Page 33 of Black Moon

I’d been in the marching band all through high school and college, and stuck with it afterward. What could I say? I liked throwing sabres and rifles way up high. Basically, flinging weapons around was great exercise and, I hoped, intimidating enough to scare off anyone who got the wrong idea about me being a soft, vulnerable omega.

It certainly had nothing to do with my father’s staunch support of the inherent patriotism of a bugle & drum corps playingThe Star-Spangled Bannerwhile I waved a red, white, and blue flag around like a madman.

Anyway, here’s hoping that an omega in the woods brandishing what looked like a rifle was enough to give anybody pause—at least long enough for me to club any attacker in the head.

The scent of the Grove pack wolves hung clearly between the trees. Some places, where a wolf might’ve brushed a tree trunk, were easy enough to follow, even on two legs.

Likely, it’d have been a better course of action to shift into a wolf and follow that way, but I wasn’t the biggest predator out there, or the fastest. I did okay, had long legs, but if it came down to it, I wanted to be able to swing around my rifle. Assumedly, that was one advantage I had that no one would be looking out for.

Walking slowly, I crept between the trees. They’d left the vans well off from the Reid pack’s territory. The Groves were probably trying to sneak up on them, surprise them.

Considering how dark it was, how I could hardly make out the underbrush, it was a decent plan.

But I must’ve been walking for half an hour or more, ears pricked for any sound coming out of the dark. I expected fighting, growling, the smell of blood.

Over here, there was nothing, and I was beginning to worry that I’d gotten off course. Maybe if I shifted, I’d catch the scent again, but nothing out here smelled familiar anymore, and the new moon made sure if there were a trail to see, I wouldn’t.

Suddenly, a crack.

I froze in place, pupils dilated as wide as they went, pulse racing.

And there, through the trees, was a man. He had a tan, square face. I breathed in, and the scent of stranger, of a threat, filled my senses.

Before I could bolt, the man sprang at me. I jammed the rifle into his stomach. He grunted, and we both went down, his hand over my mouth so I couldn’t scream.

17

Linden

I’d like to say I wasn’t pacing the main hall of Grove House like a parent waiting for their kid to come back from a first date ever, but that would have been a lie.

What else was I supposed to do?

My pack was out there, putting their asses on the line to get Brook back, and there I was, stuck at home. Useless.

Zeke hadn’t been wrong—it was for the best that I stay home. I’d never been in the position to fight for my pack, and it wasn’t my strong point. I was a doctor. My job was the opposite of that.

That didn’t change the fact that I wanted to be there. I wanted to bring Brook home, safe and sound, and see my pack healed.

What fucking difference did it make who got to call himself “Alpha,” like some kind of puffed-up douchebag, when my father was dead, Brook was being held prisoner, and my people were in danger in a place where I couldn’t help them? What did a title change? Skip could call himself king of the pack for all I cared, as long as everyone was safe and healthy.

As I turned toward the front of the house, I caught a snatch of conversation from a frustrated female voice. “No, of course not. No, I—Dammit, listen to me.”

Was that Shiloh Morgan?

I checked my watch. Just after one in the morning. So the bar would be closing soon, that much made sense. But the Morgans lived a street away from us, and the path between the bar and her house led nowhere near Grove House. Certainly not close enough for me to hear her talking from there.

Besides, I thought Talin had been driving her home every night since the incident with Brook. As much as I hated to perpetuate archaic social rules about omegas not going out alone after dark, the threat of the Reid pack made it necessary to be careful.

I didn’t want any member of my pack to have to live in fear, but even that was better than them being kidnapped.

I turned and marched back toward the front door. Maybe Shiloh didn’t need my help, but I’d go check. Make sure she was okay, and no one was bothering her. Maybe it was overprotective of me, but really—what else could I do right then? Continue to pace aimlessly between the front and the back of the house?

Even better, they might be back in two hours or so, so after I checked on Shiloh, I could go pace in the clinic instead. Just in case.

Yes, it was more like the night my father died than I ever wanted to experience again, but it was the sensible place for me to be.

I jerked the front door open, to find Shiloh standing on my doorstep, one hand raised to knock. Her eyes were wide, mouth open as she stood there, blinking at me for a second. “I’m at Grove House,” she said quietly into her phone. “Linden’s standing right in front of me, so I’m fine.”

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