Omega Moon Rising (Toke Lobo & The Pack) (10 page)

“The Internet has all sorts of interesting sites.”

What was that saying her mother used to spout? Something about a skillet and a fire. Now the adage made sense.

And maybe Libby was better off with Luke’s parents if Luke was one of those guys trolling porn sites on his computer.

“I know.” She wasn’t sure she could explain with betraying a million things she wanted to forget. “Gary is on the ‘net all the time.”

Maybe she could distract Luke. Show him she was willing, eager even, to expand their sex life. Because she was.

She brushed her palm across his belly, fingers lightly raking through the wiry hair sprouting there.

“Careful there,” he said. “You’re waking the beast.”

Her hand slid lower and encountered the head of his new erection. Thoroughly explored it from top to bottom, learning the textures and nuances.

Luke gasped, then groaned. “Wanna go for a ride?”

She hesitated only a moment before straddling his hips. His penis twitched against her thigh. She teased him, feeling awkward and silly, rubbing against his length.

“Abigail. Abby.” He grasped her hips. “Now, babe.”

She adjusted her position. Held his penis steady as she slowly sank onto it.

Chapter 9

Luke kissed Abigail goodbye. He’d dropped her off at Granny’s house before meeting the tour bus at the lodge. Libby was still staying with his parents, but he wanted Abigail with Granny.

The band didn’t do a lot of long tours the way they had before they’d started getting radio play. Or maybe Tokarz mating had something to do with the extended stretches at home. Either way, Luke was grateful for a break. He needed to get away from Abigail, because the sex was addicting. He was only twenty-five. He didn’t want to settle down with one woman, despite his lycan tendencies. Once the baby was born, he’d convince Abigail to leave the baby with him—well, his folks or his grandparents, or even his Aunt Macy—and set Abigail free.

Tokarz had arranged for extra security around Luke’s parents’ and grandparents’ houses. Keeping the Grant sisters separated also worked in favor of security. Not that anyone expected Gary to try anything, but better to be safe than regretful.

Luke watched the roadies load his kit in the bottom of the bus. Stoker Smith, the keyboard player, joined him. “It’s always tough leaving our mates.”

Did Stoker think Luke was going to bond with him or something—The Mated Male Club for Musicians? Too much had happened between Luke and everyone else associated with the band for Luke to dismiss. Even before the band. Twenty-five years of being at the bottom of the hill scat rolled down.

“I’m not mated. There was a human ceremony, but I never marked Abigail.”

“She’s pregnant, and you act like a mated male.”

Luke didn’t know whether to be furious or insulted. “I do not. I like the sex. Because of that human blood you’re always mocking. I get to have sex when I want and with whom I want.”

Stoker pushed his black Stetson off his forehead. “Why don’t you want to be mated?”

“For starters, I’m too young. You and Tokarz were at least ten years older than me when you found your mates. And—don’t take this wrong—but I need a lycan mate. In order for my descendants to reclaim their rightful heritage, I don’t need any more human blood in the mix.”

Stoker narrowed his dark eyes. He had a reputation for being mean, but inside he was a softie.

Except right now, Luke had the feeling that Stoker was feeling as mean as he looked.

“I’m not insulting Lucy,” Luke hurried to add. He liked Stoker’s human mate. “But my family should be delta, like you, and we’re not, because of human blood and old-fashioned thinking. My father mated lycan. I need to do the same. And my son, and his son.”

“Your children are already half human,” Stoker snarled. “And you aren’t smart enough to be delta.”

From the man who insisted the best thing about being delta was an exemption from thinking.

Luke shook his head and walked away. He wasn’t anxious to board the bus. He’d be spending a lot of hours sitting in close quarters with the band. A little solitary standing was needed now.

The roadies ignored him—nothing new there. The drivers stood in a small cluster to the side. They stood whenever they could.

Tokarz climbed out of his truck and sauntered toward the buses. None of the mated band members had brought their women to the departure site. There were babies at home. Goodbyes were best said in the privacy of one’s own bedroom.

“Morning, Luke,” Alpha greeted Omega.

“Morning.” Luke braced himself for more grief. It didn’t matter about what. He was omega. He bore the brunt of all grief.

“Did you bring Abigail’s songs?”

Luke nodded. Tokarz kept asking about those stupid songs.

And damn, he still hadn’t gotten Abigail a new guitar. Writing more inane songs would have given her something to do while he was on the road. It wasn’t as if she’d be at the cabin cleaning and doing whatever women did. The construction crew was set to start remodeling that very morning.

