Omega Moon Rising (Toke Lobo & The Pack) (23 page)

Luke stuck out his hand. “Give me your cell phone. Now.” With any kind of luck, the FBI would be able to trace the message.

“No. It’s my phone. Mama bought it for me.”

“Luke.” Abby’s voice was low. “Calm down before you burst a blood vessel.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down. That’s the problem with Libby—nobody’s ever held her accountable for her actions. Well that stops here. Things are way different in Loup Garou than they are in Oak Moon. There are expectations of behavior and consequences for carelessness. Now hand over your phone.” He extended his arm even further into the backseat.

“Don’t threaten my sister.”

“You want her to go live with her Uncle Dougie?”

“No, but bullying Libby isn’t going to get you any answers.”

“Don’t undermine my authority in my own house,” Luke snapped.

He withdrew his arm and pulled out his super phone. Swiped in the number Mitchell Jasper had given him. “This is Luke Omega. I’m still in Fort Collins with my wife and her sister. There’ve been a couple of new developments.”

“What are you doing?” Abby asked.

He scowled at her. What did it sound like he was doing? “Where shall we meet you?” he asked Jasper. “We’re at the spot where we rendezvoused this morning.”

Jasper told him to stay put.

Luke put away his phone. Drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel.

“What is going on?” Abby asked. “Who did you call?”

“Jasper Mitchell. You met him the other night at Tokarz’s house.”

“I didn’t like him,” Libby said.

“Tough,” Luke snarled. “You don’t want to turn over your phone to me, fine. The FBI will confiscate it. And then there’s the matter of your good friend Mrs. MacDougal.”

Abby’s eyes grew wider with each word. “No harm done there.”

“Really? Well, think on this. Your Mrs. MacDougal is a man.”

“What?” Abby’s tone was sharp. “That’s ridiculous. She’s been teaching Sunday School practically since the pioneers built the church.”

“She wears a lot of perfume to cover her natural odor and trowels on the makeup to hide her beard. She is a he.” Luke’s nose wasn’t as good as Stoker’s, and he didn’t have Restin’s vision, but he was almost certain he’d stumbled across Libby’s Uncle Dougie.

Abby’s hand raised to her mouth.

“Anything else ring a bell?” he asked.

“MacDougal,” Abby said.

“Meanie MacDougal,” Libby muttered.

“It’s pronounced differently, but—”

“It’s spelled the same.” Luke heard the grimness in his tone.

“But we’ve known Mrs. MacDougal for eons—all our lives,” Abby protested.

“Wait a minute,” Libby said. “You think old Mrs. MacDougal is Uncle Dougie?”

“Why else would she try to get you away from Abby?” Luke asked.

“She offered to buy me lemonade, not help me run away,” Libby retorted. “We were talking about the interfaith Christmas pageant. I’ll bet you don’t have one in your stupid town. You don’t even have a church. I want to be in the Christmas pageant.”

“You want to know why we don’t have a church?”

“Luke.” Abby’s voice held a warning.

“Because we’re all werewolves.”

“What?” Libby started laughing. “You really expect me to believe that? You ought to write books, Luke, instead of working for the FBI.”

Abby stilled. “Who told you Luke worked for the FBI?”

Libby shrugged. “I overheard Marcus and Colette talking. Something about how mated males aren’t supposed to do government work. Mated males—do they think you’re all werewolves, too?”

Luke turned to face the front of his truck. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. He counted to ten. Four times.

Libby tried to climb out of the truck, but Luke had overridden the manual locks. “I don’t want to be here,” she said. “Let me out.”

“Where are you going to go?” Luke asked. “Abby and I are your family now. And Rosie Dawn, once she gets here.”

“Uncle Dougie wants me,” Libby said. “You don’t.”

There was nothing Luke could say to that except, “He can’t have you. And if he tries to take you, I will kill him.”

“You’re not really an FBI agent or a werewolf. And Uncle Dougie isn’t afraid of you.”

“Right. I’m Toke Lobo’s drummer.” Such an easy, carefree persona. No dark places. Picking up a different girl every night, spending time learning about women. Except those women never taught him about people like Abby and Libby Grant. Women with agendas other than having a good time. Like survival.

