He cradled her like the precious cargo she was and trotted to the door he’d come out of. Once he was inside, he took a full breath. Climbing the stairs and going straight to her bed, he had a million questions. Laying her down on her hand-quilted comforter, he cursed himself. She was bloody and a piece of rabbit intestine was staining the quilt. But the worry was swept away by questions.

  Was this the first time it’d happened? Did she always hunt like this? Had she just been hungry?

  She’d eaten a good supper.

  Or had she?

  They’d grilled. Well, he’d grilled after she’d prepared the food for him. That way they could be in separate areas. Then she’d taken her food to the porch and he’d eaten at the table. But she must not have had leftovers; otherwise she would’ve gobbled up the fresh rabbit meat. Only fucking rogues left kill to rot.

  His breath froze. He gazed down at the limp form of his fated mate. They were mates, but they hadn’t bonded their souls.

  Shifters eventually went crazy if they didn’t bond. But they could live for centuries without finding their mate.

  But some went rogue before that happened.

  He’d only been gone five years.

  But some went rogue earlier than others. There was no explanation. Mating and madness were very individual experiences.

  F
uck, he’d only been gone five years. And yeah, he’d been feeling restless lately, but not homicidal. Not kill-baby-bunnies murderous.

  His gaze brushed over her rich brown coat. It shouldn’t be possible. She was the most centered shifter he knew.

  The wolf twitched and morphed into a beautifully naked female. She groaned and rolled to the side, out cold. He tucked her under the blanket and winced at the red stains on the covers. He’d have to look up how to get blood out of cherished material.

  Slumping, he buried his head in his hands. Sweet Mother, what had he done? All those years ago, he’d walked out, thinking he was leaving her to the life she wanted, to the life she thought she deserved. But she’d attacked him tonight. Him. Her mate. All because he’d left her and hadn’t thought twice about the consequences.

  He’d condemned her.

  His mate was going rogue.

  The pounding in her head woke her.

  Why does my head hurt so badly?

  She rolled over and groaned.

  A male’s scent wafted over her. She wasn’t alone.

  Who’d she…?

  Waylon. Had they— Had she—

  She pried her eyes open and with her next breath, she smelled scared animal and dead animal.

  She’d gone out hunting. No, that wasn’t the right word. She’d gone out killing.

  Her gaze focused on a somber male sitting on the changing stool she kept in her closet.

  His elbows rested on his knees and his hands were clasped together. His oak-bark brown eyes were on her.

  He knew.

  She didn’t know how he knew, she couldn’t remember—

  Images assaulted her.

  Nope. She recalled it all.

  Closing her eyes and rolling onto her back, she couldn’t think of anything to say but “You know.”

  “Figured it out.” He sounded like he’d gargled with gravel this morning.

  “Gonna tell anyone?”

  “Dunno.” The rustling of clothes signaled his rising. His soft footsteps on her hardwood quieted when he stepped on the rag rug on the other side of her bed. The bed sank under his weight. “When did you start having problems?”