Bad Moon Rising (Blackthorn Wolves)

BAD
MOON RISING

By

Vivi
Anna

Copyright
2012 Vivi Anna

This
ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved,
including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, is any form.
This ebook may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.

––––––––

A
soft, warm breeze tickled the leaves of the big
oak trees as she stepped out of the woods. The weather had been unnaturally hot
for the end of October, and the dying sun had brought no relief to the day’s
humidity. The sultry night air pressed down on her. Sweat trickled down her
back and over the firm swell of her ass. Her red silk robe clung to her clammy
skin, and strands from her long braided hair stuck to the back of her neck. The
walk from her home to the sacred place was short, but in the heat even that
produced enough sweat to slick her skin.

Bright light from the full moon illuminated the
small clearing. She could clearly see the large wood stump she’d consecrated
months ago for her altar. Slowly, she walked to it, breathing in the sweet
scents in the air. It was a perfect night for making magic.

She set the wicker basket she was carrying down
gently on the wooden altar. Stepping alongside it, she shed her robe, and
slipped off her sandals. She stretched her arms up to the sky and closed her
eyes. The warm breeze caressed her naked body. The only thing she wore was an
Egyptian ankh amulet around her neck, a symbol of eternal life and sexual
energy. She took in one last deep breath, then turned to her basket and the
work at hand.

“I call upon the element of air to be present and to
bless the work to be done.” She raised the candle to the night sky. “Hail and
welcome.”

The invocations she did intensified the ancient
mystical elements that roamed the woods. She could almost see the magic in the
night sky. A faint warm glow emanated around her. The spell would be powerful,
she had no doubt it would work.  She was a commanding witch.

From the basket, she withdrew a small clay bowl and
set it on the altar.  Next, she took out a little brown, glass bottle, opened
it, and dripped oil into the bowl. The sweet warm smell of cinnamon wafted up
to her nose. She took out another bottle, a plastic one, full of avocado oil,
and poured some into the bowl.

Dipping her fingers into the mixture, she rubbed the
liquid onto her nipples reveling in the way it made her skin tingle with heat. 
As she touched her skin, power trickled over her cutting a lazy trail down her
belly to pool in between her legs.  Energy crested at her center making her
juices flow.

She slid her hand over the soft folds of her sex. 
Wet and hot, she rejoiced in the way her flesh heated even more beneath her
fingertips. Slowly, she inserted two fingers inside, pumping lazily, in no
hurry to find release. She loved to play with herself.  The spell would be
stronger because of it.

Arching her back and spreading her legs even farther
apart, she swirled her fingers over her clit, flinching as her legs tightened
and flexed in response.  An orgasm was building like a raging inferno.

Increasing her tempo, she fingered her sex while
flicking her clit.  It never failed to get her off and she needed to come hard
for her incantation to be potent.  The elementals would hear her cries one way
or another.

Within seconds, a surge of pleasure crashed through
her.  Moaning, she clamped her eyes shut and came like a volcano.  Hot cream
gushed over her fingers.

Panting, she lay there until she had the strength to
move. She sat up careful not to wipe her fingers. She reached into her basket
and gathered her bolline and two pink candles.  With her ritual knife, she
carved an ancient symbol into one candle and set it on the altar. She dipped
her hands into the oil bowl mixing her cum with the tincture. Again, she
anointed the other candle and set it with the other on the altar where she lit
them both.

The wind picked up and swirled violently around her,
but miraculously did not extinguish the flames. Her magic was strong. She had
seen it do amazing things. This spell, she hoped, would be one of her most
effective. The elementals couldn’t deny her call.

She raised her arms to the heavens, closed her eyes,
and bowed her head. “And let it be done.”

––––––––

T
ommy woke in an instant. It was as if something had
jabbed him in the heart.  Adrenaline rushed through him like wildfire.  He’d
never felt anything like that before.

Rubbing his face, he swung his legs out of bed and
stood.  He padded naked across the room to the bedroom window.  He looked out
at the night, gazing up at the moon.  She wasn’t quite full yet.  Two more
nights and she’d be complete.  And he would obey her beckoning.

Beckoning.