“I’m hungry,” Libby said. “Are we going out to dinner? Or do we have to wait until your friend gets here?”

Luke had lost his appetite. But Abby needed to eat. For the baby. She had barely touched her breakfast, picked at her lunch. He hated acquiescing to Libby’s demands. “Are you going to behave yourself?”

“Are you going to feed me?”

“That’s enough, Libby,” Abby said. “Luke tried to make a nice outing for us and you’re behaving like a spoiled brat.”

“Luke brought us to Fort Collins so I would have to go to that creepy doctor. I’m hungry. I want to go home. Home to Oak Moon. Abby, you’re a grownup. We can live in our Oak Moon house by ourselves.”

“We can’t.” Abby sounded miserable. “Not for a while, anyway.”

“Don’t even think about it.” Luke swallowed a growl. He was weary of this. Weary of Libby. He wondered how his parents dealt with her. “Loup Garou is your home now. Both of you.”

“Why can’t Abby and me live in our Oak Moon house together?”

“Because we need money,” Abby explained in a weary voice. “For electricity, heat, food. I can get a job for a little while, but then what would I do with my baby?”

She sounded as if she’d been seriously considering moving back to her mother’s house. Luke didn’t like that at all. The only place she was moving to was his house, once the expansion was done.

“Leave the baby with Luke.”

“He goes on the road with the band too much.”

“Wait a minute,” he said. The sisters ignored him.

“Then leave it with Marcus and Colette. They’re excited about it.”

“I’m not going to abandon my baby.”

“Maybe you’ll be like Mama and have miscarriages.”

Miscarriages?
Luke didn’t like the sound of that. He’d noticed two names on the marker at her parents’ gravesite, but hadn’t given them any thought other than the sadness of dying the same day you were born. Maybe Abby needed more of Granny’s squaw tea.

Abby’s hand fisted against her stomach. “Don’t say that.”

“Maybe,” Libby continued, “your baby will be a malformed mutant like Mama’s were. Uncle Dougie told me all about them. Our sisters. They were monsters, not babies. If yours is like they were, you can leave it out for the wolves to get.” Fortunately, another vehicle pulled into the lot next to Luke, preventing him from—he didn’t know what. There was nothing he could do about Libby other than killing her, and that probably wouldn’t go over real well with his wife.

He put his arm around Abby and hugged her. “Don’t listen to her. She needs her meds. Rosie Dawn is healthy and beautiful.”

Abby was shaking. Probably not with fury, but it should have been. Maybe Libby needed more than meds. Maybe she needed her bottom smacked with an aspen switch.

Luke’s phone rang. He released Abby to answer it. “That you parked next to me?”

Jasper confirmed his arrival.

“Come on over,” Luke said. “Get in the back seat. We have things to discuss.”

Abby rested her cheek against the cool glass of the truck window. She closed her eyes and tried not to listen to Luke and Mitchell Jasper argue with Libby about surrendering her phone.

“Libby,” Abby finally said. “If you don’t turn the phone over to Mr. Jasper, don’t expect any of us to buy more minutes for you. When you’re done, you’re done. And it’s not as if it works in Loup Garou anyway.”

“But Mama wanted me to have a phone for emergencies,” Libby wailed. “And we’ll be moving back to Oak Moon soon.”

“Mama is dead. I’m in charge now. I don’t know when we’re moving home.”

Libby handed over her phone.

Abby tried not to listen to Luke’s theory about Mrs. MacDougal. Even when Luke dragged her into the discussion.

“Yes, she said she was there with Crystal Blaser and Dottie Lou Stetson, but I never saw them,” Abby admitted. “It’s a mall. There were a lot of people. I’ve known Charmaine MacDougal all my life. She’s not a man. She just wears a lot of perfume and make up. Her son works at the brewery, in the IT department. He was my stepfather’s boss.”

Then Mr. Jasper said something about a safe house. That it would take a couple of days to arrange for one.

Luke bristled. “Abby and Libby are safe in Loup Garou.”

And they proceeded to argue about that, but Abby shut out the words.

Most of all, Abby tried not to think about what Libby had said about their stillborn sisters. Gabriella and Tabitha. Two names. Two sets of dates carved on the gravestone shared by their parents.
Monsters, not babies.
That’s what Libby had called them. Because Uncle Dougie had told her about them.

