by Gaja J. Kos
Shadow Moon
Gaja J. Kos
Copyright © 2018 by Gaja J. Kos
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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978-961-94368-4-4
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Published by Boris Kos
May 2018
Contents
Kolovrat Universe
Shadow Moon
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Thank you for reading Shadow Moon!
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Gaja J. Kos
Kolovrat Universe
The Lotte Freundenberger series sits at the heart of the “Future” portion of the Kolovrat universe. However, several other works exist in the same sphere.
Each series/standalone title can be read individually, or as a whole for a more complex insight into the universe where myth and reality blend into one.
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PRESENT
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BLACK WEREWOLVES SERIES
Urban fantasy
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Novels:
The Dark Ones
The 24hourlies
The Shift
The Ascension
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Novellas:
Never Forgotten
Chased
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NIGHTWRAITH SERIES
Paranormal romance
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Windstorm
Blackstorm
Nightstorm
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FUTURE
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PARADISE OF SHADOWS AND DEVOTION
Standalone paranormal romance
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LOTTE FREUNDENBERGER SERIES
Urban fantasy
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Shadow Moon
Darkening Moon
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DESTINY RECLAIMED
Urban fantasy standalone novella
Shadow Moon
Werewolf. Coach. Lover. Spy.
* * *
After the War, Lotte gave up the turmoil of pack life to pursue a far more placid career in tennis. Or so she believed.
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When a player is found dead on the compound with only days left until the Munich Games, the Interspecies Crimes and Relations Agency rolls in. Senior Agent Isa Vogt suspects foul play and enlists Lotte’s help to discover who stands behind the lethal performance-enhancing drug.
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While separating friend from foe seems like an impossible task, Lotte has no choice but to return to her ruthless werewolf ways—or see another athlete die.
For Mičo.
Thank you for being the best uncle and coach a kid could ask for.
1
The werewolf’s energy pressed upon my skin as sharply as the midday sun blazing from above. His low, rumbling growl cut through the hot currents of the approaching summer, its ripples reverberating straight through my chest. Without even trying, I could taste the proximity of his shift on my tongue—a thick, inky sensation that called to my inner beast, wishing to coax it out of its shell.
Only I wasn’t some nineteen year-old were with anger management issues. Not anymore, at least.
Unfortunately, being the adult here meant I couldn’t give in to the temptation and pound Rihard’s face in until he came to his senses.
We weren’t pack, and although werewolves believed the majority of problems could be solved by a dash of well-meaning violence, I was pretty certain my boss would frown upon such practices.
“For gods’ sake, kid, pull yourself together,” I snarled across the tennis court instead, my voice ricocheting off the surrounding bleachers. “Or do you want me to kick you off the team for good?”
Gods, this was the third time this week that his composure had slipped. With the start of the Munich Games closing in, I could understand Rihard was dealing with a whole lot of pressure. It was his first major league tournament, after all. But whenever my thoughts veered in that particular direction, a small voice inside me never failed to chirp that I had been no more than fifteen when my coaches practically smuggled me into a—then human—grand slam, so yeah…
Compassion wasn’t all that high on my list for athletes who wanted to play with the big guns but couldn’t hold their own in light of a little pressure.
I prowled over to the net, leaned my trusty Wilson racket against it, then crossed my arms in front of my chest. Rihard was still standing on the service line, breathing heavily as he grappled for control. I watched the sweat coalesce on his deep brown skin and sampled the waves of energy wafting off his body. He seemed to be winning the battle at the moment, but it just wasn’t good enough.
The seconds ticked by without either of us moving, although under the weight of the midday rays, it felt more like hours. While weres could regulate body temperature with moderate success, the process itself demanded the kind of concentration someone out on the court simply couldn’t afford to spare. Unfortunately, playing since I was a kid meant I never got the chance to truly master the neat little trick.
So I squinted at the sun, taking it all in as if I were a plain human.
Eventually, Rihard released a long exhale that let me know the wait was over. He walked to the umbrella-shielded bench on the left side of the court, his back ramrod straight, but shoulders slightly hunched.
“Sorry, Lotte,” he mumbled. He rubbed the club’s red-and-blue towel across his face before casting it aside, then picked up a bottle of water from where he’d stashed it in the shade beneath the bench. “Christian mentioned how his serve was improving when I saw him in the locker room earlier, and I guess I was just pissed that I still can’t nail my volleys or keep my forehand parallels from going wide.”