That’s what it felt like in his body, in his mind. 
Like he was being called forth.  As far as he’d experienced in his thirty
years, the moon was the only thing that could do that to him.

He turned from the window and glanced at his warm
bed.  There was no way he’d get back to sleep now.  A run.  That would do him
some good and ease some of this tension he was feeling inside.

He walked downstairs and to the kitchen.  He slid
open the balcony door and inhaled the warm night air.  Every day he was
thankful for living on the edge of the woods like he did.  Living deep in the
city would drive him insane.  Thankfully one of the perks of being a wolf pack
general was the house near the trees.  Garrick Blackthorn was a great alpha and
a good friend to give him this place.

Every muscle in his body quivered with the need to
shift.  When he reached the dewy grass, he stretched with a long drawn out
quiver from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. He then crouched onto
the ground and began to shift.  It hurt like hell, as it always did.

Bones elongated and shifted, joints popped, course
hair pushed through small pores, long curved claws grew from tips of fingers
and teeth, jagged and sharp, thrust painfully from sore swollen gums.  The
process sucked, but the end result was glorious.

Tommy raised his muzzle to the air and sniffed.  A
myriad of smells came to him in an instant, and he was able to catalogue them
quickly.  Damp grass and leaves, dirt, lavender and freesia, the subtle musk of
rodents and other wildlife.  He took it all in and sighed, well as much as a
werewolf could sigh.  It was more like a snort through flared nostrils.

Shaking out his body from nose to tail, he bounded
into the tall grass and headed for the copse of trees.  Maybe he’d do a little
hunting during his run.  There was nothing like the thrill of stalking prey. 
It never failed to ignite the most primal part of him.  The werewolf side that
ruled much of what he was, even in human guise.

As he sprinted through the underbrush, leaping over
fallen branches and craggy bushes, his thoughts unfortunately strayed to what
had woken him.  An image flashed behind his eyes nearly making him stumble.  It
was of a naked woman, arms raised to the sky, standing in the middle of a green
field.

He ran faster, harder, pushing his wolf body to its
limits.  Hoping speed and endurance would wipe his mind clear.  By the time he
made it through the trees to the clearing, his heart thumped so fast he was
panting with the exertion.

But still the image remained.

He huffed once then twice, and a heady scent caught
his attention.  Raising his muzzle up, he inhaled deeply.  A shiver raced down
the length of his body and his hackles rose.  He wasn’t alone.  A human was
nearby.  He sniffed again. A woman.

And by the scent of her, not an ordinary woman.

He turned just in time to see her walk out of the
trees and into the clearing a few yards from where he stood.  She was
beautiful, with long blond hair, pale porcelain skin.  Despite his wolf form,
her curves made his loins harden. Ears up, he approached her, though
cautiously.

When he was within a few feet, she looked right at
him and smiled.  “Come to me, little wolf.  I summon you.”

Then she disappeared.

Now, he understood why he’d woken earlier. And who
had done the waking.

Anisa Crowley. A powerful witch. And his
ex-girlfriend

“You have to go where?” Garrick Blackthorn narrowed
his eyes at Tommy as he swung the ax.  The blade split the log in half like
slicing through butter.

Tommy scuffed his runner in the dirt, not wanting to
meet his alpha’s gaze.  He could always read it when Tommy was keeping
something from him or worse, lying.

“Family emergency.”

“I thought all your family was back in England?”

“My aunt and uncle came over years ago.”

Garrick stuck the ax in the log and eyed Tommy. 
“Why do you even bother lying?  You know I can smell it when you do. You
sweat.”

“Fine.”  Tommy sighed.  “It’s a woman.  I think
she’s in trouble.”

Garrick grinned.  “I thought as much.”

“No mate, it’s not like that.  This is an ex.”

“Did she call you?”

Tommy nodded. “Yeah, something like that.”

“I take it she’s trouble.”

“More than you’ll ever know.”

Garrick rubbed at the thin scar on his chin,
courtesy of a rival alpha years ago.  “Then why are you going?”