He kicked at a stone at the edge of the parking lot. He had plans for this road trip, and thinking about Abigail or his house wasn’t on his list. Now that his human blood had found its way to his dick, he planned to make up for lost time. Nothing on this road trip was going to change for him. He liked the ladies, they liked him, and he couldn’t wait to sample as many as he could. He’d have to buy some condoms—he certainly didn’t want to knock up another female—but that shouldn’t be too difficult. Full-blooded humans managed all the time.

The sun peered over the horizon, staining the clouds the same pink as the dress Abigail had worn the day he’d met her. His dick stirred, but that was from thinking about the fun he was going to have on the road. He and Abigail weren’t
really
married. Not in any way that mattered. She wasn’t his mate. It wasn’t
cheating
, which was a human concept, anyway. He was in new territory here. He could make up his own rules. He was free.

When it was time to board the bus, Luke sat as far away from the rest of the band members as he could get. He didn’t want lectures from the mated members. Ethan, the steel guitar player and the musician closest to him in age, was his roommate and a bore. Luke also avoided the roadies. They had their own hierarchy. The only reason he was tolerated at all was because he was the best drummer in Loup Garou. And occasionally, his computer skills were of use when the band had to handle something for the U.S. government.

Half an hour after the bus pulled out of the lodge parking lot, Tokarz summoned Luke. He had no choice but to obey. He tried to school his face into his usual dopey grin, playing the puppy dog wanting to please role, but the events of the past couple of days added an edge he couldn’t hide.

“Where are Abigail’s songs?”

Luke’s cheeks heated. “They aren’t that good.”

Tokarz’s steady yellow gaze burned into Luke like a flame. “Then why did you promise her you would show them to me?”

Luke’s temper seethed. His motivation was none of Tokarz’s business. “Because I wanted to get to know her better,” he said between clenched teeth.

“When did you hear them?”

“She performed in the talent show at the Moonsinger picnic. I happened to be there, thought she was cute, and bought her a cup of lemonade after she was done singing.”

“That’s not all you did.”

As if he was likely to forget that warm summer night by the lake. He lifted his chin. “So?”

Tokarz arched one eyebrow.

Maybe Luke shouldn’t have addressed his alpha in that tone, but he was definitely not in an omega mood.

“Get the songs.”

Luke ambled to where he’d been sitting and pulled his duffel from the overhead bin. The thin sheaf of papers was on top of his travel things, added as an afterthought. He’d planned to diffuse a lecture with Abigail’s words, but Tokarz beat him to the moment.

He handed the sheets to Tokarz. “She doesn’t score. There are only guitar chords above the lyrics.”

“You heard her play these?”

Luke’s nape prickled. “One. Maybe two.”

Tokarz took his time uncasing his guitar. Tuning it. Strumming a few open chords. Luke stood in the center aisle, swaying with the movement of the bus.

Toke glanced at the turquoise scrawl on the lined notebook paper, executed a few chord changes. “Which one of these have you heard her sing?”

Indoctrinated always to answer his alpha, Luke had no choice, even though he knew what was coming. He took the music from Tokarz and scanned the words. “This one.” He handed the paper back to Tokarz. “Simple melody. Didn’t really fit the mood of the lyrics.”
There
. He’d been listening.

“These words are . . . disturbing,” Tokarz agreed. “But I guess now we know why.”

Luke hadn’t made that particular connection—the rage in the lyrics correlating to Abigail’s home situation. Made sense though. And that’s why Tokarz was pack alpha.

“Sing it for us.”

The bus swung around a corner, and Luke exaggerated his reaction to the movement. He ended up several seats away from Tokarz and the other band members.

“Nice try,” Tokarz drawled. “Everybody listen up. Luke’s going to sing his mate’s song for us.”

“I heard it once,” Luke said. Like all werewolves, he wasn’t self-conscious about his voice. Werewolves didn’t get sore throats or laryngitis. Nothing he could say would excuse him.

“Sing.”

Luke honestly couldn’t remember the melody. Something soft and fragile, like morning dew drops strung on a spider web. He didn’t know music. He was the percussionist. He understood rhythms. Patterns. The beat. Abigail’s performance had no beat. Luke wasn’t even a back-up singer with the Pack. Harmonies and descants were beyond him.

So he made up a tune to get Tokarz off his back.

“She sings to ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’?” Tokarz asked when Luke was done.

Hank and Stoker snickered. Restin glared.

Luke shrugged. “I told you, I heard the song only once.”

Tokarz turned to Stoker, who was the only pure musician in the band. “What do you think?”

“The lyrics have possibility. I would need to hear Abigail’s version to say anything more.”

