Blue Moon Saloon Box Set 1

by Anna Lowe

  Chapter Sixteen

  Two days passed, and in that time, Soren went from a soaring high to the lowest low.

  “You really need to tell her,” Janna nagged as they got ready to open the saloon.

  It was one of those warm spring afternoons in high-altitude Arizona where the shade felt just right and a cold drink even better. Warm without being overly hot; dry without being painful on the skin. Peaceful, in a way, because the town slowed down just like flies did when they’d had too much sun.

  “Come on, Soren. When are you going to tell her?”

  He thumped down a crate of beer. The longer he waited, the harder it would be to tell her, and the more he was being dishonest to Sarah. But Jesus, how do you tell a woman her unborn baby was a bear shifter? How?

  He could just see it now.

  Sarah, your baby is a shifter.

  A what?

  A bear shifter. But it’ll be really cute, I promise.

  He swore out loud. He’d have to explain that he was a bear, too.

  Oh, and by the way, everyone else in the apartment is a shifter, too. You’ve been surrounded by bears and wolves all this time. Sorry I never bothered to tell you.

  He blew out a long puff of air.

  “That’s not going to help,” Simon murmured as he walked by.

  No, it wasn’t, but what the hell would he say? When? How?

  Simon knew that he’d started sleeping with Sarah again. Hell, everyone knew, because the scent of sex was unmistakable — not to mention that he’d gone and marked her thoroughly by scrubbing his own scent into her skin with his chin each time. He might not be able to mark her with a mating bite—

  Yet, his bear filled in.

  —but he sure as hell couldn’t hold back from nuzzling her half into giggles each night.

  He smiled, thinking about it. Hearing Sarah laugh, seeing her smile… Another light in the darkness of his soul turned on every time she showed her joy. It was like someone had finally bought the dilapidated old house at the end of town that everyone said was haunted and started renovating it, one room at a time.

  So, yeah, everyone knew, and everyone nagged him to tell Sarah, though none of them had any bright ideas on how. And why should they? Simon’s mate was a born shifter, so he never had to explain to Jess. A wound had already started Cole down the road to turning shifter when Janna fell in love with him, so it wasn’t as if he had a choice. None of them faced what Soren had to do now.

  And shit, Sarah didn’t have much choice either, did she? The baby was coming. Soon.

  So he wasn’t exactly in a good mood to begin with, and it only got worse when Ty Hawthorne, alpha of Twin Moon pack, pulled into the saloon’s back lot. Lana, Ty’s mate, was there, too, along with about fifteen other rough, tough shifters in five or six vehicles that parked not very discreetly down the alley.

  Something was going down. He could feel it in the air. These were shifters on the move. Shifters with a mission.

  “We’ve got word Whyte and the Blue Bloods are heading south,” Ty said. Quietly, so no one else would hear. “We’re going after him.”

  Soren’s first reaction was, Great, let me tell the others, and I’ll be right out.

  But Ty stuck a hand on his chest and fixed him with that laser glare. “You’re staying.”

  For a minute, he couldn’t even answer. Couldn’t speak. Anger welled up in him and roared in his ears.

  “The hell I’m staying.”

  Ty shook his head. “You’re staying.”

  A growl built in his chest and filled in the hard edges around his words. “The Blue Bloods killed my clan. My clan!” His voice cracked when he barked the words, damn it. How dare Ty suggest he stay home?

  You’re staying, the alpha’s dark eyes ordered one more time.

  Two words — a death sentence for his soul. Going after the Blue Bloods was his right. His responsibility. He and his brother had tracked and taken out dozens of guilty rogues in the wake of the massacre in Montana, but they’d never managed to get their hands on Whyte, the one who’d ordered the attack.

  “Whyte is mine,” he growled.

  Simon appeared at his side. The minute he heard the news, hair popped out all over his arms as his fury brought him close to shifting.

  “What the hell do you mean, we’re not coming?”

