Howling Passion (Passion Moon 1): (A Shifter, Supernatural Romance)

by Renee Jordan

  Howling Passion

  (A Shifter, Supernatural Romance)

  Passion Moon 1

  by

  Renee Jordan

  Copyright © 2015 by Renee Jordan

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Published in the United States of America, 2015

  All characters depicted in this work of fiction are over the age of eighteen (18).

  Cover Photo © adrenalina | vgeorgiev | Depositphotos.com

  Cover Art created by Silverheart

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  Table of Contents

  Howling Passion

  Other Steamy Romances

  Chapter One: Escape

  Chapter Two: Miss Maggie

  Chapter Three: Safe

  Chapter Four: Firelight

  Chapter Five: A New Beginning

  Chapter Six: Afternoon Delight

  Chapter Seven: Shadows

  Chapter Eight: Crimson Moon

  Chapter Nine: Dark Magic

  Chapter Ten: Tears of the Moon

  Chapter Eleven: Answers

  Hot Preview of “Feathery Discipline”

  Other Romances by Renee Jordan

  About Renee Jordan

  Other Steamy Romances

  Feathery Discipline (Curvy Maids 1)

  Love's Leash (Curvy Maids 2)

  Lacy Bonds (Curvy Maids 3)

  Chapter One: Escape

  My cheek pressed against the cold window of the greyhound bus, watching the monotonous terrain of Montana flash by. Every time I exhaled, my nose fogged up the window, the condensation slowly retreating until my next breath spread another patch of misty moisture.

  I don't know why I was in Montana. There were lots of places I could flee to. Upstate New York, Northern California, Washington State, or Alaska. I'd even consider fleeing to one of the Dakotas, except I hated that word—Dakota.

  It didn't matter where I fled, I had to get away from Burt. Two days ago I hopped on a greyhound in Tallahassee. I didn't care where the bus would take me, as long as it was far away. All the possessions I cared about were in the olive-green duffel bag I bought at an army surplus store. Clothes, a photo album, some feminine necessities, and my spare purse. Everything else I owned, I left with Burt.

  Montana looked a bit like Texas. Not as dry or dusty as the panhandle, but that same rugged, unsettled terrain of my childhood. Rolling hills covered in golden grass gave way to copse of evergreen trees. Mountains loomed ahead. The Rockies.

  A small town lay around the road's bend. It was quaint and old, and if wasn't for the neon sign on the local diner, I could imagine I was back in the old west days. The bus pulled into a curb, the brakes hissing.

  “Thirty minute break,” the driver announced, standing up to stretch.

  We all had to get off while the driver locked up his bus. I wandered over to the diner, my bladder about to burst. I just couldn't use the bathroom on the bus. Not that a diner bathroom should be any cleaner, but I didn't like thinking the person snoring in the seat before the bathroom could hear me pee.

  I liked my privacy, thank you kindly.

  I splashed water on my face after finishing my business, staring into the mirror. I looked terrible. Two days on the bus and I felt grimy. My red hair was lank and a mess, spilling about my narrow face. The freckles dusting my nose seemed more pronounced. Maybe it was the bags under my eyes. I couldn't sleep on the bus.

  My stomach rumbled. I spent the last five dollars I had on a sandwich and a bowl of soup. The soup was a delicious, creamy tomato that warmed my belly, and the sandwich had a zesty mustard. My last meal. I don't know what I'll do when I reached Moonrise, Montana. That's as far as my money would take me. As far from Burt as I could get.

  “I'm sure the good Lord will provide,” I whispered as I licked my fingers clean, savoring the last morsel. “Just like he provided me with Burt.”

  Thinking about him almost soured the meal.

  The other riders gathered at the bus, waiting for the driver to emerge. There was one new face. He differed from the other riders. We were all tired by the long trip, worn by hours of monotony. But he was fresh, his face lively. His black hair combed and moussed back, almost like a greaser in one of those fifty movies. He had the face for it. Handsome and strong, his brown eyes soft yet intense.

