Broken Moon
Authors: Catherine Vale
Catherine Vale
Broken Moon
A BBW Werewolf Paranormal Shifter Romance
Copyright © 2015, Catherine Vale
Published by Wild Hearts Press
Website:
http://www.CatherineVale.com
Facebook: http://facebook.com/CatherineValeBooks
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This is a work of fiction. All names,
characters, locations, brands, incidents, and places are either the product of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author
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Table of Contents
The first thing Harley did when he walked
into the bar, was scan the area for enemies. His laser blue eyes skimmed across
the patrons that sat at the scarred wooden tables, the lacquered bar top that
had seen better days, and the faux leather couches shoved into corners in a
poor attempt to provide a more cozy setting to customers who wanted to ‘get to
know each other’ a little better.
Normally
the dim light would have made it a little difficult to see faces, but Harley’s
eyes were sharper than a human’s, and he caught every nuance of expression,
every drop of sweat rolling down the foreheads of the men who felt the scrutiny
of his gaze. Though no one met his eyes, everyone instinctively sensed his
presence, and knew without question that he was the biggest, baddest thing to
walk into the bar tonight… or perhaps ever.
One
might think it was Harley’s visual impression that intimidated other men. After
all, he was six-foot six, and two hundred sixty pounds of carved muscle, bone
and sinew, dressed in a leather jacket, jeans and chunky black boots that had
the added bonus of shooting out blades from the steel toes. He carried an
unholy amount of weaponry in his pockets that would send metal detectors
haywire and probably give the hardened bartender behind the counter an apoplexy
if he decided to lay them all out on the semi-filthy countertop. The fact that
he was handsome, with tawny skin and perfect features marred only by the hint
of stubble grazing his jaw, didn’t help at all – the stone cold look in
his eyes was enough of a deterrent to keep most women away when he didn’t want
company.
But
no, it wasn’t Harley’s looks that scared the shit out of people. It was the
waves of menace rolling off him, waves that marked him as the alpha and told
everyone to stay the fuck out of his way, if they wanted to live.
So
far, everyone seemed to be listening. Which was a good thing for them, because
he really wasn’t a big fan of killing, much as his appearance and attitude
would suggest otherwise. Confident that there was no threat in the bar, he made
his way toward a table in the corner where a man in a ratty grey trench coat,
and a stained fedora sat, clutching a mug of beer between his grimy hands. Harley
could smell his foul stench – a mixture of beer, pot, and Chinese takeout
– from across the room, and for once wished that his werewolf senses
weren’t so damned acute.
“Get
up,” he demanded, pulling out the chair that faced the back of the room, and
gesturing for the man to sit in it.
“What?”
the man trembled, but surprisingly didn’t jump up right away to obey the order.
He clenched his mug tighter, his head sinking further down between his
shoulders, as if he could hide behind the beer-filled glass. “Why?”
“Because
I don’t sit with my back to a room. Ever. Now move.”
The
man quickly obeyed, and after they had traded places, Harley settled back into
his chair and scanned the room again to make sure everything was still as it
had been when he walked in. To his surprise, they came into contact with a
brunette sitting at the bar who certainly hadn’t been there before – one
who was staring at him with sultry dark eyes set in a pretty face that looked
as if it had been carved from porcelain. She was dressed in black leather, and
as she lifted her martini glass, she ran her tongue slowly along the edge of
her bright red lips before taking a delicate sip of the glass.
Holy
shit.
Desire shot straight to his groin as her perfume wafted his way
– some heady, artificial scent that normally would have turned his nose,
but there was something about it that made him want to get out of his chair and
drift closer to her, just so he could bury his nose in the crook of her neck
and inhale more of it.
“Oi.”
The man’s nasally Queens accent skittered nervously across Harley’s
consciousness, drawing his attention away from the woman. “We gonna talk, or
what? I’ve got places to be, things to do, people to see.”