  Ty kept up that unwavering gaze. “We need to keep level heads when we move in. Take out the leaders but figure out who deserves to live.”

  “My family deserved to live!” Soren practically yelled, right in the face of the most powerful shifter in the Four Corners area.

  Everyone he’d ever loved and lost might as well have marched down the street just then — one sorely missed friend and relative after another. The faces, the quirks of each of them felt that real, the loss that gutting. He’d shoved the memories into the farthest reaches of his mental closet for all these months. Never really given himself the chance to mourn or remember good times along with the bad. But now they jumped out at him, all those mournful faces asking him why he hadn’t been there to fight for them.

  “They didn’t kill your mother. Your father,” he hissed at Ty. “They didn’t take each and every person in your family and burn them aliv—”

  It was Simon who dragged him back and forced him to get his shit together. And it was Lana, Ty’s mate, who stepped forward and put a hand on his arm.

  “Soren, I know it’s hard. But if you were Ty and he were you, what decision would you make? Who would you bring?”

  I’d take me, he wanted to scream, but he knew she was right. He’d leave anyone whose emotions might get in the way at a critical moment. The important thing was to wipe out Whyte before he spread his ugly gospel through more of the shifter world, not who did the dirty work.

  But damn did he want to be the one to rip that asshole limb from limb.

  He bared his teeth and grunted — not at Ty or Lana, but at fate. Fate, coming to deal him yet another blow.

  He could hear a voice laughing on the wind. Ha! Got you again.

  “Cut it out,” his brother told him, reading his mind. Then he turned to Ty. “Get those bastards. Get every one.”

  As the wolves drove off, Soren hung his head and spit the bitterness out of his mouth. Tried to, anyway. Christ, he’d never find peace. Never. Not like this. They really expected him to sit around at home while they did his dirty work?

  He stared at his feet. Yep. They did.

  “Fuck.” He kicked at the asphalt.

  Simon left him and got back to work. And Soren… Well, what choice did he have?

  Sarah was napping upstairs, and he itched to go lie down next to her and tank up on some of the soothing energy he got just from being close to her. But he couldn’t go bug her with rage and frustration seeping off him like a bad smell. She needed to rest. The two of them had been staying up much too late at night, and she’d been waking up early to open the café, though she always did it with a smile. Always with a smile.

  So the least he could do was paste on something less than a frown and get to work, right?

  But then Janna started on him again, and the last little bit of his self-control blew.

  “I’ll tell Sarah about shifters if you don’t,” she said, flipping the last of the upturned chairs to the floor, ready for opening time.

  Of course, Janna didn’t know what had just happened in the back lot. Janna didn’t know how short his fuse was just then. But he exploded all the same.

  “Enough!” he roared so loudly, the glasses behind the bar shook. “I will not tell you again. Enough!”

  If Simon hadn’t yanked the bottle of whiskey out of his hand, he’d have flung it through the window to punctuate his point.

  Janna turned white, then red, then glared at him, but she kept her mouth shut. Everyone went silent until the only sound was his ragged breath and the quiet whir of the ceiling fan.

  What a dick, the fan seemed to squeak. What a dick.

  Janna di
dn’t talk to him for the rest of the night. Simon barely did, either. Jess was the only one who even met his eyes, and when she did, she looked sad and speechless.

  God, he really was a dick. He’d shown his teeth and yelled like a real bastard of an alpha. He felt terrible about it all night, not that that changed anything.

  “I’m out of here,” Janna said at midnight, when Cole pulled up in his truck outside, straight from a late meeting at Seymour Ranch.

  “Where are you going?” Jess asked.

  “Cole and I are going dancing.”

  Soren nearly snorted. Dancing. Just great. But cleanup was done, and Janna was an adult, and yes, she deserved to have a good time tonight.

  Simon finished cleaning up behind the bar, grabbed his car keys, and slipped an arm over Jessica’s shoulders. “See you,” he said.

  Soren stared for a second. His brother was leaving him, too?