Luke bristled. First of all, how dare they judge Abigail? They didn’t understand her desperation, her need to escape. Why she needed money. They hadn’t seen her belly, didn’t even know what that scat-snorting vampire of a stepfather had tried to do to Luke’s baby. Secondly, he didn’t want Stoker or anyone else near her. Stoker was mated, but . . .

Luke shook his head. What was the matter with him?

“Go back to your seat,” Tokarz finally said. “We’ll keep these.”

“He’s mated,” Restin said to Tokarz as he stretched his legs into the aisle of the bus.

“Why do you say that?” Tokarz tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

“You see how he is.”

“He claims he never marked her.”

“Then explain his behavior.” Restin didn’t worry about speaking his mind to Tokarz. They were not only alpha and beta, but also first cousins.

“I can’t. He’s acting as if Abigail is his mate,” Tokarz admitted. “I guess I’ll talk to his family when we get back. Have them look for signs.”

“Signs of what? No one has ever denied mating a female before.”

“His father is half human. Maybe some of his actions are rooted in that heritage. I don’t want to jump to conclusions. It’s possible Luke could have had sex with her without her being his mate. He took that pill. We simply don’t know.” Frustration weighted Tokarz’s sigh.

“He took the pill three months ago. It should be out of his system by now even if he were full-blooded human. I’ll keep an eye on him while we’re on tour.” Restin wasn’t happy about the prospect. Luke had a bad habit of disappearing with human women after a show . . . when he wasn’t watching Internet porn.

Okay, one time he’d done the pack a favor with a woman he’d . . . she was a deputy sheriff in Montana who’d helped them rescue Tokarz’s pregnant mate from a mad scientist. If Luke’s sheriff friend hadn’t helped them, the outcome might have been tragic. But that was a fluke.

“Luke married Abigail by civil law. He’ll behave.” But Tokarz didn’t sound confident.

Chapter 10

Abby lay very still. She was exhausted. Luke had been at her all night long, and she’d encouraged it. Invited it. Been an active and inventive participant. There were times the nagging ache in her back was forgotten. Other times she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out. But she’d enjoyed Luke’s attention. She only hoped her willingness to experiment wasn’t misconstrued as an invitation for him to explore the Internet for more ideas.

Finally, he’d planted a kiss on her mouth and said, “Gotta go.”

No
I’ll call you
—not that she’d given him her number, and she couldn’t find a landline in his house—no
See you in a few
. Nothing.

Well, what did she expect? A dozen roses and a declaration of undying love? From Luke Omega?

She tried to stretch, but the ache was too intense. Tears prickled her eyes. Maybe she’d feel better once she slept.

The next thing she knew, someone was pounding on the door. Full sunlight from the window bathed the bed. The taste in her mouth was foul, and she closed it because, she could swear her breath polluted the room. She tried to swing her legs over the edge of the mattress. Dizziness nudged aside her intentions. She braced her hands on the bed and tried a few deep breaths. In the meantime, someone was calling her name as they knocked on the door. “Hold on a second,” she called out, but her greeting was too late.

Luke’s front door crashed inward, followed by Marcus, Colette, and Libby. She must have really overslept—they weren’t due to help her move to Luke’s grandparent’s house until nine.

“Abigail?” Marcus bellowed.

“I’m up here,” she called out, but her voice sounded like a croak. “I overslept. I’ll be down in a few.”

“I imagine Luke kept the poor girl up all night saying goodbye,” Colette said.

Embarrassment should have flooded Abby’s face with heat, but she couldn’t find the strength to summon the reaction.

“Do you need help packing up your things?” Colette asked. Abby could see her heading for the stairs.

“I only need a couple of minutes,” Abby lied. The thought of trying to walk down that steep stairway nauseated her. Badly. Or maybe that was her intermittent morning sickness, which had a habit of coming and going at all hours.

Colette paused at the top of the stairs. “Oh,
Ancient Ones
!” Her blue eyes, so like Luke’s, were wide. “Marcus!” Her tone was sharp. “We need to get Abigail to your mother’s.
Right now
.”

Marcus didn’t waste his breath with questions as he bounded up the stairs. “Ancient Ones,” he repeated before scooping Abby out of bed, sheet, comforter, and all.

That’s when Abby saw it. The blood. Luke’s bed was a bloody mess.

“The baby—” she whispered.

“Mom is a midwife,” Marcus said. “She’ll know what to do.”

Colette kicked the front door out of Marcus’s way. She was a lot stronger than she looked. “Hurry,” she said. “Libby and I will stay here and clean up.”

“Is she going to die?” Fear lurked in Libby’s eyes.