Harley
snorted. “I can guarantee you have nothing better to do than sit here with me
tonight.” He partially unzipped his jacket, pulled out an envelope, then opened
the flap and briefly flashed the stack of bills within. A grim smile curved his
lips as the informant’s dark eyes lit with greed, and he shoved the envelope
back into his jacket, satisfied he had the informant’s attention. He could
practically see dollar signs flashing in the guy’s muddy brown irises.
“Yeah,
okay, fine,” the guy said, relaxing a little bit now that he knew he was about
to be paid. “But still, I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible.
It’s not good for the two of us to linger out here in the open like this.”
Nodding,
Harley lifted two fingers, signaling the waitress to come over. As he ordered a
beer, he could feel the woman’s eyes from the bar on him, and he cursed
inwardly as her scent washed over him again.
What the hell was going on?
He never allowed himself to be distracted by a woman,
ever
, and it had
never been a problem before when he’d been on a mission, even when the mission
had called for him to get naked with one.
What was the difference now?
Doing
his best to ignore the sultry siren call, he sipped the beer, which tasted like
donkey piss, and regarded the informant steadily. “So tell me what I want to
know.”
The
man’s eyes skittered across the bar, and his face whitened a little. “I don’t
like the way that broad is lookin’ at us.”
Harley
cursed. “Don’t worry about it,” he said roughly. “I’ll take care of her.” It
had occurred to him that she could be a spy, or even an assassin, but now that he
was already sitting down here, in the middle of the deal, there was no way he
was getting up before the transaction was completed. He had his eye on her if
she decided to make a move before he was finished, but until she did, he wasn’t
moving from this rickety wooden chair.
Focus, dammit.
He was here to get information on the
mysterious group that was kidnapping shifters off the streets. Twenty missing,
or dead, just in the last ten months. And not a single lead on where they were
taken, or what was being done with them. Or at least, not until today.
Hopefully this slimy rat would finally give him the Intel they needed so the Order
of Protection could take out the threat permanently.
The
Order of Protection was a special unit, in charge of dealing with any and all
supernatural threats related to shifters, werewolves and other human-animal
hybrids that were a threat to the nation. Harley had been with the Order for
two years, and they were the most loyal bunch of hard-asses he’d ever served
with, and fiercely protective of their own. Which was why the Commander had put
him on this mission, even though technically this type of thing was under the
jurisdiction of the FBI.
None
of them liked the idea that someone was out there targeting shifters, and if
the person behind the kidnappings/killings had any inkling of the Order’s
existence, it was entirely possible that Harley or any one of his fellow
soldiers could be next.
The
informant nodded, then pulled a manila envelope from his own inside jacket
pocket and slid it across the table. “It’s all in here,” he hissed. “Now give
me my damn money.”
Harley
knew better than to pull out the contents of the envelope in plain sight. But
he did break the seal and peek inside, just to make sure the informant didn’t
give him a sheaf of blank papers – something that had been done to him
before. The documents and photographs he glimpsed within was enough to satisfy
him, and he took the envelope of money out of his pocket and discreetly handed
it to the informant.
“Good
doing business with ya,” the man said, squirreling the money away into his
jacket pocket. “I’ll be going now, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Go,”
Harley murmured, his eyes already on the woman at the bar once more. “I’ll handle
our… audience.”
He
sat back and waited for her to look his way once more, but strangely, she
didn’t. The minutes ticked past, and then a good-looking blonde man joined her
and struck up what appeared to be a lively conversation. Something akin to
jealousy burned in Harley’s gut as he watched the woman toss her long, dark
hair that gleamed in the dim light, as he listened to her throaty laugh, and
his cock started to harden as more of her heady scent drifted to his nostrils
through the stale air.
Fucking hell, he was
horny.
