Changeling Moon (32 page)

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Authors: Dani Harper

BOOK: Changeling Moon
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Don't miss BODYGUARDS IN BED,
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Elizabeth Naughton, out now!
 
Turn the page for a preview of Lucy's story . . .
 
 
 
 
D
anusia wiggled the key in the lock on her brother's apartment door. Darn thing always stuck, but he wouldn't make her another one. Said she didn't come to stay often enough for it to matter.
Yeah, and he wasn't particularly keen for that to change either, obviously. He'd probably gotten the wonky key on purpose. Just like the rest of her older siblings, Roman Chernichenko kept Danusia at a distance.
She knew why he did it at least, though she was pretty sure the others didn't.
Knowing didn't make her feel any better. Even in her family of brainiacs, she was definitely the odd one out. They loved her, just like she loved them, but they were separated by more than the gap in their ages. She was seven years younger than her next youngest sibling. An unexpected baby, though never unwanted—at least according to her mom.
Still, her sister and brothers might love her, but they didn't get her and didn't particularly want her to get them.
Which was why she was coming to stay in Roman's empty apartment rather than go visit one of the others, or Heaven forbid, her parents. She did not need another round of lectures on her single status by her
baba
and mom.
The lock finally gave and Danusia pressed the door open, dragging her rolling suitcase full of books and papers behind her. The fact the alarm wasn't armed registered at the same time as a cold cylinder pressed to her temple.
“Roman, I swear on Opa's grave that if you don't get that gun away from me, I'm going to drop it in a vat of sulfuric acid and then pour the whole mess all over the new sofa Mom insisted you get the last time she visited. If it's loaded, I'm going to do it anyway.”
The gun moved away from her temple and she spun around, ready to lecture her brother into an early grave, and help him along the way. “
It is so not okay to pull a gun on your sister. . . .
” Her tirade petered off to a choked breath. “
You!
”
The man standing in front of her was a whole lot sexier than her brother and scarier, which was saying something. Not that she was afraid of him, but
she
wouldn't want him for an enemy.
The rest of the family believed that Roman was a scientist for the military. She knew better. She was a nosy baby sister after all, but this man? Definitely worked with Roman and carried an aura of barely leashed violence. Maxwell Baker was a true warrior.
She shouldn't, absolutely
should not
, find that arousing, but she did.
“You're not my brother,” she said stupidly.
Which was not her usual mode, but the six-foot-five black man, who would make Jesse Jackson Jr. look like the ugly stepbrother if they were related, turned Danusia's brain to serious mush.
His brows rose in mocking acknowledgment of her obvious words.
“Um
. . .
”
“What are you doing here, Danusia?” Warm as really good aged whiskey, his voice made her panties wet.
How embarrassing was that? “You know my name?”
Put another mark on the chalkboard for idiocy.
“The wedding wasn't so long ago that I would have forgotten already.” He almost cracked a smile.
She almost swooned.
Max and several of Roman's
associates
had done the security at her sister, Elle's, wedding, which might have been overkill. Or not. Danusia suspected stuff had been going on that neither she nor her parents had known about.
It hadn't helped that she'd been focused on her final project for her master's and that Elle's wedding had been planned faster than Danusia could solve a quadratic equation. She'd figured out that something was going on, but that was about it. This time her siblings had managed to keep their baby sister almost completely in the dark.
A place she really hated being.
Not that her irritation had stopped her from noticing the most freaking gorgeous man she'd ever met. Maxwell Baker. A tall, dark dish of absolute yum.
Once she had seen Max with his strong jaw, defined cheekbones, big and muscular body, not much else at the wedding had even registered. Which might help explain why she hadn't figured out why all the security.
“It's nice to see you again.” There, that sounded somewhat adult. Full points for polite conversation, right?
“What are you doing here?” he asked again, apparently not caring if he got any points for being polite.
She shrugged, shifting her backpack. “My super is doing some repairs on the apartment.”
“What kind of repairs?”
“Man, you're as bad as my brother.” They hadn't even made it out of the entry and she was getting the third-degree.
Really as bad as her brother and maybe taking it up a notch. Roman might have let her get her stuff put out of the way before he started asking the probing questions. Then again, maybe not.
“I'll take that as a compliment.” Then Max just paused, like he had all the time in the world to wait for her answer.
Like it never even occurred to him she might refuse to respond.
Knowing there was no use in attempted prevarication, she sighed. “They're replacing the front door.”
“Why?”
“Does it matter?” Sheesh.
He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms, muscles bulging everywhere. “I won't know until you tell me.”
“Someone broke it.” She was proud of herself for getting the words out, considering how difficult she was finding the simple process of breathing right now.
This man? Was lethal.
“Who?” he demanded, frown firmly in place.
Oh, crud, even his not-so-happy face was sexy, yummy, heart-palpitatingly delicious. “I don't know.”
Try THE DARKEST SIN by Caroline Richards,
out this month from Brava!
 