  “We’re going out.” Simon looked at Jess with a weary smile. “Time to let the bear out for a little run.”

  Great. Just fucking great. His brother and Jess were going for a midnight romp in the woods. Janna and Cole were dancing. The wolves of Twin Moon Ranch were out hunting the murderer he despised. And Soren…

  Soren leaned back against the bar and shook his head.

  “You’ll be okay?” Jess asked softly.

  Sure. Just fucking great, he wanted to say. But he’d done enough barking tonight.

  He nodded. “Fine.”

  Their footsteps carried out the door and down the street, and a moment later, a car fired up and drove away.

  Soren turned around, and he let his eyes travel every inch of the bar he’d worked so hard on, months back. Well, he studied every part except the mirror, because he didn’t have the stomach to face himself right now. He felt a thousand years old and probably looked it, too.

  He tilted his head back, raising his eyes from the glittering bottles and varnished oak shelves, past the finely carved supports. Lamplight glinted off the barrel of the 1873 Winchester he’d restored and hung there, and shadows played over the scene carved in the upper portion of the bar. A wolf howled at the moon, and a bear waded in a stream, while an eagle soared above them.

  He’d never understood wolves’ love of howling at the moon, but damn, he’d never been so close to trying it as he was tonight.

  He sighed at all the work he’d put into that bar. All the hours, all the sawdust in his nostrils. He’d been so proud, but shit. Fixing up that bar might turn out to be the sole accomplishment of his life.

  Soren Voss, alpha of Blue Moon clan, going down in history for nothing more than that.

  He poured himself a stiff drink and spent a long time wiping glasses that didn’t need to be wiped, staring off into nothingness. Didn’t bother closing the front door, because the swinging saloon doors let in the cool night air. The voice of fate floated in and cackled at him from time to time. That or the sound of a late-night driver out on the street.

  An hour passed that way, or maybe two, and he was just about to pour himself another bourbon — a dangerous move for a man with far too many bottles within arm’s reach — when footsteps hurried down the creaky stairs in the back.

  “Soren?”

  He thumped the bottle down and pushed away the glass. Why did Sarah sound so panicked?

  “What’s wrong?” he stepped out to intercept her, but she swept right past him and peered out over the saloon doors, leaning forward in the sneakers she’d slipped over bare feet.

  She’d taken to wearing one of his old T-shirts as a nightgown, and it fell just high enough on her thighs to capture his gaze for a little too long. God, she was beautiful, with her long legs, red hair, and willowy figure. But why did she sound so scared?

  He put an arm over her shoulders and looked up and down the street. “What’s wrong?”

  You have to tell her, his bear insisted. Tell her about me.

  As if that would settle whatever had her nerves so frayed.

  She shivered, so he pulled her closer. “I felt it again. That, they’re coming for me feeling…”

  He didn’t have to ask who they were. He knew. But Sarah was wrong. Ty Hawthorne was ferreting out the Blue Bloods somewhere miles away. Annihilating them, if all went according to plan.

  Tell her! his bear insisted.

  Jesus, now was hardly the time.

  He wrapped her in his arms and inhaled deeply through her hair. “It’s good. It’s all good. You’re safe here. The baby is safe here.”

  She hugged him tight, but periodic shivers still shook her thin frame.

  He held her close and rocked her, almost in an extra-slow dance in the last fading beats of a song, and a little bit of peace settled over him again. He kissed the top of her head and ran his arms up and down her back.

  “See? Nothing to worry about here—”

  Alarms rang out from the fire house two blocks down, and Sarah’s head snapped up.

  “Fire?”

  They both stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked at the bustle of activity down the street.

  He wanted to shrug it off and tell Sarah it was just a fire, but just and fire didn’t seem like a good combination to try on a woman who’d survived what she had.

  “Quick! Quick! Help! Anyone!” a desperate voice cried, and a man ran up the other end of the street.

  Soren spun around.

