Howling at the Moon [The Mystic Museum] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

The Mystic Museum

Howling at the Moon

Carolyn, lonely and heartbroken after being dumped by yet another boyfriend who told her she needs to loosen up in bed, escapes her empty apartment. On the night of a full moon she visits Minerva’s Mystic Museum.

Minerva recognizes her pain and provides her with the opportunity to change her life. The full moon has chosen Carolyn as a mystic walker.

Carolyn’s dormant sexuality is awakened by three handsome shape-shifters. Jacob, caring and nurturing, lures her into his world. Milo, impetuous and rough, awakens unknown desire. Sven, cold and reserved, tests her mettle. Will she choose to walk on the wild side with the wolf pack and become their female? Will she be able to convince Sven that she is worthy and should be given the opportunity to join the pack? Will Sven’s fear of losing another mate destroy the future of the pack? Or will Carolyn choose to return to the normal life she’d come to see as her due?

Genre:
Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Shape-shifter

Length:
21,593 words
 

The Mystic Museum

Loc Glin

MENAGE AMOUR

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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HOWLING AT THE MOON

Copyright © 2013 by Loc Glin

E-book ISBN:
978-1-62242-860-1

First E-book Publication: April 2013

Cover design by Harris Channing

All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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Howling at the Moon
 by Loc Glin from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

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HOWLING AT THE MOON

The Mystic Museum

LOC GLIN

Copyright © 2013

Every full moon Minerva stood outside the doors of the Mystic Museum. She was its appointed guardian and caretaker. She watched for the sign indicating the chosen mystic walker. The light of the full moon would swirl around the mystic walker, creating a radiant aura that could be seen only by the guardian. It was the guardian’s duty to guide the chosen one to their destined path.

“There it is,” Minerva said as the moonlight swirled around the woman whose demeanor suggested she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. The woman’s sad expression indicated that it was becoming too much for her to bear. Minerva waited until the woman entered the museum before she made her way inside. She searched the meandering throng of people for the one she was to assist tonight.

* * * *

Carolyn walked up the steps to the museum. People brushed by her. Some bumped her shoulder. She accepted their apologies with an unconcerned nod. Her steps were sluggish as she unconsciously put on foot in front of the other. She’d left her apartment to avoid being alone. She’d wanted to be anywhere except there. She’d walked without a destination, walking just to walk. Her mind still reeled after being dumped by yet another boyfriend. A month had passed, and Randy’s cruel words still rang in her head. “Loosen up, Carolyn. Christ, do you even like sex? Making love to you is frustrating. It’s emasculating. How can I feel like a man if I can’t make you feel like a woman?” He’d left her that night. He’d gathered his things and walked out of her life.

Randy wasn’t the first man that had called her frigid. She was afraid he wouldn’t be the last. She liked sex well enough. She was just shy and reserved. A man wouldn’t respect her if she acted on the primal urges she sometimes felt. She repressed those urges, they were dangerous. She controlled what she considered unnatural desires. A normal woman didn’t feel the hunger she experienced. It took all her control to keep it at bay, so she appeared cold and lifeless.

She was a nurse in the emergency room. She’d seen too much of what uncontrolled urges and emotions could do. Gunshot wounds, stab wounds, concussions from a bashed-in scull. Those happened in various ways, like baseball bats, and other blunt objects, or fistfights. And then there was always the push down the stairs. Uncontrolled urges caused trouble.

She pulled the imitation fur collar of her coat tighter around her throat. She raised her chin and tilted her neck so she could look at the sign above the door.
Minerva’s Mystic Museum
, it proclaimed.
I’ve never noticed this was a museum. It’s as good a place as any.
“I wonder if there is a Minerva,” she muttered as she stepped through the ornate double doors.

