Chasing The Moon

Lunar Mates 3: Chasing the Moon

By

Loribelle Hunt

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Lunar Mates 3: Chasing the Moon

Copyright© 2006 Loribelle Hunt

ISBN: 978-1-60088-087-2

Cover Artist: Sable Grey

Editor: Leanne Salter

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

Cobblestone Press, LLC

www.cobblestone-press.com

Dedication

As usual, to the wonderful editorial staff at Cobblestone. Thanks for making it shine Leanne. And to all my friends who listened to an insane amount of whining during the writing of this book and told me to shut up and get busy. Sara, Shelli, Crystal, Krissy, and Angie—it never would have been finished without the occasional kick in the rear.

And a final thanks to all the fans of the series who contacted me wanting to know when Jackson’s story would be available. This one is really for y’all!

Prologue

Jackson took one last long look around the community hall and walked out into the night. Heaven and hell. His little slice of heaven—control over the Appalachian pack he’d been born into—paled in comparison to his hell—the loss of not one, but all three of his best friends.

Because the old Alpha, Brant, died without a successor, the Council had been compelled to name a new one. It had come down between him and Darius. Darius lost. He wasn’t stupid enough to think Darius could stay, but he’d hoped Trey or Eric would.

A small circle of men waited for him in the courtyard, and he paused. His best candidates for Beta and Enforcer were leaving in a few days, and he’d have to pick another set quickly. He didn’t want to be the sort of Alpha Brant had been; autocratic, controlling, and mired in the past. But it
was
a werewolf pack. He needed to move with speed and decisiveness to secure his place. Maybe he could exert his control more subtly than Brant, but it was still control.

Despite that knowledge, he didn’t want to deal with it now. It was late, he was angry, and he wasn’t making any appointments outside in the dark. Thankfully, deciding how to deal with the situation was taken out of his hands when a big man stepped out of the shadows and spoke to the group.
Trey
.

“I think pack business can be dealt with at a more civilized hour. Tomorrow.” Most wouldn’t need any more of an invitation to scatter; Trey scared the daylights out of almost everyone.

“And you’re not in charge here, Hunter,” a snide voice said through the gloom.
Wyatt
. Jackson identified him easily. That one would be trouble.

A handful waited nervously for him to nod his assent before leaving. He’d have to watch them.

The ones who waited for direction from their Alpha before obeying their instincts could probably be used for the good of the pack. Wyatt was the last to slink off, though not out of deference to pack leadership.

His objections to both Darius and Jackson were well known.

Alone, he and Trey turned to the path that led to the big house, now
his
house. They walked the short trip in silence and entered the kitchen door. A small light above the stove lighted the room, giving off more than ample illumination for the two of them. He walked to the refrigerator and opened the door.

“Beer?”

“I think I will,” Trey answered.

They sat across from each other at the large table and stared out the windows, occasionally tipping back bottles.

“Any chance I can talk you into staying?”

Trey snorted. “You know I don’t belong here.”

He frowned. That was probably true. Trey needed solitude more than most of them. It was hard to find seclusion in a pack that numbered over three hundred strong.

“Don’t ask Eric either. You know Darius is going to need all the help he can get.” Anger hardened Jackson’s jaw.
Like I don’t need help?
Darius was taking the best talent with him. “Which leaves me in a bind. No Beta. No Enforcer. No one who stands out in the crowd, either.” Trey stood and got a couple more beers from the fridge. When he returned to the table, he flipped the chair around and rested his arms across the back.

“There were a few in that gaggle tonight who didn’t run when I showed up,” he said sarcastically, saluting Jackson with his beer before taking a long swallow.

Instead of the mocking answer that hovered on his lips, he shut up and listened. Like any true Alpha, he hated taking direction, but Trey saw things in people no one else did. He had a gift for seeing strengths and weaknesses and motivation.

“Take Billy Cagle for instance. Young kid. Remember how scrawny he was as a cub?”

“Yeah.” Billy was the youngest in the crowd, twenty-seven if he remembered right.

“Smart kid,” Trey continued. “Tough as nails.”

“Surely you aren’t suggesting I use him as an Enforcer.” Jackson laughed. Billy probably was tough enough. It had been years since he’d seen the kid lose a fight. But he was young and untried and, frankly, too good with people.

Trey grinned. “No. I’m Enforcer material.”

He didn’t go on and Jackson sat back and thought. Beta? He shook his head. “He’s too young to be Beta.”

Trey shrugged. “Your decision, of course. He’s smart. He’s loyal. People like him. No one wants to fight him.” He paused. “And he’s been working with Eric since he was a teenager.” Eric was the perfect Beta. He had all the qualities Trey attributed to Billy Cagle. The pack had known for years that Eric would end up Beta. The question had always been who would be Alpha. Eric had spent a lot of time with the boy. Training him? There was a time—yesterday in fact—he would have just picked up the phone and called Eric to ask his opinion. That was out of the question now, though.

He scowled. It was a matter of pride.