How would a stranger know about two stillbirths happening fourteen and eighteen years earlier?

Mrs. MacDougal would know. Abby had vague memories of Mrs. MacDougal regularly descending with hams, casseroles, and green Jell-O salads.

Abby’s stomach bubbled. Or maybe fluttered. She wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. Luke’s dinner plans had evaporated with Libby’s tantrum, so maybe Abby was hungry after thinking about Mrs. MacDougal and her battalion of meal-bearing church ladies. Abby rubbed her belly. It had been forever since she’d had an appetite.

The movement came again, but this time, she could feel it against the tips of her fingers.

Was it possible she was feeling the baby move? She wasn’t far enough along . . . for a human pregnancy, but who knew what being pregnant with a werewolf meant.

Monsters, not babies.

No. Luke wasn’t a monster. He was a werewolf. Their baby wouldn’t be a monster. Despite what Libby said.

Chapter 19

Luke dropped Libby and Abby at Granny’s house. “I have to get to work,” he said. “I’ll be at my cabin if you need me.”

His head hurt, he was tired from lack of sleep, and he was still pissed at both Libby’s brattitude and Abby’s indulgence of the same. He didn’t care if Libby was acting out or whatever. He didn’t need that crap. Abby didn’t need that crap.

He stopped the truck long enough to help Abby and Libby climb out and walk them safely to Granny’s door. He needed alone time. Desperately. For a pack animal like a werewolf, that was unheard of. The day had tapped into his human heritage.

He should have been worried about Uncle Dougie, but Jasper was passing the newest information to the FBI. All Luke could do at this point was make sure Abby and Libby were out of harm’s way. Libby’s revelation that her mother—Abby’s mother—had stillborn babies bothered him. Scared him. He wanted to rush Abby to a doctor and have his baby checked. The impulse wasn’t a lack of trust in Granny, but because there were many things out of her control. Out of anyone’s control. Luckily, he wasn’t a superstitious man; otherwise he’d believe Libby had cursed Rosie Dawn.

His house was silent. Dark. Work was progressing nicely on the bedroom addition. From what he could tell, he might be able to move Abby in after the next full moon.

He set up his workspace on his bed for the time being. The loft would eventually become his office.

Stretching out on his mattress felt good. He’d often surfed the ‘net on his lap from exactly that position.

The first thing he did while waiting for the unit to boot up was snap on the light to read the file tucked into the laptop case. He was supposed to be a fifty year-old Boulder man pretending to be sixteen-year-old boy from Salt Lake City named Chenz. Short for Vincenzo. There was a list of chatrooms Chenz should attempt. Luke read the instructions with a healthy dose of contempt. He knew a lot more about these sites than some accountant in Quantico. But he didn’t know about buying kiddie porn, and that was his task.

He used Chenz’s password to log on to the laptop. Jasper had warned him it was a dedicated laptop—he wasn’t to use it for anything other than Chenz’s illegal activities.

Like running his own background check on Mrs. MacDougal. He couldn’t recall the woman’s first name, but how many Mrs. MacDougals would teach Sunday School at the Community Church of Oak Moon? Luke was good, but the FBI had easier access to resources that would be quicker.

Now
that
would be a job—Internet research for the federal government. He could fulfill the pack’s treaty obligation on an on-going basis. Not that anyone in the pack would care. He was omega, after all.

He wished he’d had time to purchase himself a new laptop while they were in Fort Collins. Another sin to place at Libby’s door. His super phone would have to suffice. He should get a super phone for Abby, too. She couldn’t howl if she needed him. There was the baby to think about. Granny couldn’t howl either. How had she and Gramps coped with twins?

They’d been isolated, too. Gramps’ family had essentially disowned him for the shame of having a human mate. Other lycans wanted nothing to do with them. And Granny’s family couldn’t be involved for obvious reasons. History repeated itself with his own parents, although his mom could howl perfectly fine.

And that’s what would happen if Abby took Rosie Dawn and moved to Oak Moon. Libby was her only family, and Luke didn’t want that brat anywhere near his child. Ever.