“Look, Rihard,”—I braced my hands on the net—“you chose to train with me instead of Alec because I’m a hard-ass, right?”
“Well, you’re far kinder on the eyes, too.”
I gave him a pointed look, but Rihard just shrugged, flashing me one of those small smiles that made me think he wasn’t such a lost cause after all.
He screwed the cap on the bottle and sat down, looking more defeated than I’d seen him in a long while. “It’s true.”
“What’s also true is that I won’t cut you any slack.” I skirted around the net and eased myself into the empty chair next to him. “You know the Munich Games were created as a means to smoothen the bumps between humans and supes. While it’s nice that we finally have a proper way of going up against our own, they’re primarily a way for humans to see our strengths in a safe, pleasantly competitive environment. I can’t have you shifting out on the court just because you botch two backhand volleys in a row.”
Rihard turned his brown eyes to me, and it was perfectly clear that he understood why we couldn’t fuck around. When the War had brought out the supernatural six years ago, the responses were mixed, ranging from enthusiasm to outright terror.
I was only seventeen back then, but I still felt the underlying tension, the fear… Even here in Munich, where the humans had proven to be surprisingly accepting compared to the rest of the world.
Individuals from both sides worked hard to defuse conflict before it even had the chance to rise, and we were still doing it. Every damned day.
We nearly lost the world once. It was safe to say that the majority of us weren’t too keen on letting it slip from our grasp a second time.
“So you’re benching me?” Rihard asked, his voice strained.
I shook my head and tucked away a strand of blonde hair that wiggled its way free from the French braid snaking down from the top of my head. “I’m sending you to the counsellor. We still have a few days before registrations close. If Elsa tells me you’re making progress, I won’t have to kick you off the team. But”—I held up a hand as his eyes brightened and a response danced on his half-parted lips—“you can’t skip a single session. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, coach!”
I rolled my eyes. “Now get your ass back on the court. I want you to go through two baskets of warm-up serves before I come back. Focus on pronation. I’ll have it all on camera so I’ll know if you’re slacking!”
Rihard practically ran back out on the clay, then doubled back to pick up the basket. I was still shaking my head when I prowled off the court and into the shaded interior of the compound’s main building, but my steps felt a lot lighter.
When the ancient magic that was released during the War started to gnaw on the foundations of our reality, Munich had fared pretty well. Especially considering that Ljubljana, capital of the fight, was barely left standing, nothing more than a husk of the lively town it used to be. But while we definitely considered ourselves lucky, that didn’t mean we escaped the post-War rush of remodeling, either.
The old Olympic Village nestled in the gorgeous greens of the park was now a spacious, bright complex, separated into two interconnected parts. One housed the apartments and rooms where the players and coaches stayed during tournaments, the other our offices, with a massive gym, swimming pool, and indoor running track dominating the two subterranean levels. All in all, the Olympiapark Tennis-Zentrum was an impressive bit of architecture, and to me, it kind of felt like home.
I prowled up the stairs, checking the wall clock on the first floor landing in passing. Good. I still had around fifteen minutes left to catch Elsa in her office and bribe her with a nice, fresh cup of blood to skip her break and take Rihard in right after his practice.
The sooner they devised a schedule that worked for them both, the better.
Although I never made idle threats and would ban him from competing the instant it became clear he couldn’t control his outbursts, Rihard was still a damn fine player. I wanted to see him climb up the ranks, wanted to see him smile at the opening ceremony of the Games, much like I did four years ago, when the first tournament kicked off. I still recalled how fulfilling it had felt to stand there as a were athlete with Alec by my side…
Alec.
I turned around and saw my ex doubles partner—now coworker at the compound and sometime lover—coming towards me from his office. His were senses must have caught my scent on the slight breeze filtering down the hallway, and from the purposefulness of his walk, he didn’t need to call out to let me know it was me that he wanted.
“Alec, what’s up? I’m just on my way up to Elsa…”
“Ah, shit… Rihard?” He came to a stop before me, a ruffled strand of his hair brushing against his forehead.
The slight shadow that flashed across his dark blue eyes when I nodded revealed I was far from the only one who wanted to see the kid succeed.
“I hope she’ll manage to work some of her psych magic on him before the deadline.” I sighed, then cocked my head, remembering the energy I’d sensed moments earlier. “Did you need me for something?”