“That, mate, is a really long story.”  He couldn’t
tell Garrick about the power Anisa had on him.  About her witchcraft. 
Werewolves and witches weren’t supposed to mix.  It was like mixing gunpowder
and a lit match.  Destruction was the only thing that came out of that
situation.

His alpha slapped him on the shoulder.  “Have fun. 
I’m sure Smith can handle anything that may come up.”

He turned to go.

“Oh, make sure you check in with the alpha in that
territory.”

“That guy’s a scumbag.”

“I know, but it is customary. We don’t want a
territory war.”

Tommy nodded his thanks, then jumped in his pickup
and drove away from his wolf pack’s compound.  He didn’t feel thankful though. 
Some part of him wanted Garrick to forbid him to go.  He needed some excuse not
to face Anisa again.  He’d spent years breaking the hold she had on him, but
obviously it was still there or she wouldn’t have been able to summon him.  Her
power had grown. And that frightened him more than he wanted to admit.

––––––––

S
he rubbed at her temple again. The headache was
getting worse, stronger, more centralized. This morning she woke with a dull
throb all over her head, but now, late in the day, it was situated in her
temples. It was if someone was pushing pins into the side of her skull.

The little bell at her door rang. She looked up as
the door opened and Ted, Raven’s Bay’s deputy, and another man strolled in. she
smiled.

“Hi, Ted. Did you come for some more bath salts? I
just made up a new batch.”

Ted blushed. “Ah, no, sorry, Anisa. Business today. 
This is Sheriff John Branwell.” He stepped to the side and waved his hand at
the man commanding the room behind him.

She felt her heart stutter in her chest as he looked
her over. He was tall with wide shoulders and a trim waist. His curly dark hair
brushed at his collar and flirted at her brow, overlooking incredibly dark blue
eyes. He had an impressive presence. The weight of his aura pressed back on
Anisa, circled her, and caressed her skin.

There was power there.

“I had no idea Raven’s Bay was getting a new
sheriff.”

He continued to eye her, as if taking measure. She
shivered involuntarily at the intensity of his gaze.

“Ah, he just arrived today and needs to talk to you.
In private,” Ted said softly his eyes flitting to Poppy, her young employee,
who hovered nearby, her dark brown eyes wide with interest.

“Sure. How about we go in the back?” she motioned to
the gauzy curtain separating the back rooms.

She led them to the room where there was a small
round table, and two chairs. She gestured to one of the chairs. “Would you care
to sit?”

“No, thank you.”  The sheriff’s electric voice
caressed her skin, and she shivered.

“Well, I will, if you don’t mind?” she pulled out a
chair and sat, crossing her long legs. She hoped he didn’t notice them
quivering. Being near this man was intoxicating. She felt light headed and
almost giddy.

Clearing her throat, she tried to sound
unaffected.  “Was there something you wanted?”

After several long seconds, he pulled his gaze away
and glanced around the room. “Did you know Stan Hart?”

She frowned. “Yes, I know him.”

“What was your relationship with him?”

“No relationship, thank you.”

“Stan’s not your favorite person?” John cocked an
eyebrow and she wondered if he could hear the disdain in her voice.

“Not really.”

“You’ve had words over the years? Arguments? Heated
arguments?”

“You could say that. Stan has a problem with...me.”

“And that made you...angry?”

She sat forward in her chair and put a hand onto the
table. “What is this all about?”

Ted sighed. “Stan’s dead, Anisa.”

She gasped and put a shaky hand to her mouth. John's
gaze never left her face. She could tell he was searching for something.  Guilt
maybe?

The sheriff nodded toward Ted.  “Deputy, could you
excuse us?”

Ted looked at John, then back to me. “Um...”

“I’d prefer if he stayed, Sheriff Branwell,” she
managed to say, her breath nearly catching in her throat by the surge in power
she was sensing.  Her skin tingled and her muscles clenched.  Sweat rolled down
her back and chest to settle inside her navel.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like the way you’re looking at me.”
She lied. She liked how he was regarding her.  With equal measures of lust and
hostility.  The combination made her skin tingle and her muscles melt in
desire.  An ache, hot, brutal and intense, burned at her core. She pushed back
on the heat John was aiming at her and wondered if he felt the same delicious quivers
through his fine form.