  I shifted when his eyes fell on me. I wished I hadn't left my brush in my duffel bag so I could at least comb out some of the snarls from my hair. I hated looking like a scarecrow that's been pecked on by the crows.

  The driver returned. “Get your tickets out,” he said as he unlocked and opened the doors.

  I had a moment of panic as I searched the pockets of my tight jeans, shoving my hands in, feeling for the slip of paper. Where was it? I ripped my hands out, shoving them into my violet hoodie's pockets, searching for the ticket. Not there. I pulled my hands out and opened my purse, tearing through all my junk.

  Was I going to be stranded in this town, instead of Moonrise? That didn't feel right. As I traveled across the country, I had come to grips that Moonrise would be my new home. The town had a poetic name that almost sang to my soul, calling me from Florida. So I didn't want to stay in Beumont's Crossing. What kind of name was that? Who'd name a town after a place where some guy crossed?

  My fingers brushed a piece of hard paper. I yanked out my ticket stub and showed it to the driver. He grunted, his fat fingers pushing back his mop of greasy, black hair. I climbed on and found my window seat. I hoped Moonrise wasn't another few hours drive. I was ready to be done with the trip. It was already eleven in the morning.

  The new passenger sat next to me.

  I frowned, glancing around at the empty seats. The bus was only half-full. Why did he have to sit next me? Would I have to put up with him flirting with me the entire ride? He may be handsome, but I wasn't desperate enough yet to hook up with a stranger. The last guy I hooked up with hadn't gone well.

  I thought I knew Burt, but he turned out to be a monster like Wayne.

  I was as bad as picking men as my momma was.

  “Such fire burns in those green eyes,” he said, his voice purring in an accent, his words flowing together. Was that Italian? “What terrible crime have I committed to warrant such a look?”

  “Sorry,” I answered. “I just...it's been a long bus ride.”

  “I couldn't tell,” he laughed. “You look so...fresh.”

  “Liar,” I smiled. His words flowed through me. It had been a while since a man stirred my interest. My desire for Burt had faded a while ago, and his jealous rages taught me to keep my eyes off other men. His latest bruise faded slowly from my back. “But I thank you kindly for your flattery.”

  His smile was oily, transforming his handsome face into a disgusting parody. I blinked, relieved when the smile slipped from his lips.

  “What's your name, sir?” I asked, my ardor cooling. A man with a smile that ugly needed to bring a lot more to the table than a pretty face and a nice set of shoulders.

  “Sir?” he laughed. “I never thought your generation could be so polite.”

  My generation? The man looked a littl
e older than me, in his mid to late twenties. At most he was five or six years older.

  “My momma taught me to always be polite,” I answered. “It's served me well so far.”

  “I'm a traveler wandering the dusty byroads searching for the forgotten things not paved over by the modern world,” he proclaimed, his accent growing more pronounced. “A relic born in the wrong century aching for what was lost.”

  What pretentious garbage. My momma's words rose in my mind. Your father was a traveler, Dakota...

  He laughed again. “I see you are unimpressed. I am Christian.”

  “Kotie,” I answered, giving him a nod. “Pleasure to meet you, Christian.”

  “Kotie,” he rolled the words around in his mouth, almost chewing on the two syllables. “What a...distinctive name.”

  I sighed. “It's short for Dakota.” I loved my dead momma. Bessie Bellerose was a gorgeous woman, and taken far too soon from this Earth, but she gave me the absolutely worst name. Why would she name me after those two States? Kotie was only slightly better, even if Wayne, my drunken step-father, had given it to me.

  “That is a beautiful name,” Christian purred. He loomed over me, a hungry gleam appeared in his eyes. “It's enchanting.”

  I pulled my hoodie closed, not liking the feel of his eyes on my tight top. I really couldn't wait to get to Moonrise. This guy grew creepier by the second. After spending two years living in fear with Burt, I wasn't about to let another asshole hurt me.