“Of course not.” Colette’s tone was brisk. All business. She’d take care of Libby. One less thing for Abby to worry about.

The ride to Granny’s house took forever. Abby reclined in the back seat of Marcus’s SUV. Every bump in the road was excruciating. She couldn’t swallow every moan.

The rest was a daze. She barely recalled arriving at Granny’s house. Didn’t remember Marcus carrying her inside. When she could focus, she paid attention to Granny, who looked worried at first, especially after seeing the circle of bruises on Abby’s abdomen. But after examining Abby, Granny smiled and said, “I think the babe’s okay. But it’s bed rest for you, girl, for a few days at least. Marcus, call Luke and let him know.”

“No.” Abby spoke with more strength than she could spare. But it was important Luke not be bothered with her. “There’s nothing he can do. There’s no point making him worry.” She very nearly said, “Feel guilty,” but there was no point in that, either. “Please.”

“Stop fretting,” Granny said.

“Only if you promise not to call Luke.” She knew how to bargain. Gary had taught her that much.

Granny and Marcus exchanged a look. “We won’t call him yet,” Granny finally said. “You’re right. There’s no need. And we’re going to take good care of you and that baby so there won’t ever be a need.”

Abby relaxed into the cozy flannel sheets. She closed her eyes, because keeping them open required too much effort.

“Seriously, Mom.” Marcus spoke in a low voice. “There was an awful lot of blood.”

“Right now, she’s still pregnant. If she bled through layers of bedding, it would make it look like more than it was. I’m going to dose her with squaw tea and keep her on bed rest, and as long as she doesn’t get stressed and stays relaxed, she’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be. Everything is in the hands of your Ancient Ones. Hadn’t you better see if Colette needs help?”

The band’s first performance was in a desert town in Nevada. The venue was an enormous pole barn turned roadhouse, the sort of place in which Toke Lobo and the Pack had started their careers. Toke still liked to play those taverns. He claimed it kept him grounded.

Luke preferred those venues because mingling with the audience was easier. He wasn’t used to missing a wife yet. But a civil marriage didn’t mean mated, which meant in his heart, in his soul, he was still a single werewolf. He liked being a single werewolf.

The crowd was enthusiastic. Some folks might have called it rowdy, but that was what a roadhouse was: a place to let loose a little bit. And when a whole lot of people let loose a little bit, the air was electric.

Luke played his drums with fresh enthusiasm. New life imbued their songs. Everything and everyone glowed with excitement. Even Restin—poor, unfucked Restin—had fresh energy on the fiddle.

Luke was high on life. The band rocked the rafters. Tokarz paced and strutted across the stage and drew the audience into the frenzy of the music. Luke couldn’t remember the last time the band had played so well.

When the others retired to the manager’s office for a break, Luke did what he usually did: he went to the bar and ordered a club soda with a twist.

“Hey, cowboy,” a lovely dark-haired woman in a pink cowboy hat said to him.

“Hey, yourself, cowgirl.” Luke grinned at her. He liked women who wore pink. But even in the dim light, he could see her pale eyes didn’t match the vivid blue of Abigail’s eyes.

“Whatcha drinking?” He gestured for the bartender to give her a refill. Something in a longneck.

“You and the boys are sounding good tonight,” the girl said.

“It’s a great audience. That always helps.”

The girl inched closer. “So, you got plans after the show?”

Something in the tone of her question struck Luke as wrong. Maybe it had come too soon—they’d only barely begun to speak. “Depends,” he said. “Toke might want to rest, or he might want to hit the road. He’s the boss.”

The girl smiled. Her teeth were straight. Even. White. Abigail had a slight gap between her front teeth. Kind of made her smile unique. This girl’s hat was the wrong shade of pink, too.

“Well, I’ll be here. You know, in case you guys are going to stick around.”

“You do that.” He was a pro at this. “And if we stick around, I might come looking for you.”

Abby clutched the side of her neck. It had been tingling for about fifteen minutes. Now it felt as if someone crushed a burning cigarette into her flesh. Gary had done that to her. Once. Once was all he’d needed to teach her a lesson.

“What is it?” Granny asked.

Calling the old woman “Granny” was awkward, but she’d insisted. She
was
Luke’s grandmother.

“My neck feels . . . odd.”

“Let me see.”

Abby turned her head as Granny moved the lamp and peered at the spot Abby indicated.

“I don’t see anything.”

“It burns,” Abby explained.

Granny brushed the fragile flesh with the tips of her shriveled fingers. “It doesn’t feel warm.”

