around him.
The phone stopped ringing by the time he reached it. He hoped that didn’t mean Tokarz would make a trip to check on them.
Except Tokarz usually didn’t use a phone. Cellular service in the mountains was spotty at best. Luke liked gadgets and owned a phone that used satellite technology. And most werewolves distrusted technology. They still believed in the old ways. The old ways had brought them to the United States.
They’d been persecuted in France, during the time of the French Revolution, and made a deal with the new nation: service for sanctuary. A werewolf’s speed was better than Paul Revere’s horse; his superior hearing, vision, and, sense of smell—not to mention his ability to shift forms—made them excellent spies.
Electronics were starting to replace them, but periodically the government still called on the Loup Garou pack to handle sticky situations for them.
Luke had already been on two missions. The Toke Lobo and the Pack band was a great cover in certain circumstances. And his computer skills had come in handy when the old ways clashed with the modern world.
Luke held his breath and listened to the silence of the cabin. Abigail was still asleep. He crept up the stairs, super phone in hand. Late afternoon sunlight bled through the window, spotlighting Abigail’s naked form. She was on her back now, her bruises all the more poignant in the golden glow.
Luke raised his phone and started snapping photos. What Abigail didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and he wanted a record of what Gary had done to her. He was able to photograph the damage from several angles. He’d transfer them to his computer drive later.
His penis stirred. Brushed his belly. He dropped the phone to the night table then crawled back into bed with Abigail. She might not be his mate, but he sure liked fucking her.
Chapter 7
The band delayed the start of their one-month tour so Luke could attend the services for Abigail’s mother. The human practice made no sense to Luke, who had been raised in the werewolf culture. Dead was dead. You sang to your forebears on the night of the full moon. You didn’t need to look at a corpse in a box.
But Abigail was human, and Gary was playing sympathy for all he could. His wife had died . His stepdaughters were bereft. He got his three days off from the brewery. It would have looked really odd if Abigail and Libby didn’t attend the funeral. Luke needed to be present for Abigail’s sake.
Sendall Funeral Home. D. Sendall, Director. Serving the families of Oak Moon for four generations. The white building with its black shutters looked like any other house on the street, except for the sign on the lawn.
Abigail was pale in her dark sweater and skirt. Libby was her usual faded imitation of her sister.
Luke stood behind them in the receiving line, ready to step between Gary and Abigail if he needed to. Restin stood next him to keep him from ripping off Gary’s hands before ripping out his throat. But even Luke knew killing the widower at a funeral was bad form.
Luke was also worried about Abigail. She wasn’t too steady on her feet. Dark circles marred her pasty complexion. Luke missed the rosy-cheeked girl he’d seduced at the Moonsinger picnic. She flinched when he pressed his palm against the small of her back.
A crowd from Loup Garou showed up to pay their respects. Luke’s parents, grandparents, his Aunt Macy, plus all the band members, including the roadies and bus drivers. Their presence surprised Luke. Maybe Tokarz was trying to make Abigail feel accepted by the pack.
Except Luke still hadn’t told her the whole werewolf thing. Tokarz’s wife had shrieked when Tokarz told her, had called their child an abomination—in general freaked out. Stoker’s mate, Lucy, had been enchanted—she’d always wanted to turn into a butterfly and fly off. Hank’s mate—Lucy’s younger sister—hadn’t reacted at all. In fact, Luke wasn’t sure Hank had said anything to
The phone stopped ringing by the time he reached it. He hoped that didn’t mean Tokarz would make a trip to check on them.
Except Tokarz usually didn’t use a phone. Cellular service in the mountains was spotty at best. Luke liked gadgets and owned a phone that used satellite technology. And most werewolves distrusted technology. They still believed in the old ways. The old ways had brought them to the United States.
They’d been persecuted in France, during the time of the French Revolution, and made a deal with the new nation: service for sanctuary. A werewolf’s speed was better than Paul Revere’s horse; his superior hearing, vision, and, sense of smell—not to mention his ability to shift forms—made them excellent spies.
Electronics were starting to replace them, but periodically the government still called on the Loup Garou pack to handle sticky situations for them.
Luke had already been on two missions. The Toke Lobo and the Pack band was a great cover in certain circumstances. And his computer skills had come in handy when the old ways clashed with the modern world.
Luke held his breath and listened to the silence of the cabin. Abigail was still asleep. He crept up the stairs, super phone in hand. Late afternoon sunlight bled through the window, spotlighting Abigail’s naked form. She was on her back now, her bruises all the more poignant in the golden glow.
Luke raised his phone and started snapping photos. What Abigail didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and he wanted a record of what Gary had done to her. He was able to photograph the damage from several angles. He’d transfer them to his computer drive later.
His penis stirred. Brushed his belly. He dropped the phone to the night table then crawled back into bed with Abigail. She might not be his mate, but he sure liked fucking her.
Chapter 7
The band delayed the start of their one-month tour so Luke could attend the services for Abigail’s mother. The human practice made no sense to Luke, who had been raised in the werewolf culture. Dead was dead. You sang to your forebears on the night of the full moon. You didn’t need to look at a corpse in a box.
But Abigail was human, and Gary was playing sympathy for all he could. His wife had died . His stepdaughters were bereft. He got his three days off from the brewery. It would have looked really odd if Abigail and Libby didn’t attend the funeral. Luke needed to be present for Abigail’s sake.
Sendall Funeral Home. D. Sendall, Director. Serving the families of Oak Moon for four generations. The white building with its black shutters looked like any other house on the street, except for the sign on the lawn.
Abigail was pale in her dark sweater and skirt. Libby was her usual faded imitation of her sister.
Luke stood behind them in the receiving line, ready to step between Gary and Abigail if he needed to. Restin stood next him to keep him from ripping off Gary’s hands before ripping out his throat. But even Luke knew killing the widower at a funeral was bad form.
Luke was also worried about Abigail. She wasn’t too steady on her feet. Dark circles marred her pasty complexion. Luke missed the rosy-cheeked girl he’d seduced at the Moonsinger picnic. She flinched when he pressed his palm against the small of her back.
A crowd from Loup Garou showed up to pay their respects. Luke’s parents, grandparents, his Aunt Macy, plus all the band members, including the roadies and bus drivers. Their presence surprised Luke. Maybe Tokarz was trying to make Abigail feel accepted by the pack.
Except Luke still hadn’t told her the whole werewolf thing. Tokarz’s wife had shrieked when Tokarz told her, had called their child an abomination—in general freaked out. Stoker’s mate, Lucy, had been enchanted—she’d always wanted to turn into a butterfly and fly off. Hank’s mate—Lucy’s younger sister—hadn’t reacted at all. In fact, Luke wasn’t sure Hank had said anything to
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