“Yeah. You didn’t switch up today’s schedule without notifying me, did you?”
I threw up my arms. “Didn’t touch it, I swear.”
With the Games approaching, we’d had a few misunderstandings sprinkled over the course of the past couple of weeks. But after that day when we seriously screwed up and overbooked everything, I didn’t dare mess with the original hours we set up, even if it meant working my way through a less than ideal schedule.
Alec ran his fingers through his unruly brown hair. “Christian missed practice today. I thought…”
“Christian?” My eyebrows rose, then knitted together. “Rihard told me he spoke to him earlier.”
“Would you mind—”
I waved my hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go check up on him on my way from Elsa’s.”
“Thanks, Lotte. I’d do it myself, but Schulz put me on booking duty the instant he saw I wasn’t on the court.”
The grumble in his voice was so adorable I had to hide away a smile. It didn’t do to mock the less fortunate. After all, I could just as well be the next in line to do whatever bidding our dear boss pulled out of his ass. In a way, it was kind of remarkable that he had two former tennis champions on staff but treated us as barely more than secretaries.
But that was Schultz. He didn’t give a flying fuck about how many trophies you could hit him over the head with when there was a task to be done.
For all his faults, the man certainly didn’t discriminate.
In the end, I did flash Alec a smile—but the tease it carried was of a completely different kind. “See you tonight?”
A single corner of his lips curled up, and my blood raced.
“You bet.”
Elsa’s office was bathed in sunlight, and the vampire herself, with her long, auburn hair and spotless dark skin seemed intent on soaking up every warm ray that seeped through the massive windows.
“You know,” I drawled, shifting deeper into the shadows by the door, “the invitation to join me on the clay still stands…”
While I didn’t really mind the blazing heat, despite my occasional bitching, and had managed to tan quite nicely over the spring months so that I no longer boasted that ghastly pink shade every time I braved the sun, I still craved a little repose. I had a long day ahead of me, and the temperatures were supposed to skyrocket in the afternoon. Summer finally decided to come to Munich, and it was clearly intent to do so with flare.
“What, and ruin my pumps?” Elsa scrunched her nose. “No thanks. You can keep your orange dust.”
I shot her a lopsided smile, catching a glimpse of her lacquered burgundy red stilettos. “So you’re game to stay here for a while longer? I can tell Rihard to drop by?”
“I expect payment in blood—that expensive, alcohol-laced kind you brought last time.” She narrowed her dark eyes at me. “But yes, by all means, send the kid up when you’re through tormenting him.”
“You’re the best, you know that?”
She grinned, and I couldn’t help chuckling at how her entire face lit up. “I know. Now shoo.”
I laughed aloud, then left her alone with the sunlight. Alec was nowhere to be seen when I passed the first floor, but a faint whiff of his scent did flutter past me, which meant he was probably already in his office, playing secretary to Schultz. With the registration date closing in, a lot of clubs and coaches were already sending in their reservations for the adjacent lodgings. I almost felt bad that he had to deal with all the special requests and snippiness that came with that bunch.
Almost.
The lobby opened up to my right once I reached the ground floor, but I cut straight ahead, down a somewhat narrower stairwell, and into the first of the two basement levels. The smell of chlorine hit me the instant I set foot inside the hallway.
I hurried along, immensely grateful when the corridor branched off to the right and away from the invasive stench. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but wonder why no one had outsourced a werewolf to go over the plans before construction began.
If I were in charge, the pool would be tucked somewhe
re in deep isolation.
Sighing, I pushed open the main door to the spacious locker room and called out Christian’s name.
No answer.
Well, shit. He must have gone home after Rihard saw him. Unusual, but not unheard of. Everyone had their own way of dealing with stress, and maybe this boasting over his serve Rihard had mentioned was just a brave facade that shattered once he had to walk out on the court and back his claims. Wouldn’t be the first time.
I turned around, ready to see if my own darling hellion finished his two baskets when it hit me.
Fuck.
The chlorine had singed my nostrils earlier, messing up my sense of smell, but now that the full range of senses returned, reality blasted me with a fucking vengeance. I sprinted inside the room, past the long row of lockers and towards the benches set in the middle of the space.
Christian was there, slumped over his bag like he’d fallen asleep. Only the kid—
He wasn’t breathing.