“What’s Eric’s opinion of him?”

Trey rolled his eyes. “Never a bad word.”

Huh. Eric was a tough master. If the kid worked well for Eric, that was good enough for him. He hoped. “Anyone else stand out in that crowd?” he asked dryly.

Trey took another swallow of beer. “If I had to pick an Enforcer, it would be Abel Williamson or Clint Osborn.”

“Why?”

While Trey answered, Jackson tried to memorize what he heard. He figured this was his last excellent counsel for a good long time.

Chapter One

Summer found one of the small empty tables and slipped her shoes off. She hated wearing heels, but it was kind of hard to avoid at her cousins’ weddings. She wasn’t thrilled to be here anyway, so the shoes just served to piss her off.

Oh, she was happy for Meg and Tara. Really, she was. But with them both marrying werewolves, and their own werewolf in the family tree, it made her nervous as hell to be in the room. She

’d been watching for one in particular all night, but Jackson had stuck to his promise and not shown up.

She felt a little guilt at that and squashed it down. She’d only met the man one time, but the way he’d looked at her…
No thanks
. The matching leg shackles were not for her.

The reception was winding down, and she could now make her escape without hurting anyone’s feelings. If she could just track down her cousins to say goodbye, she could then swing by Tara’s and grab Tinnie’s journals and be on her way. Both couples had disappeared a while ago, though. She snorted. She knew exactly what they were doing; it was just a question of where.

“Excuse me. Summer?”

She turned to see a tall handsome werewolf standing behind her. He looked friendly enough, and he was wearing a wedding band. Something about him was familiar.

“Yes?” Slipping the hated heels on, she stood to face him.

He held his hand out. “I’m Eric. I work for Darius.”

Nodding, she shook his hand. “His Beta.”

He grinned. “And here I was, under the impression you spooked easy.” Her eyebrows both shot up. She did not spook easily. She just recognized the danger one werewolf in particular posed to her freedom. “That’s not exactly how I would phrase it.” He laughed. “Eventually Jackson is going to catch up with you, you know.” She shrugged. Not if she could help it. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “Okay. So Darius asked me to make sure you get to your plane tonight, and Tara left a box of books for you. Just let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll give you a lift over there.”

So they hadn’t forgot. She was dying to dive into her grandmother’s journals. When the eccentric old benefactor that ran the non-profit she currently worked for offered her the company jet and lodge as a bonus, she’d jumped at the chance. Two secluded weeks in the Smokies should give her ample time to study Tinnie’s books.

She smiled, probably her first real one of the day for anyone other than Meg and Tara. “I just need the box. I made arrangements to leave my car rental at the airport.”

“Sure. You want to get it now?”

“That would be great.”

She followed. As soon as she stepped outside, the hair on the nape of her neck stood on end.

She had the feeling she was being hunted and let her senses flare to isolate the danger. It faded away instantly, and she frowned. Maybe she’d imagined it.

The box was quickly transferred and she was off to the tiny airport that served the local area.

Parking in the lot, she grinned at the sight of the small gleaming jet on the runway. Tiny airport, but big enough to handle most corporate jets. She pulled her bag from the trunk and slung the strap over her shoulder, then lifted the box, nudging the lid shut with her elbow.

As she approached the terminal—though giving it the lofty name was a stretch—the door opened for her. The long building had a car rental counter at one end, a ticket counter at the other, and a small snack bar crammed in between. Doors on the opposite wall led out the boarding area.

“You must be Summer Lambert. Let me take those for you,” the man said, reaching for the box and her bag. She almost didn’t let the cardboard carton go, but relented after looking into the kind face of the older gentleman.

“I’m Clint Osborn,” he said. “Your pilot.”

She blinked. There was something off about the man’s aura. She didn’t get an impression of danger, but he was definitely hiding something. Shrugging it off, she returned his smile. People were entitled to their secrets after all.

“Nice to meet you, Clint. I just need to drop the car key off and we can get going.”

“No problem,” he answered. “Take you time. I’ll take your things out to the plane.” She let him take her bag and the box, and then she hurried to drop off the car key. Outside, the plane’s engines were whirring, and she again got the impression something wasn’t quite right. She shook it off and chalked it up to fatigue when she couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary.

As soon as she got to the lodge, she was going to sleep for twenty-four hours. Since meeting Jackson several months ago, she’d thrown herself into work, staying so busy that exhaustion rode her hard. Mr. Hardy had offered her the use of the jet and the lodge as a bonus for finishing a project early, but she suspected he’d done it knowing how badly she needed a break. Smiling, she wondered if she was finally going to meet the old man in person and started the climb up the steps to the plane.

The inside was small but plush, with a couch along one wall and two captain’s chairs on the other. The cockpit was to her left, and she assumed the door to her right led to a bathroom and maybe a small galley. The floors were carpeted in a thick pile, and she slipped her shoes off with a sigh. The cockpit door opened and a young man stepped out. He grinned, walked over and extended his hand.

“Summer. I’m Billy Cagle.”