Page 17 of Bad Moon Rising
She wrapped her hair around her hand, lifted it, and stretched her neck slowly to the left.
What was that on her skin? A raised set of interlocked triangles marked the back of her neck. The pagan symbol represented old magic, something most of his kind distrusted and feared. The Lycan Council forbade their kind to practicethatkind of magic and strongly discouraged the use of any other kind except for glamour, a rule put in place after last century’s witch war. That asinine and brutal conflict left too many dead on both sides and a simmering distrust between species. Whatever she’d done to get those marks hadn’t been legal. Roman dabbled in some magic, not the kind on her skin, not elemental magic for which the caster drew upon elemental power and shaped it for a desired result. He did lower-spell witchy magic with spells, runes, scrying, an occasional potion…things like that. The Council didn’t concern him. He hadn’t considered himself under Council rule since the moment his curse took effect.
Flynn chatted about time frames in his ear. Quietly, he said, “Flynn, we’re going to Austria first.”
“The mage?” Flynn asked. “He didn’t like it the last time we showed up without an appointment. Remember he tried to execute you with some sort of magical hand blast thing?”
“Then get an appointment.”
He pressed his ear and said low, “There’s much more at play here than anticipated. He’s our next stop before I return.”
“Is she coming with us, or are you doing tears and goodbyes at the airport?” Flynn asked.
“We’re all going.”
“I’m not flying the plane while you get it on in the bathroom. Now, a three-way I could get into that. I’d—”
“What the actual hell?” he roared. “No. Just no.” He met Nova’s gaze for a moment and shook his head to indicate the outburst wasn’t at her.
“Fine, she’s yours,” Flynn replied in a pissy tone. “I get it. But if you don’t make a move for her, no promises from me not to try.”
“Don’t.” Fighting over a woman was definitely new.
“What was that about?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.
“My brother never matured beyond sixteen. Ignore him when you meet him.”
In his ear, Flynn said, “I’ll get you for that.”
“We’re going to Austria?” She tried to smile, but the upturn of her lips didn’t look happy this time.
“There’s someone there who might be able to help you remember.”
She assessed him for a moment. “But?”
“Fifty-fifty chance he kills us on sight.”
Chapter Four
Roman led the way through the side door into the dark, rented hangar housing his airplane. The smell of jet fuel, oil, and hydraulic fluid assaulted him. The scent an aircraft emitted, either standing idle or after streaking across the skies, resonated deep in his soul. His Cessna was the one quintessentially perfect thing in his life. It was his, not the property of the U.K. Bought and paid for from investments made long before the curse.
Flynn hadn’t arrived yet.
Warning flashed through his brain. The faintest disturbance of energy. The slightest whoosh of air.
On instinct, he pulled Nova to the left against the cold metal wall, covering her body with his own. A bullet hit near his ear, puncturing the steel. He pressed the button for the hangar’s automatic door to open and ducked both of them behind a shelving unit. Ambient light from the streetlamps outside slowly filled the space.
If anyone messed with his plane, he’d kill them. No one could get on the plane until either he or his brothers lifted the protective wards on it. So, he wasn’t worried about anyone stealing it or taking the magical talismans he kept on board. But they could damage the outside.
On a growl, his true lycanthrope form emerged. He dropped the glamour he usually used to appear wholly human. He didn’t become a movie werewolf covered in hair with a popping of bones, nor did he shift to an animal. As far as he knew, werewolves in those forms didn’t exist. His change happened at will and was more an enhancement of his muscles, something closer to Wolverine fromX-Menwhen he got angry or Michael fromUnderworldwithout the vampire part. His teeth grew longer and sharper, his eyes glittered preternaturally bright, and his nails grew into sharp claws. If desired, he could leap from one side of the hangar to the other in the blink of an eye.
“Wow,” Nova whispered, touching his mouth where his elongated canines were more prominent. No revulsion reflected in her expression. No fear.
He didn’t have time to marvel at her reaction. With heightened senses, he recognized the odor of their attacker. Roman called out, his voice now deeper and resonating, “Cooper? We established rules last month about this sort of thing. The rule is you stay away from me.” Roman leaned in and whispered to Nova, “It’s the A.W.L.”
“The what?”
He kept his voice low. “Anti-Werewolf League. They’re a well-funded international group of humans that have been hunting our kind since the early 1900s, although they’re not very good at it. Cooper is one of their lower ranking members. Moving up in the ranks requires a documented kill or two, which he hasn’t made yet.”