  I loved Burt once. At least, I think I did. He was the sexy rock star that made my dreary hometown in Texas seem so vibrant. We dated for a year before I moved in with him at nineteen. At first, it was fun playing house with him. He was a sexy rocker, passionate and loving. The sex was hot, and it was fun watching him perform, hearing the other girls scream their desire for him, but knowing I was the woman he went home with at night.

  But the varnish rubbed off real quick once I moved in. He was controlling and abusive. As the months wore on, he put me more and more under his thumb. I was scared. I didn't know what to do. Then he dragged me off to Florida, away from what few friends and family I had. I was practically his prisoner.

  I spent months saving the change from the grocery money he gave me, biding my time to flee him.

  And I would not let this Christian do the same. He wasn't right. The more we talked, the more I noticed a darkness in him. He radiated this wrongness beneath his sexy accent and handsome face. He was like fresh pain over a mildew wall, only hiding the rot but not cleansing. Slowly, the mildew would bleed through and reveal its ugliness.

  I looked out the window. A town loomed ahead. The bus had climbed into the wooded foothills, towering pine trees reared up from the rocky slopes. I hoped the town ahead was Moonrise.

  I hoped Christian wasn't getting off.

  “You ever been to Moonrise?” Christian asked, peering ahead.

  I shook my head.

  “Neither have I.” He took a deep breath. “Can't you feel it, Kotie?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Feel what?”

  “This is a special place. Sacred. The green forest. The rolling hills. Almost unspoiled by man.”

  “I guess,” I muttered.

  “It drew me here. I know you felt it. Why else would you come to Moonrise?”

  “What are you talking about?” I demanded. “Are you one of them New Agers?”

  Christian snorted. “New Agers are bleating morons parroting whatever the latest guru or seer is peddling, twisting the ancient beliefs to make a quick buck. I'm an Old Ager.”

  Old Ager? I raised an eyebrow before folding my arms beneath my breasts. “Well, I'm neither, And I wasn't drawn here. I just thought it would be a nice place to visit. Moonrise has such a nice ring to it. Poetic, like.”

  His oily smile grew. I shuddered. I felt soiled just sitting next to this man. He made me feel even dirtier than two days on a bus without a shower.

  The bus entered Moonrise, passing the quaint buildings and houses. A neon sign flashed “Moon Tear Roadhouse” ahead, drawing my gaze away from Christian's smirk. A red, help wanted sign sat in the window. I marked it my mind. The bus took a right turn, the engine chugging. I peered ahead, looking for the bus stop.

  I almost leapt for joy when the bus pulled into the station, the brakes hissing. Christian stood up, his long legs carrying him off the bus. I stood, opening up the overhead bin to pull out my duffel bag. I threw it over my shoulder and trooped off the bus, my red, snakeskin boots clicking on the metal stairs.

  The air of Moonrise had a fresh scent. I breathed it in as I stared at tourist board sign proclaiming all the natural sites to see.

  “Come walk the Deer Run Trail,” one read. “And see the gorgeous beauty of Red Rock Gorge.”

  “Relax in the Moon Tear hot spring, the purest mineral water in the entire United States.”

  I snorted at that. I'm sure every hot spring claims the same.

  “Visit the Museum of Kalispel Heritage. Learn the amazing history of the indigenous people and how they survived in rugged Montana.”

  None of these tourist traps would help me out. I needed a job. Yawning, I turned and walked down the street, my heeled boots clicking away. The sun was shining, warming up the March day. Snow clung to the tops of the surrounding peaks. I did enjoy the air. It was cleaner than anything I had breathed in Florida.

  And no humidity. Wonderful.

  Footsteps echoed behind me. I turned. Christian loomed, grabbing my arm. His grip was strong, his fingers digging into my arm. “Where are you heading, luce dei miei occhi?”

  I blinked. “What did you say?” I asked as I tried to jerk my arm from his grip.

  “Light of my eyes,” he purred in that sexy, Italian accent. His words stirred me, full of romantic passion, but his eyes scared me.