Abby wished for grace, not fretfulness. She wanted to be poised and in control, but she felt more like she was coming apart at the seams. She reminded herself that she was all Libby had left. If something happened to her, Gary could snatch Libby back, and Abby was not going to let that happen. Luke and his family had no claim on Libby. Gary, as her stepfather, might fight her, but he hadn’t adopted either girl.

Her mother’s will. She needed to do something about that.

Every ache, pain, twinge, and tingle was going to be examined. She had to stay healthy for her sister’s sake.

“Have some more broth,” Granny urged.

Abby couldn’t remember the last time she’d been babied the way Granny was coddling her. Homemade chicken broth, with plenty of dill, the way her mama used to make it. Nasty-tasting herbal tea she would have spit out if Granny hadn’t watched her so closely.

“Do you do a lot of midwifery?” Abby asked, trying to make conversation. She did feel better since Granny had cleaned her up, dressed her in a fresh nightgown, and started coddling her.

Granny studied her for a long minute. “Did Luke talk to you or did he only . . . say goodbye for a really long time?”

Abby’s face heated the way it should have the first time Colette uttered the euphemism.

“Luke isn’t a great conversationalist,” Abby muttered.

“I didn’t think so.” Granny watched her for a few more minutes before speaking again. “I’m not from Loup Garou, either. I’m an outsider, like you. Caused Gramps all sorts of grief, but that’s ancient history. Loup Garou is . . . isolated.”

As if Abby hadn’t noticed.

“The residents tend to keep to themselves. It made sense for me to take my interest in herbs and natural healing and turn it into a way to help the community in a manner it needed to be helped. And that helped them accept me.”

“There are no doctors here?” A frisson of fear skittered along Abby’s nerves.

“No.” Granny didn’t elaborate. “I haven’t lost a mother yet.”

“What about a baby?”

Granny hesitated again. Abby had the distinct impression Granny was choosing what to tell her with a great deal of care and that she was hiding more than she was revealing. “Sometimes babies are conceived that aren’t meant to be born. Sometimes, things can go horribly wrong. That’s not a reflection of my skill as a midwife, but of the nature of life.”

“What if there’s something horribly wrong with my baby?” It was possible. There was no telling what damage Gary’s beating could have caused. And there was her mother’s history of pregnancy disasters.

“Did my grandson inflict those bruises on your belly?”

“No. My stepfather . . . wanted me to miscarry.”

“Was he afraid it was his child?”

“No.” Abby was horrified. “I was a virgin with Luke. But my mother—I told you she had several miscarriages between me and Libby.”

Granny’s penetrating gaze bore into Abby’s eyes like lasers. “I believe you,” she finally said. “If there was something wrong with the babe, that beating might have caused you to lose it. I think all that happened here was my grandson’s enthusiasm for you. If he’s anything at all like his Gramps, he’s a real enthusiastic man.”

Abby didn’t know where to look. She wasn’t used to this kind of blunt talk. Especially about sex.

“My mother had two stillborn babies, too,” Abby said.

“Doesn’t mean you will. I’ll see to that. You need your sleep.” Granny patted Abby’s leg, then picked up the tray resting on Abby’s lap. “You want your strength back for when Luke comes home.”

Abby rubbed the spot on the side of her neck. It felt so weird.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Restin clamped Luke’s shoulder.

The band was done performing for the night. Luke was at the bar with the girl in the pink cowboy hat—Marilla—and her friend Darcy. He was laughing with them, and flirting a little.

“I’m relaxing.” He smiled lazily at his beta. “You ought to try it sometime.”

“Toke wants to move out tonight.” Restin glared at Marilla and Darcy. “He’s married,” he told the girls, snuffing their cheerfulness like a hurricane snuffed a candle.

Then Marilla lifted her chin. “So?”

“So he’s off limits, even if he won’t admit it.”

Luke could not believe Restin was interfering like this. They were hundreds of miles away from Loup Garou. What Abigail didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her or the baby.

“Now, Omega.”

Luke bristled. When the Garniers stripped the status from his grandfather, they’d also stripped him of his last name. His descendants were known as the lowest, reminding everyone he was less than nothing. And now Restin was rubbing it in. Maybe Marilla and Darcy didn’t know “omega” was an insult, and simply thought it was his surname, but Luke knew. And Restin knew Luke knew.

“Sorry, ladies,” he said, feigning regret so his rage wouldn’t take over and maim Restin. “Duty calls.”

The girls flashed identical pouts. Their unrestrained breasts jiggled under their skimpy T-shirts. What he couldn’t do—

Restin yanked him off his barstool. “Tokarz could have sent one of the roadies instead of me,” Restin said in a low voice only Luke could hear.