The room she entered was quite large, but the subtle lighting made it feel much smaller and intimate. Pictures hung on some of the walls. Beautiful murals were painted on others. Seating was provided here and there for the patron’s viewing ease. Tables and glass-encased counters created a maze inside the room. A musky yet relaxing aroma permeated the air, strong but not overpowering. Soft music and sometimes chimes filled the space with a comfortable, warm vibration.

Her body began to release tension she hadn’t known she held. She felt very tired. She sat on a bench in front of a mural. The weight of her troubles filled her heart. She removed her coat to make herself more comfortable.

She was alone in this world, with no family and no friends to speak of, no one that would really miss her. She had a few friends from work, more acquaintances than friends, people she rarely saw outside of that environment, no one who really cared about her, and no one she really cared about. That made her life lonely. Work had become all she had. She worked so many hours she was always exhausted. The ER life was taking its toll on her. She was ready for a change. She needed something a little less stressful. She was good at what she did. She’d acquired a lot of experience, but she’d had enough. In a moment of desperation she’d made a decision to change her life. She’d given her notice at work. So far they hadn’t responded to her request for transfer. She wasn’t worried. A nurse could find employment almost anywhere. If she had to leave New York she would, and she wouldn’t look back. She even thought it might be a pleasant change. Today had been her last day at work.

She’d just focused on the mural in front of her when a woman stepped into her line of vision. The woman was tall with long black hair. Her skin was very pale and translucent. She wore a black dress that clung to her body and covered almost every inch of her skin. It shimmered as she moved. Her large dark eyes were emphasized by the black lines of her makeup. Her wine-colored lips spread in a friendly smile. Carolyn glanced up at the woman.

“I am Minerva, curator of this museum.” Her slim hands were clasped in front of her. “May I sit down?” she asked motioning to the bench.

Carolyn moved over. “Yes, please do.”

Minerva gracefully lowered herself onto the seat beside her. Carolyn’s attention returned to the mural.

“It’s called
Howling at the Moon.
It’s one of my favorites,” Minerva said.

“He seems so lonely,” Carolyn said. Her gaze fixed on the mural.

“Yes, he does.” Minerva looked at Carolyn intently.

“I know how he feels,” Carolyn sighed. She fought back the tears that threatened to unleash themselves.

“I believe you do.” Minerva put her hand on Carolyn’s shoulder.

Carolyn looked into Minerva’s eyes. Those dark orbs searched her soul. She couldn’t look away. It was as if Minerva was looking for something buried deep inside of her. After what seemed an eternity, Minerva smiled and stood.

“You have the power to change your loneliness.” Minerva placed her hand on Carolyn’s heart. “Trust what you feel in here. Your love, in all its manifestations, is a good thing. Safe journey. May the goddess grant your heart’s true desire.”

Minerva moved away. Carolyn watched her body shimmer with an otherworldly light. “Strange woman,” she whispered and returned her attention to the mural before her. The scene it depicted tore at her heart.

The full moon hung in a cloudless starry night sky. The moonlight bathed the landscape in a silvery glow. The artist must have been sitting on a rise or a hill on this side of the valley depicted in the work of art before her. A wolf sat, its neck stretched, howling at the moon from its place on the mountain ledge. Trees blanketed the mountain. The mountain rolled down and changed into the low hills of the valley where the trees thinned. The valley changed into a meadow covering the lower portion of the mural.

The artist created the impression of the distance between the mountain tree line and the meadow. She watched the wolf turn its head. She felt as if it was looking at her. She held her breath, mesmerized by the sight. Her heart began to pound. Blood rushed through her body. She could feel each pulse of her heart. She felt a connection with that wild beast beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Something inside her was awakened on a level of pure instinct. The wolf turned and disappeared from the scene in front of her. She released her breath. Her heart cried out, mourning his loss. She slowly searched the landscape. Her nostrils flared, she could almost smell the night air, could almost smell him. Where had the wolf gone? Was he as lonely as the mural depicted him to be? A moment later the wolf appeared at the tree line in the valley.