  “Let go of me,” I hissed, jerking my arm again.

  “Let me buy you a cup of coffee. We are both fellow travelers. Let me help you on our journey together.”

  “Journey?” I demanded.

  “To discover what has drawn us to this place.” He lowered his face. I thought he was about to kiss me. Instead, he whispered in my ear, “What ancient power stirs here that beckoned to us?”

  This man was crazy. I kicked his shin with the pointed toe of my boot. “Help!” I screamed to the passing cars.

  His grip tightened. “Do not fight destiny, light of my eyes. This was meant to be. When kismet brings too souls together—”

  I kneed him in the balls. His groan was satisfying. His eyes bugged out and his face grew red.

  But his grip never slackened.

  “You are making this more difficult,” he growled, his sexy accent consumed by gravely anger.

  Christian was like Burt.

  A car door slammed. “Is there a problem here?” a man's deep voice asked.

  A cop stood beside an SUV painted dark brown and green. He pulled on his beige Stetson hat and strode forward with long, loping strides. He was a big man, filling out the beige shirt and dark brown pants of his uniform. A gold star glinted over his heart. His weathered brow furrowed, highlighting the white scar that ran from temple down his cheek, narrowly missing his eyes.

  “There's no problem, officer,” Christian said, letting go of me. “I was just asking this young lady to a cup of coffee.”

  “And I was just saying no,” I smiled at the cop. “I have better things to do, Christian.”

  I glared at the man.

  The cop drew nearer, eyeing Christian. The cop's face was rugged, marked by his days spent outdoors. He was a man not afraid to get his hands dirty. His eyes flicked over to me, hazel and intense. A flush of heat passed through me at his scrutiny, and I let my own eyes drink in his brawny figure.

  “Are you okay, miss?” the cop asked.

  “Just fine,” I smiled.

  “I'm sure we'll speak again, Kotie,” Christian smiled. “Officer.”

  “Sheriff,” the cop corrected. “In the future, don't
be so forceful when asking a young lady out.”

  “Of course,” Christian nodded, his oily smile broad. “Am I free to go?”

  The Sheriff flicked his eyes to me, and I nodded. I didn't want to press charges. That meant paperwork. What if Burt somehow caught wind of where I was?

  “You're free to go,” the Sheriff growled, his eyes flashing with dangerous anger. “Remember what I told you. This is a peaceful town. And I mean to keep it that way.”

  Christian smiled, nodded, and turned, striding down the street with a bold swagger. Wasn't he intimated by the Sheriff? I know I would be. The Sheriff was tall and broad-shouldered. And those eyes. I'm glad I wasn't on the end of his glare.

  “You sure you don't want to press charges?” His eyes turned on me, but they softened, almost lightening as his intense anger faded. “I don't like men that lay hands on others. He can spend the weekend in jail cooling his heels before he sees the judge.”

  “That's okay,” I said, not able to help my smile. I could just stare into those eyes. Up close, they were flecked with greens and golds.

  “Okay, miss...?”

  “Dakota,” I said. “I'm mean, Kotie. Everyone calls me that.” What was wrong with me? He's just a man, Kotie. Don't get your tongue all tied up.

  The Sheriff grinned. Like Christian, his face transformed, only the Sheriff's face didn't become greasy, but confident. And hungry. Another flush of heat roiled through me. My nipples hardened as his eyes roamed my body.

  “Well, Kotie, I'm Forrest, the Sheriff of Moonrise.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a card, handing it to me. It was plain white, a Sheriff's star gleaming gold. Our fingers touched, his thumb caressing the back of my hand. “You call that number if that man gives you in problems. It's my cell and I always answer.”

  I nodded my head.

  “Welcome to Moonrise, Kotie.” His hand reached up, brushing my flushed cheek. “I'm sure you'll love it.”

  “I think I will.” My heart hammered and I struggled to breathe.

  Forrest's smile grew. “Glad to hear. It's a special place, but it could use a few more lovely sights around.”