The
blonde eventually decided he had to use the john, and before Harley knew it, he
was sitting himself down on the vacant barstool, despite the fact that he had a
packet of highly confidential information burning a hole in his chest that
needed to get back to the Commander. The dark-haired woman turned his way, a
look of surprise etched onto her fine, delicate features, but the amusement
lurking in her dark eyes told him that she was anything but surprised to see
him sitting there next to her.
“Can
I buy you a drink?” he asked, his voice coming out rougher than he intended as
more of her scent wafted over him. It was like a drug, deep and dark and sweet,
luring him in as effectively as a worm on the end of a hook.
Those
beautiful red lips curved into a seductive smile. “I don’t know,” she demurred,
her eyes glancing toward the bathroom. “My date might come back soon. I
wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
“Don’t
worry about that, sweetheart. I’m more than prepared to hurt them for you.”
He
did buy her the drink, and they talked quietly at the bar for a long time
– how long Harley didn’t know. The rational part of his mind, the one who
knew the importance of the mission he was on, and insisted that he get his ass
back to HQ – surfaced every once in awhile, but it was quickly beat back
every time, either by another wave of the woman’s scent, or a subtle touch of
her hand against his leg, drawing him back into the conversation.
“What’s
your name?” he asked huskily.
“Amelia,”
she told him, and her scent changed abruptly, telling him that she was lying.
He
frowned, then grabbed Amelia by her upper arm, which was exposed by the
sleeveless black dress she wore. “I’m wondering what a lovely lady like you is
doing in a dump like this,” he tried to growl menacingly in her ear, but the
words came out more as a lover’s caress, soft and gentle.
What the hell was
wrong with him?
Fear
flickered briefly in the woman’s eyes, but then she leaned in closer, her
breasts brushing against Harley’s chest. “I came here looking for a man,” she
purred. “One who’s willing to take charge, to dominate me, to make me feel like
a real woman again. And it looks like I’ve found one.”
She brushed
her perfect red lips against Harley’s earlobe, and he sucked in a sharp breath
as lust exploded from within him. He swept her into his arms, nearly overcome
with the desire to sweep the glasses off the countertop and take her right here
on the bar in full view of everyone, but he settled for a deep kiss instead.
She tasted like gin and oranges, and more of the deep, darky heady stuff that
was making his head swim, but he couldn’t stop taking, he had to have more…
“Let’s get
out of here,” she murmured huskily against his lips. “My place is only a few
blocks away.”
Nodding, he
helped her to her feet, then nearly staggered out the door, no better than a
drunk as he followed her into the back alley. The alarm bells were screaming in
his mind now, but they were so terribly faint as he stared at the sway of her
hips as she walked toward the street. Her long, dark hair brushed against the
dip in her waist, and as his eyes roamed over the sweet curve of her ass all
thoughts were drowned out as he imagined what it would be like to strip that
tight, slinky number off her body and lick every inch of her naked skin.
Oh yeah.
Something
was definitely wrong with him. He stopped and shook his head, struggling to
remember why he was here, what he was supposed to be doing, why this was so
wrong, and as a gust of chilly, garbage scented air swept through the alley,
driving Amelia’s seductive scent from his nostrils, and bringing him the scents
of three men, scents that he should have noticed the moment he walked through
the door.
He also
caught the scent of fresh, human blood, and stiffened, his head lifting like a
bloodhound’s snout did when scenting prey.
Amelia turned
her head, a puzzled look on her pretty face. “You coming, lover?”
“Wait,” he
growled, but before he could turn to face the threat lurking behind him a heavy
object struck the side of his neck, sending a sharp pain zinging through him.
Immediately the strength left his limbs, and he sank down onto his knees, his
abs trembling with the effort of trying to hold him upright.
“Who… are…
you… ” he rasped, staring up at the woman as she came to stand over him, her
dark eyes glittering like black diamonds, the cold lines of her beautiful face
stripped of their earlier warmth. Hatred swept through him, and he tried to
shift, but his muscles refused to heed the call, to do anything except,
apparently, melt into a puddle at Amelia’s stiletto-clad feet.