Moonlight: The Big Bad Wolf (Black Swan 4) (31 page)

Glen threaded his arms through straps, dropped the pack onto his back, and started toward town. By the time he got to the Land's End Pub his teeth were chattering uncontrollably. He had spent time in Northern Ireland before, but the wind that whipped up the Atlantic coast absorbed ocean moisture and went straight through clothes and skin and flesh, all the way to the bone.

Standing on the sidewalk in front of the pub, he could hear live music playing inside. The memory of standing in front of that door, wanting to simply open and step inside would stay with him forever. So close, but his fingers were too numbed to grasp the door pull. There was no choice but to wait in the biting cold with only the chattering of his teeth for company until someone was either headed in or out.

Finally the door opened and someone stumbled out singing and adjusting his wool cap. Glen wedged his knee into the door before it closed and stepped in. The chill was so thorough that the initial warming sensation stung his hands and face. He stood near the door, shivering and trying to keep his teeth quiet while he looked around.

It was crowded for early afternoon and visibility was compromised by thick smoke hanging in the air. He resisted the impulse to cough. There was an open casket in the middle of the room a few feet away from where the musicians were seated. His eyes rested on the body long enough to have the thought that at least that poor fellow was beyond caring about secondhand smoke.

Those who noticed him stared with open curiosity. Strangers in Dunkilly were as common as unicorns.

He caught the eye of the bartender who simply pointed toward a back corner. Glen couldn't see what the man pointed to, but he nodded and began making his way toward the rear.

He wound through a few layers of standing people who were holding glass mugs and talking loudly to be heard over the music, until he could see a corner snug in the back. It was close to a window so there was enough light to see, even with the smoke, that the bartender had been right in surmising that he was looking for Z Team.

There they were, the farthest thing from inconspicuous. Glen couldn't begin to guess how they had managed to be successful vampire slayers when everything about them drew attention and broadcasted vibes of this-is-your-last-chance-to-run. It was a message that floated around them like a diaphanous cloud of warning.

The four of them fit comfortably in a snug designed for eight. That was partly because of their sheer size and partly because they had a casual way of draping arms and legs so that they took up as much space as possible. It also communicated disdain for established notions of propriety. Glen knew instinctively that even the word "propriety" would make Black Swan's infamous misfits laugh out loud.

One of them was wearing a sleeveless shirt that had once been a denim jacket. His left arm had been transformed into a tattooed sleeve by an intricately inked mural of muted colors. It was odd to see bare biceps when it was brittle-dick cold outside, but Glen supposed that if he'd made
that
much of an investment in ink he might want to show it off too.

Glen's initial impression of the guy sitting next to Sleeve was that he should have the nickname, Dark, or Black. He wore black jeans, a black metal band shirt that was probably a collectable, and his spiky hair was so blue black it had to have been dyed that color. All that with eyes so pale he could almost get away with going undercover as a vamp. He wasn't wearing eyeliner, but the contrast between his ice-color irises and those thick ebony lashes made his eyes pop in a dramatic way that probably drew interest from a lot of babes.
The Black Knight.
Glen smiled a little to himself. He enjoyed his own company and his own offbeat sense of humor.

The third wore a plain gray long sleeve tee that covered his upper body, but Glen could see black ink climbing out of the neck of the guy's shirt, stopping just below his pronounced jaw line. Either tribal pattern or angel glyph. Hard to tell with just snake tails in view. He had a serious case of bed head going, probably by design, and one eyebrow that was raised and had been since he'd noticed Glen standing there watching them.

He said something to the others. Then the fourth, the one facing away with one long arm draped over the back of the snug, turned to look at Glen, revealing elfin ears. Those ears were outlined by light brown hair with titian streaks. Same curl as Sir Hawking. Had to be Torrent Finngarick.

They looked exactly the way Glen had expected them to look. Hard. Tough. And like they belonged together. He was thinking,
So they're Black Swan knights with a little bit of a nasty reputation. They put their pants on one leg at a time just like me. Right?

It was an inadequate internal pep talk, but he just wasn't feeling it. He decided to go with Plan A, which was taking life straight ahead, one step at a time. Glen had a reputation of his own for being easy going, but he made an exception for passive aggressive nonsense. He didn't like it, didn't like people who habitually avoided the front door, and didn't mind letting his irritation with bullshit bubble over.

Plan A meant walking straight up to them, stating his business, hoping for the best, but being prepared for the worst. That was the thought bouncing around in his mind as he observed their reactions to seeing him approach the table.

When he was standing over them, he looked around the table and said, "I'm Glendennon Catch." Then he zeroed in on Torn. "Sorry for your loss, Sir Finngarick." He said "sir" quietly enough so that only they heard him, but they got the message. It was as good as a secret handshake. "The office sent me with a message from the HR department."

They left him standing there for a minute without saying anything or changing expression. It was a thinly disguised intimidation strategy to get him to reveal nervousness, timidity, or some other weakness that would register as a flaw in their eyes. That sort of thing didn't work on somebody who had inherited the dominant werewolf gene. He could stand there all day without flinching or looking away.

Finally, the big guy with the glyphs crawling up his neck grinned, showing dimples which seemed entirely out of place against the persona he'd so carefully crafted. "So go ahead and deliver your memo, Sweet Cheeks. We're waiting."