Ted looked from her to John, unsure of what to do.
“Do you want me to take notes, Sheriff?”

John glanced over at him and nodded, his jaw
clenched.

Ted took out his notebook and sat down in the chair
across the table from Anisa.

“Let’s start over, shall we?”

She set her hands in her lap trying to hide the
quake in them.  “I’d really appreciate if you tell what is going on. I’m
feeling very...persecuted right now.”

“Persecuted? Interesting word choice. Why would you
say that?”

“Well, you’re obviously here because Ted told you
Stan and I never got along. You’re also here because Stan’s death was not
accidental, and you’re here because Ted told you I’m a witch. So yeah,
persecuted, I think, is the correct word for the situation, don’t you think?”

“You admit to being a witch?”

“Yes. You admit to being a bastard?” 

John tilted his head and grinned. She swallowed down
the moan threatening to erupt.  His smile was more disarming than his intense
gaze, and did she detect tips of canines between his full lips?

Liquid heat pooled between her legs. She didn’t know
how long she could hang on to her will power. She desperately wanted to spread
her legs and satisfy the throb drumming at her sex.

“Where’s your crystal ball?”

“I don’t have one. You have me confused with a
psychic.”

“Okay, where’s your broomstick?”

“In the corner.” she gestured to the right corner
behind her.

The back and forth banter was doing nothing to quell
her growing need.  In fact, it ignited the flames, urging them higher.  Licking
her lips, she did a slow thorough perusal of his body. She smiled when she
noticed the strain on the crotch of his snug jeans. He was obviously feeling
the heat between them.

“Do you conjure spells?”

“Yes,” she said tearing her gaze from him.

“Can you put spells on people?”

She leaned back in her chair and narrowed her eyes.
“No.”

She wanted to beg him to move away.  His hot violent
aura was pressing down on her.  Oppressive but delicious, she wanted to reach
up and hook her finger in his jeans and pull him closer.  The urge to bury her
face in his lap nearly made her choke.

“Spells are only suggestions, nothing more.”

“So, you could do an evil spell, on say, me...and make
a suggestion that I...hmm, that I take a flying leap off a bridge?”

“Magic does no harm.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Sheriff, that magic itself is only a
tool. It is neutral. There is no such thing as an evil spell.”

“How about an evil person? Is there such thing as an
evil person?’

“I suppose.”

John touched a finger to his mouth as if in thought.
“What if this evil person knew magic? What then?”

She uncrossed her legs and sat forward in her chair
defiantly looking up at John. She knew what he was insinuating, and she
couldn’t muster the anger to debate him.  If only he really knew how wicked she
could be.  Would he run, or smile in invitation?

Finally, she found her voice.  “Then, I suppose,
you’d have one hell of a problem on your hands, Sheriff.”

“Would I?”

“Oh, yes.”

With those words, she released some magic. She
didn’t care who saw it in her eyes. She couldn’t contain the vortex of power
swirling inside of her.  John did something to her that only one other person
had before.  And she wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

The candles sparked to life and the table beneath
them trembled as if the earth itself shook.  She invoked her power of the
sheriff and he swayed to it.  His eyes closed under her will.

Ted stood up abruptly from the table and knocked his
chair over. The resonating sound bolted John from his trance. His eyes snapped
open and he took a shaky step back from Anisa.

“Okay, I think we’ve bothered you enough, Anisa.
We’ll just get going.” Ted stepped up to John and put a hand on his arm.

John shook his head clear and glanced over at Ted.
There was worry in his eyes.  She could see it.  John looked back down at her.
She still sat forward, but her hands were now pressed down on the chair between
her legs, as if she was about to spring up and attack, like a cat ready to
pounce.  If they had been alone, she would’ve. 

“I’ll be following up with you, Ms. Crowley, so
don’t think of leaving town.”

She nodded that she understood because words
wouldn’t form.  Too tense and on edge, she couldn’t do anything else.

She watched as Ted escorted John out of the room and
back into her shop. She could sense the nervousness Ted felt.  The way he
looked at John told her that he feared for the sheriff.  Ted was a smart man.