The DeepNet site popped up on the screen. Luke’s fingers flew over the unfamiliar keyboard. And he was in. Wow. That blonde looked a little young to have knockers that big.

Abby grabbed the side of her neck. The stinging was back, as if an entire honey farm of bees decided to attack her. Or a ghostly welder held his blowtorch to her flesh.

“What?” Granny asked.

“That pain I had a couple of weeks ago. It’s back.”

Granny had made chicken and rice soup, which Abby greedily gulped down. She hadn’t had a chance yet to ask about the bubbling in her stomach. Or stillbirths. She didn’t want to discuss either topic in front of Libby, who was munching on a grilled cheese sandwich.

Granny pulled Abby’s hand away from the site of the pain and tipped her head so that her exposed neck was directly under the dim overhead light.

“I don’t see anything.”

“It burns.”

Granny ran her fingers along the side of Abby’s throat. “Here?”

Abby shook her head with each asking of the question, until Granny hit the spot where her neck joined her shoulder.

“Ow!” Abby did a great imitation of a howl.

“That’s really odd,” Granny muttered. She went to the old-fashioned rotary phone hanging on the wall and dialed a few slow numbers. “Colette, can you come over tonight? I need your advice on something.” Granny hung up without waiting for an answer and grinned. “Asking her advice will get her here faster than you can say her name.”

Libby finished her sandwich and wandered toward the sitting room and Gramps’ big screen TV.

Not three minutes later, the door opened and a naked Colette scurried into the kitchen. “What?” She sounded frantic. “Is the baby okay?”

Granny threw her a robe. “You could have driven instead of running. It’s Abigail’s neck.” Granny tilted Abby’s head again. The tip of her withered finger probed the burning patch of flesh.

“You called me over here to show me Abigail’s neck?”

“I need a werewolf’s perspective,” Granny snapped. “What is this spot?” She poked the patch harder. “Right here. Is it what I think it is?”

Colette’s breath was hot on Abby’s neck as she leaned in closer. “That’s the marking spot. So?”

“That’s what I thought.” Granny sounded smug. “Her marking spot is burning.”

“Or stinging,” Abby added as she sat up. She reached for her soup bowl again. “Like a zillion wasps are attacking me.”

“I don’t get it,” Colette said. “Why did you call me here to ask me about Abigail’s marking spot?”

“Luke said he never marked her. Says she’s not his mate.”

Colette’s eyes widened.

“Have you ever heard of someone’s marking spot burning?”

Colette shook her head. “Why should a marking spot burn?”

“That’s a real good question.”

Abby’s spoon scraped the bottom of her bowl.

“Would you like more soup?” Granny offered. “Didn’t Luke feed you while he had you in Fort Collins?”

“Libby and Luke had a big disagreement,” Abby said, as she pushed her bowl toward Granny.”

“What happened?” Granny asked, as she ladled soup into the bowl.

Abby chose her words with care. “Luke isn’t used to dealing with Libby and her issues.”

“Libby doesn’t have issues,” Colette said. “She’s a bit spoiled and extremely headstrong, but there’s nothing wrong with that girl. She’s smarter and more mature than she lets on. She only needs a firm hand.”

Abby focused on sliding her spoon through the rich chicken broth. Colette had been living with Libby for what, a week, give or take? Abby had lived with Libby since the day she was born. Libby was young for her age and had issues.

“Do you know anyone to ask about Abby’s marking spot?” Granny reverted to the original topic. “I am not lycan. I don’t know your lore, even though I’ve lived here for over fifty years.”

Colette’s brows rushed together. “Not really. Maybe my grandmother. Let me see what I can find out.” Colette dropped the heavy red robe to the floor. She stepped out into the cold October night as naked as the day she was born.

Granny caught Abby’s unbelieving stare. “I know. Why do you think I spend so much time in the kitchen? Because I like to cook?” She snorted. “It’s the only room in the house that’s near to warm enough for my thin human blood. You’d think after all these years I’d have acclimated, but I haven’t.”

“I have another question for you,” Abby said, even as another wave of pain seared her neck. She clutched the spot as if her hand could ease the agony. “Tonight, on the way back to Loup Garou—”

A howl, sounding close enough to be in the room with them, sent chills through Abby.

