Blood Rights [Wicked River 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

Wicked River 2

Blood Rights

Moira Gilson has always been different, though she never fully understood why. Dedicating her life to protecting a sibling she’d never met was the easy part. Finding her own happiness will take a bit more work. 

Rumors spread like poison when Brock Lancaster disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving behind an alpha legacy. Nearly a year later, he’s back. Not to claim his rightful place as leader of the pack but to protect the woman he loves—and he’s not alone. 

Koba Blackheart would rather avoid conflict when possible. Having two mates constantly at each other’s throats is the epitome of conflict, especially since Brock and Moira have a history and he’s the odd man out.

Danger creeps ever closer, and their rocky relationship will soon be put to the test. Can the three recognize the true meaning of family? Or will they crumble under their own selfishness?

Genre:
Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Shape-shifter, Vampires/Werewolves

Length:
48,876 words
 

Wicked River 2

Gabrielle Evans

MENAGE EVERLASTING

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

BLOOD RIGHTS

E-book ISBN:
978-1-61926-901-9

First E-book Publication: July 2012

Cover design by Jinger Heaston

All art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

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Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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Blood Rights
by Gabrielle Evans from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

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A big thank you to Tina for being my sounding board and cheerleader. This one’s for you.

BLOOD RIGHTS

Wicked River 2

GABRIELLE EVANS

Copyright © 2012

“Son of a bitch!” Picking up a large, fallen tree branch, Moira jabbed it toward the offending metal, growling when the steel teeth clamped together, crushing the wood between its powerful jaws.

It was the fourth foothold trap she’d found on her property that week, and heads would roll when she discovered who was endangering her pack. With the full moon scheduled to crest in just a few hours, she was running out of time to make the grounds safe before it was time to hunt.

She’d never asked to be chosen to lead, but it was a job she took very seriously. When their alpha had mysteriously disappeared two months prior, she’d naturally assumed that one of the betas would rise to the challenge and take over the pack. No such thing occurred, however.

By some strange flaw in fate’s design, the lycans had turned to her to lead them. On one hand, it was to be expected. She was a predator by nature and had been born to lead. Unchallengeable power flowed through her veins. Strength and authority were encoded in her DNA, and no amount of running would ever change that.

On the other hand, she’d not been born to lead a pack of wolves. When she’d first arrived in Alabama, she hadn’t been looking for a home. Alpha Lancaster had found her where she was camping out in the hills, though, offered her refuge, and helped her bury the past she’d been trying to escape.

Would the pack be so openly accepting if they knew her secrets? Moira seriously doubted it, but it wasn’t the time to worry for herself. Someone was endangering the lives of people she cared about, and she wanted their heads on a platter with a nice garnish of parsley.

“Did you find anything?”

Moira glared at the offending trap before turning her attention to her two betas. “Just this.” She kicked the rusted metal and huffed. “How did the meeting go?”

Joss Emerson rubbed a hand over the top of his short, blond hair and sighed. “A couple of the ranchers are complaining about dead livestock. I guess Mike McElroy lost three head of cattle the night before last. Says they were ripped apart pretty bad.”

“Buddy Jebs said something got ahold of his sheep and one of his sows,” her second beta, Rip Lomack, added, pushing his dark hair back as the wind whipped the long strands around his face. “They’re blaming it on wolves.”

“That’s crap, and we all know it. Wolves might have gotten to Buddy’s sheep, but I’d be more likely to believe it was coyotes. Neither one took down three of Mike’s heifers, though.”

While the red wolves still roamed parts of Alabama, they’d been nearly nonexistent since the 1920s. In their little town of Mission Landing, the only wolves that prowled the night were members of the Red Moon Pack. Moira didn’t even have to ask to know that none of her pack had been involved with the ranchers’ dead livestock.

“Yeah, we know it’s crap,” Joss agreed. “It doesn’t change anything, though. It’s not like we can waltz into a city council meeting and tell them we’re the wolves, but not to worry because we haven’t been turning the local ranches into all-you-can-eat buffets.”

No, they really couldn’t. Hiding their existence from the humans and maintaining a low profile were high priorities. Not easy things to accomplish when men armed with shotguns were on the lookout for wolves. What was she supposed to do? Call off the hunt? Tell her pack they were no longer allowed to shift?

“Everyone is being careful, right?”

“They know the rules.” Rip crossed his arms over his broad chest and frowned. “No one shifts where there is even a chance they could be seen by humans, and we only hunt on pack lands.”

Those were the rules, all right, quoted almost verbatim from the mandate she’d handed down when the whole mess had started before the last full moon. “Have either of you talked to Ten?”

Tennyson Blakemore wasn’t lycan, but he was one of the few humans in the town who knew their secret. He was also the only vet in town, and as such, would more than likely have already seen the slain livestock.

“Well, that’s kind of the thing…” Joss trailed off while he stared at some point just over Moira’s shoulder.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Ten’s gone,” the beta blurted. “I mean, just straight up disappeared. His pickup is still sitting in his driveway, but he’s not home. He’s not answering his cell phone, and his receptionist says he didn’t show for work at the clinic today.”

“Have you checked the river?” It wasn’t that human life meant so little to her, but it was the reality of the situation. Tennyson wasn’t the first person to go missing in Mission Landing in recent weeks, and Moira had no reason to believe he’d be the last.

“Not yet,” Rip replied. “We thought it might be easier to catch a scent during the full moon tonight.”

It wasn’t logical thinking, but the idea of her betas being so close to the river at night sent shivers up Moira’s spine. Wicked River wasn’t technically a river, not in her book anyway. It was only a bit more than a stream or a creek, but it ran through three counties before joining with the Chattahoochee River. Maybe it was the mythos that the townspeople liked to spread about the stream. Maybe she’d been brainwashed like the rest of the masses. Whatever it was, the damn thing gave her the creeps.

“Maybe we should let the sheriff handle this one.”

“Just like the department has found all the other missing people?” Rip countered. “Ten might not have been pack, but he was our friend. We owe it to him to at least look.”

Rip was right, and Moira had no illusions that they’d find the vet alive. Something was happening in their little town, something dark and dangerous. Even if she couldn’t put a name to what plagued Mission Landing, she could feel it—cold, vicious, and hungry.

“Fine, we’ll search the river at nightfall. Stick together and keep it close. No one goes more than a mile in either direction along the banks.”

“Got it,” Joss answered, but there was a gleam in his eyes, and he looked to be having a hard time hiding a grin.

“Do you have something to say?”

“Just that it sounds like you’ve been drinkin’ the Kool-Aid, Mo. You don’t really believe that stuff—oomph!”

Moira had her beta’s face pressed into the grass and his arm twisted behind his back as she pushed her knee between his shoulders. “Don’t
ever
call me that.”

“Shit, Moira.” Rip stepped forward like he was going to physically remove her from Joss’s back but thought better of it at the last second. “What the hell?”

Her heart rate was too fast, her breathing too shallow, and her gut cramped painfully. Overreaction was a fairly mild term for the behavior she’d just exhibited. Neither of her betas needed to know what a mess she was on the inside, though.

Releasing Joss’s wrist, she rose calmly to her feet and even offered a hand to pull him up from the ground. “Gather a few more guys to help you search, but keep it quiet. We don’t want to cause a panic. I’ll meet you back here at sundown.”

If she’d been anyone else, maybe the men would have questioned her. She wasn’t just anyone, though. She was their alpha, and the title afforded respect. So both betas nodded, offered mumbled good-byes, and headed back across the field toward their vehicles.