  “Oh, God. No,” Sarah murmured, pointing to the shop front across the street. The reflection in the windows showed flames rising over rooftops from a building a few blocks behind the saloon.

  “Quick! Help!” the man yelled, rushing to them. He grabbed Soren’s arm. “We need to get them out!”

  Soren didn’t know who was stuck, but he sure wasn’t going to waste time talking.

  “Wait here,” he said, stepping away from Sarah.

  “But—”

  “Please!” the man pleaded, yanking on his arm. “There are people trapped in there!”

  He glanced at the fire house. The fire trucks hadn’t even rolled out yet; they might be too late.

  He looked at Sarah, and his heart screamed, Don’t leave her! Don’t go!

  But how could he not go? How could he not help?

  Summoning all the resolve he had, he wheeled away from her and sprinted down the street.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Wait, Soren!” Sarah called, but he was already gone with the man who’d begged for help.

  She watched him race down the sidewalk, then disappear around a right turn.

  She leaned against the outside wall of the saloon and wrapped her arms around herself, watching the reflection of the flames dance in the shop windows across the street. God, not another fire. Not another life lost. And God, please, not Soren. She couldn’t lose him, too.

  Of course, he was right to try to help. But she prayed the fire department would get there first, because they were the experts and they were well equipped. But Jesus, what was taking them so long?

  The fire was somewhere behind the saloon, and though she could have run out back or crossed the street to see the fire directly, the reflection was bad enough. Her right hand brushed over the left, and the left over the right in a nervous washing motion as she remembered the searing pain of her burns.

  She clamped her hands together. Praying would probably help as much as worrying did, but what else could she do?

  Please, God. Please don’t take another life.

  Frantic figures ran by. People emerged from buildings to see what was going on and shouted. Sirens sounded as two fire trucks blazed down the street in a blur of noise and flashing red lights. They swung around the corner just as Soren had done.

  “Fire!” people shouted. “Fire!”

  She shivered, telling herself it was the chill in the air or the fire, not the creeping feeling she’d awoken to. That feeling that the evil she thought she’d finally evaded was back.

  She looked one way down the street, then the other. Streets that had grow
n eerily quiet while the action shifted to the scene of the fire. There were shadows everywhere…

  Shadows that didn’t rush by. Shadows that watched. Waited.

  A cold chill sliced down her spine. She backed toward the saloon doors. Something was wrong. Something more than the fire.

  Soren! she screamed in her mind.

  A figure separated itself from the darkness and started walking calmly down the middle of the street toward the saloon. A tall man, clad all in black. A second man joined him, wearing a suit that was somehow more sinister for being a pure, clean white.

  They weren’t heading for the fire. They were heading for her with a cocky assurance that put ice in her blood.

  Just like in her nightmares, she opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

  Get inside! Lock the door! she screamed at her own feet, but they seemed mired in mud.

  Seconds ticked by, and all she could do was stare while several more shadows appeared along the block and started an eerie chant.

  “Purity. Purity…”

  Something in her finally snapped, and she stumbled through the saloon doors. They squeaked back and forth on their hinges as she reached up frantically for the rolling metal shutters that would lock that evil away. Whoever had slid the shutters up last had pushed them so far, she had to jump to reach the string dangling from the end. Her fingers brushed against it — once, twice — before she finally caught hold and yanked down with all her might.

  And, wham! Metal clanged against metal as the shutters hit the frame on the floor. She knelt and slid the bolt in, then froze, looking through the tiny slits between the shutters at the boots that appeared outside.

  “Miss Boone, it is fruitless to attempt an escape,” a man said as several others chanted behind him.

  “Purity. Purity.”

  She fell back on her rear and scuttled backward. The door would hold them, but for how long? They could break through the windows. Bust through the back door.

  Her body shook so hard, she could barely get to her feet.

  “Purity. Purity…”

  Even if she had plugged her ears with her fingers, the echo would still carry through. Who were these lunatics?