“That’s only Colette, summoning the troops,” Granny said. “What is it?”

“Bubbles.” Abby moved her hand from her neck to her abdomen. “Or flutters. Here.”

Granny’s scowl split open into a teeth-baring grin. “Life. That’s your baby moving, Abigail. It’s exactly as it should be.”

The spoon clattered in the bowl as both of Abby’s hands covered her abdomen. Could she love this baby? It was half her. Part Granny. More human than werewolf.

“So there is nothing to worry about?” And if she was worried, didn’t that mean she already loved the babe? Her mother had loved Libby, even when Libby’s behavior and neediness threatened to overwhelm them all. Of course, werewolfery was a little different from whatever troubled Libby. A mother’s love was supposed to overcome everything. What if she wasn’t up to the task? What if she took one look at the little one and rejected it?

Oh. Right. Luke would take it, even if it weren't a Rosie Dawn.

Or what if what Libby had said about Mama’s miscarriages . . .

“You’re over thinking,” Granny said in a low voice. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Generations of Colette’s family descended on Granny’s house. Every one of them was stark naked. Granny handed out blankets and sheets. Some of them came inside as wolves and wanted to shift in the kitchen until Granny scolded them and said all that disparate energy might not be good for Colette’s part-human grandchild.

Abby washed out her bowl and spoon, and then tried to hide in the bedroom until this council of female werewolves did whatever Granny thought they should do. That didn’t happen. Once Granny announced Abby had felt the baby move, every woman in Loup Garou wanted to touch her abdomen. Her being human didn’t matter to them. And when Granny mentioned “marking spot,” every one of them also had to inspect her neck.

“Did Luke bite you there?” Colette’s mother asked. “The first time.”

Abby nodded. Luke liked to lick her neck. Nuzzle and nibble, and she liked it when he did. That was too personal to share, though. No one had ever heard of a marking spot burning or stinging. A couple of the younger women mentioned their spots felt real good during sex—too much information as far as Abby was concerned.

“Okay,” Colette said. “Let’s focus here. Abby, how much do you actually know about mating and marking?”

Panic welled. “Not a lot. Nothing. Except Luke says even though we’re married in the eyes of the state of Colorado, I am not his mate.”

Colette sighed. “Here’s the deal. When a male werewolf meets his mate, his part gets hard.”

Abby wanted to sink through the floor. “Luke said he took a pill.”

“I heard that, and I don’t believe it. I’ve seen the way my son treats you and even more, the way he reacts to threats against you. He might have taken a pill, but if his lycan blood had anything to do with it, nothing happened because of a few drugs. Now, I’m going to get a lot more personal than you’re used to, but it’s for your own good. When you and Luke had sex for the first time, did he nip you on your neck at all?”

“Yes. I think so. But Luke says he didn’t.” Abby wanted to cry. This was so humiliating. At least Granny was human and wouldn’t judge her, but these other relatives of Luke’s—she didn’t know them. Didn’t understand their ways.

“Did he offer you berries?” someone else asked. “That’s always a sure sign. There’s not a male alive who can resist a mate who’s eaten berries.”

Abby shook her head.

“Sure he did,” Libby said from the door. She clutched her Santa Claus pillow to her chest.

“What are you doing in here?” Abby asked. She’d assumed Libby was still with Gramps and the satellite TV. She was far too young for this conversation.

“Luke gave you strawberries. He bought both of us strawberry lemonade because he said it matched the color of your dress.”

Every eye was on Abby. No one exhibited any concern about exposing Libby to the mating habits of werewolves.

Granny picked up her telephone receiver again. Dialed. “Marcus, I want you to go see what your son is up to. I don’t mean in general, I mean specifically. Exactly. Then bring him back here. I have a kitchen full of your in-laws who want to talk to him.” Granny then repeated what Libby had shared with the group.

“He’s working,” Abby said when Granny hung up the phone. “He starts his new job for the—”
Oops
. His employer was something she shouldn’t bandy about. “He starts his new job and wanted some peace and quiet so he went to his house.”

“Luke got a job?” someone asked. “Besides the band?”

“Why does it matter?” someone else asked.

“I have a theory,” Granny announced.