The other three chuckled softly without taking their eyes off of him. Glen laughed openly and good-naturedly, but let the sound trail off ending in a low level growl, incongruent with the smile on his face. The growl wasn't loud enough to draw attention from the wake-goers, but it was definitely heard by Z Team. They all sat up a little straighter and took another look at the kid. He had their interest, but that was worlds away from respect.

Looking at Glyphs, he said, "My briefing didn't mention that any of you are hard of hearing. If you want to call me by a name, it's Glen."

Finngarick's blue eyes twinkled in a way that brought Ram to mind while the other two laughed at Glyphs being put down by a kid who was years away from growing into his big frame.

"Long way to deliver a message. Would you no' have a pint with us then? Glen." He reached out with a long leg, put the toe of his scuffed boot through the leg brace of an unoccupied chair, pulled it up to the snug, and made a gesture of invitation. "You'll find we're no' much on formality. Call me Torn."

***

CHAPTER_15

Stalkson Grey walked Luna through the settlement to the livery garage. The people she saw all stared at her on the way past.

"Are all of these people really werewolves?"

He looked down at her and seemed amused. "Yes. I don't suppose you're going to make each and every one prove it. I warn you. Nudity will be involved."

When they reached the garage, he raised the door and pointed to the Range Rover.

"We're taking this one. Get in." She made no move toward the car. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know how."

"You don't know how to what?"

"I don't know how to get into this."

He looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. "You've never been in a car?"

She shook her head and his expression softened.

He gestured for her to follow him to the passenger door and showed her how to use the handle to release the latch. She tried it a couple of times and was pleased about learning to do it by herself.

On the inside of the vehicle, he reached over her to get the seat belt and showed her how to fasten and release.

"Why do I need to wear a harness?"

"Because we're going to go very fast. Accidents are unusual, but, if we should be in one, the harness will keep you in place and you'll be surrounded by a big bag of air."

She gave him a look that implied she would have none of that just before she released her seat belt, opened the door, and got out of the car. He easily caught up with her a few feet past the garage. Laughing, he grabbed her and turned her to face him then wrapped his arms around her securely.

"I must have made it sound worse than it is. Everyone here routinely rides in these contraptions. You'll like it. I'll go slower than usual and I'll be with you every minute."

Certainly it was bizarre that Luna was comforted and reassured by her captor. Somehow hearing him say he would be with her every minute made the gamble acceptable.

After a little more coaxing, she agreed to get back in the vehicle. He found that kissing was a great motivator. While standing there with her in his arms, he succumbed to the impulse to touch his lips to hers. He would have said the moment was magical even with the bulk of a sheepskin coat between them. She feigned outrage, but he knew she was pretending to take offense. He could smell that she responded with almost instantaneous arousal.

"Stop that!" she said. "You cannot just kiss me."

Never challenge an alpha in such a manner. He laughed and did it again just to prove he could.

"Either get in the car or prepare to be kissed senseless. Your choice."

When he leaned in to kiss her again, she agreed and he let her wiggle free. She stomped to the passenger side of the Range Rover, opened the door like a pro, fastened her seatbelt and crossed her arms in front of her in mock aggravation.

The moment when Grey realized that he was having fun was cathartic. He stopped and asked himself if he remembered ever having fun before and the shocking answer was, no, he didn't. When he slid into the driver's seat, he looked over at Luna. She was wearing a little petulant pout that almost undid him.

He smiled, started the engine and backed out. Luna's hands tried to grab onto parts of the car and they were only going three kilometers per hour.

Grey waved to the wolf at the guard station as he went by. Luna was quiet, but taking everything in. He reasoned that, if she'd never been in a vehicle, she'd probably never traveled very far from the Temple park where he'd been courting her.

"Did you travel away from the park where we met very often?"

"No. I never did."

"Then the scenery here is probably different from anything you've seen."

"Yes."

He was dying to ask if she liked it, but knew she might reply with a scornful or sarcastic answer just to spite him. So he remained quiet, deciding that he would handle her as one would small children or wild animals. He would encourage her to relax and feel comfortably confident around him and let her come to him when she was ready.

Luna thought everything about Stalkson's world was beautiful, the mountains, the lakes, the evergreens and pines. When he turned onto the highway that would take them to Coeur d'Alene, he picked up speed. Traveling so fast terrified her speechless at first, but she amazed herself at how quickly she adapted.

It took less than twenty minutes to drive to Northwest Outfitters store. When they parked, he said, "Remember your promise."

She blinked twice then nodded.

Inside the store, the king told the saleswoman that he was entertaining a guest who didn't own any cold weather gear and that she needed to be outfitted with a native's wardrobe top to bottom.

"Of course," said the nice lady. "Outfitting is what we do just like the name says. What size do you wear?"

Luna looked at Grey for the answer. "We don't know. She was, um, home schooled."

"Oh. Alright then." The saleswoman looked down at the socks Luna was wearing before raising her eyes to the oversize jacket. "Why don't we get you out of this coat so that I can guess a starting point for sizing?"

Luna looked down at the buttons and began fumbling with them. Grey had fastened them for her because she was inexperienced with buttonholes. He reached in, quickly undid them and helped her out of the heavy sheepskin.

The sales woman looked at Grey again. "Top to bottom?"

"Whatever she needs to spend some time in this part of the world and be comfortable."

"Well, then, let's get started." She helped fit Luna for everything she needed from jeans to shirts to sweaters to footwear and socks and patiently taught her customer how to work buttons and zippers. After adding gloves, a down vest and an all-weather coat of modern lightweight material, Luna picked out a red hat.