 
 
 
R
owena Woolcott was cold, so very cold.
She dreamed that she was on her horse, flying through the countryside at Montfort, a heavy rain drenching them both to the skin, hooves and mud sailing through the sodden air. Then a sudden stop, Dragon rearing in fright, before a darkness so complete that Rowena knew she had died.
When she awakened, it was to the sound of an anvil echoing in her head and the feeling of bitter fluid sliding down her throat. She kept her eyes closed, shutting out the daggered words in the background.
“Faron will not rest—”
“The Woolcott women—”
“One of his many peculiar fixations . . . they are to suffer . . . and then they are to die.”
“Meredith Woolcott believed she could hide forever.”
Phrases, lightly accented in French, drifted in and out of Rowena's head, at one moment near and the next far away. Time merged and coalesced, a series of bright lights followed by darkness, then the sharp retort of a pistol shot. And her sister's voice, calling out to her.
The cold permeated her limbs, pulling down her heavy skirts into watery depths. She tried to swim but her arms and legs would not obey, despite the fact that she had learned as a child in the frigid lake at Montfort. She did not sink like a stone, weighted by her corset and shift and riding boots, because it seemed as though strong hands found her and held her aloft, easing her head above the current tried to force water down her throat and into her lungs.
She dreamed of those hands, sliding her into dry, crisp sheets, enveloping her in a seductive combination of softness and strength. She tossed and turned, a fever chafing her blood, her thoughts a jumble of puzzle pieces vying for attention.
Drifting into the fog, she imagined that she heard steps, the door to a room opening, then the warmth of a body shifting beneath the sheets. She felt the heat,
his heat
, like a cauldron, a furnace toward which she turned her cold flesh. Her womb was heavy and her breasts ached as he slid into her slowly, infinitely slowly, the hugeness of him filling the void that was her center.
Was it one night or a lifetime of nights? Or an exquisite, erotic dream. Spooned with her back against his body, Rowena felt him hard and deep within her. She slid her hip against a muscular thigh, aware of him beginning to move within her once again. She savored the wicked mouth against the skin of her neck, pleasured by the slow slide of his lips. Losing herself in his deliberate caress, she reveled in his hands cupping and stroking, his fingers slipping into the shadows and downward to lightly tease her swollen, sensitized flesh.
“Stay here . . . with me,” he whispered, breath hot in her ear.
And she did. For one night or a lifetime of nights, she would never know.
Good girls should NEVER CRY WOLF.
But who wants to be good?
Be sure to pick up Cynthia Eden's latest novel,
out next month!
 
 
 
 
L
ucas didn't take the woman back to his house on Bryton Road. The place was probably still crawling with cops and reporters, and he didn't feel like dealing with all that crap.
He called his first in command, Piers Stratus, to let him know that he was out of jail and to tell him that there two unwanted coyotes in town.
The woman—Sarah—didn't speak while he drove. He could feel the waves of tension rolling off her, shaking her body.
She was scared. She'd done a fair job of hiding her fear back at the police station and then at the park, at first anyway. But as the darkness had fallen, he'd seen the fear. Smelled it.
Sarah had known she was being hunted.
He pushed a button on his remote. The wrought-iron gates before him opened and revealed the curving drive that led to his second LA home. In the hills, it gave him a great view of the city below, and that view let know him when company was coming, long before any unexpected guests arrived.
When the gate shut behind him, he saw Sarah sag slightly, settling back into her seat. The scent of her fear finally eased.
Like most of his kind, he usually enjoyed the smell of fear. But he didn't . . . like the scent on her.
He much preferred the softer scent, like vanilla cream, that he could all but taste as it clung to her skin. Perhaps he would get a taste, later.
With a flick of his wrist, he killed the ignition. The house was right in front of them. Two stories, Long, tall windows.
And, hopefully, no more dead bodies.
He eased out of the car, stretching slowly. Then he walked around and opened the door for Sarah. As any man would, Lucas admired the pale flash of thigh when her skirt crept up. And he wondered just what secrets the lovely lady was keeping from him.
“We're going to talk.” An order. He wanted to know everything, starting with why the dead human had been at his place.
She gave a quick nod. “Okay, I—”
A wolf bounded out of the house. A flash of black fur. Golden eyes. Teeth.
Shit.
It wasn't safe for the kid. Not until he found out what was going on—
The wolf ran to him. Tossed back his head and howled.
Sarah laughed softly.
Laughed.
His stare shot to her just in time to catch the smile on her lips. His hand lifted, and, almost helplessly, he traced that smile with his fingertips.
Her breath caught.
Lucas ignored the tightening in his gut. “Shouldn't you be afraid?” After the coyotes, he'd expected her to flinch away from any other shifters. And Jordan was one big wolf, with claws and teeth that could easily rip a woman like Sarah apart.
She looked back at the wolf who watched them. “He's so young, little more than a kid. One whose glad you're—”
No.
Understanding dawned, fast and brutal in his mind.
I'm more than human.
She'd told him that, he just hadn't understood exactly
what
she was. Until now.
His hands locked around her arms and Lucas pulled her up against him. Nose to nose, close enough so that he could see the dark gold glimmering in the depths of her eyes. “Jordan, get the hell out of here.” He gave the order to his brother without ever looking away from her.
The wolf growled.
“Go!”
The young wolf pushed against his leg—
letting me know he's pissed, cause Jordan hates when I boss his ass
—and then the wolf backed away.
“Now for you, sweetheart.” His fingers tightened. “Why don't we just go back to that part about you not being human?”
Her lips parted. She had nice lips—sexy and plump. He shouldn't be noticing them, not then, but he couldn't help himself. He noticed everything about her. The gold hoops in her dainty ears. The streaks of gold buried deep in her dark hair. The lotion she rubbed on her body—that vanilla scent was driving him wild.
He was turned on, achingly hard, for a woman he barely knew. Not normally a big deal. He had a more than a healthy sex drive. Most shifters did. The animal inside liked to play.
But Sarah . . . he didn't trust her, not for a minute, and he didn't usually have sex with women he didn't trust. A man could be vulnerable to attack when he was fucking.
“You know what I am, Lucas,” she said and shrugged, the move both careless and fake because he knew that she cared, too much.
“Tell me.” Her mouth was so close. He could still taste her. That kiss earlier had just been a tease.

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