Bad Moon Rising
Bad Moon Rising
Delilah Devlin
Copyright © 2015 Delilah Devlin
Kindle Edition
On a whim, romance author DiDi Devereaux decides to travel to remote Louisiana bayou country to take possession of a house she inherited from a reclusive relative. But before she reaches her destination, she drives her car into a ditch to avoid a large animal that leaps into her path. Rescue comes in the form of a sexy sheriff, whose gruff demeanor seems to hide a feral attraction. As DiDi settles into her new home she finds herself torn between her attraction to the sheriff and the raw, handsome bad boy whose offer to help her renovate her home is a little too convenient and tempting.
Nothing in Bayou Noir is what it seems. When strange things begin to happen, her natural curiosity leads her into danger…
From the Author
To those of you who’ve read me before—hello, friends! To new readers, welcome to my world!
This story has been a long time in the making. I wrote the first chapters and offered them as a free read on my website. Then life got in the way, jumped to hyper-speed, and I never finished. Also, I wasn’t exactly sure how I wanted to end it. Thankfully, Mason and DiDi made the decision for me. I hope you enjoy their Happy Ever After.
I love hearing from readers, and have a very active blog and Facebook friend page. I run contests, talk about my favorite TV shows, what I collect, what drives me crazy. I tend to ramble a bit. I’m doing it right now. But if you’d like to learn more about me and what I’m doing or writing about, be sure to check out the “About Delilah Devlin” page after the story.
And if you enjoy this story, please consider leaving a review on your favorite retail site or simply tell a friend. Readers do influence other readers. We have to trust someone to tell us whether we’ll have fun when we open a new story!
Sincerely,
Delilah Devlin
Visit www.DelilahDevlin.com for more titles and release dates and subscribe to Delilah’s newsletter at newsletter.
Table of Contents
Title Page
About the Book
From the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
About Delilah Devlin
Night Fall Series
Excerpt from Night Fall on Dark Mountain
Chapter One
‡
“Wah-ah-ah-ah!”
DiDi Devereaux bounced her head to David Draiman’s gorilla-like chant. After she’d turned onto the small county road in a Louisiana bayou, she’d popped her Disturbed CD in the player. She liked listening to hard rock when she wrote a fight scene or needed a little courage. Raucous, masculine music rarely failed to rev her engines.
Unfortunately, the music wasn’t working its magic now.
Her headlights barely cut through the thick fog, forcing DiDi to ease off the accelerator as she peered over the steering wheel at the narrow donkey trail of a road. Twenty minutes earlier, she’d left the highway and knew she’d entered bayou country by the thick forest pressing against the road from both sides and the air’s muggy quality. She’d rolled down her windows because her AC fogged up the windshield, but she still had to swipe her palms against the glass to clear it enough to continue.
Why she’d decided to finish the journey at night, she didn’t know. But she never questioned an impulse, and never really regretted any of the mishaps she’d fallen into as a result of ignoring good advice. Many of her stories were born from those exact misadventures—and inspiration, of late, had become pretty thin. A road trip was just what she needed to “fill the well”.
On a whim, she’d removed the deed to the Gauthier House from her safe deposit box on Monday after moving her furniture into storage and letting her apartment go. When she’d first contemplated making a change, she’d been torn between seeking a summer rental in the Yukon and heading Down Under.
Then she’d remembered the property she’d inherited three years earlier. A dilapidated house in a section of boggy bayou with a dock that led into the swamps. The lawyer who’d handed her the deed and the keys had told her to sell it—or let it return to the land. No use fighting the age of the place because the restoration would be a money pit.
She’d been satisfied to let the document lie at the bottom of her safety deposit box, beneath her passport and a flash drive that stored every page of every book she’d ever written, just in case catastrophe hit and she had to start all over again. Nothing was more valuable to her than the dreams she’d created on paper, nothing was more meaningful. She’d sacrificed a lot to be where she was, edging toward the top of the bestsellers’ lists and finally getting those lucrative contracts that let her continue to feed her gypsy soul.
Now, she had money to sink into the old plantation house. Enough to pay for remodeling while she plunked away at a keyboard with an iPod in her ears as workers sawed and hammered around her.
She could make this new house work—if she ever found the damn place.
The clerk at the gas station fifteen miles back had told her she’d never find her way in the dark on these back roads, that she’d wind up hopelessly lost and he predicted not until some backwoods Cajun found her car in the swamp would the mystery of her death be solved.
He’d cheered up at that thought, saying he bet 20/20 might pay him for an interview. And the little prick had smirked as he said it. Which only made her mad and even more determined to forge ahead.
But things were looking bleak. She considered pulling to the side of the road at the first rest stop, if she ever found one, or at a widening of the road’s shoulder and sleeping in her car until the morning. Wouldn’t be the first time.
David D was giving her a headache, so she glanced down to eject the CD.
When she looked back up, something large and black darted into the road in front of her then stood there, caught in the headlights.
A scream lodged in her throat. She slammed on her brakes, causing her car to swerve onto the soft shoulder. Her tires caught the edge of the road and sank. Before she could compensate, her car left the road, crashing into the ditch. Water splashed up the hood and drowned her windshield in the wet onslaught and long grass.
Seconds later, the engine sputtered to a halt. The headlights dimmed. Then water seeped through the floorboard.
DiDi lifted her feet, clutched the steering wheel hard, and closed her eyes. Just for a moment, just long enough to still the thoughts racing too fast through her mind to process.
The car was stuck. But the water wasn’t deep enough to drown her. She had time to react.
She flicked her ignition, but the starter sputtered. Using the battery alone, she lowered her window. Bending to her right, she reached toward the floor and swung her hand around until she caught the handle of her purse. Straightening, she clutched both sides of her window and climbed out.
She stepped into stagnant, swampy water that filled her shoes and soaked her jeans to the knees. “Shit. I hope the alligators won’t like the taste of me,” she muttered. “Or that whatever jumped in the road isn’t looking for dinner.”
In the distance, she heard the roar of an engine. Rescue. So she slung her purse over her shoulder, grabbed handfuls of the grass at the side of the ditch and crawled up to the road.
Headlights blinded her for a moment, but she lifted her hand, praying she wasn’t flagging down a serial killer. If she was, she hoped he’d spare her life long enough for him to tell her his story. Her mouth formed a grim smile as she straightened.
A car pulled alongside her; the passenger window whirred downward.
An emb
lem on the side of the car had her sighing with relief. A police car had halted beside her.
“Ma’am, do you need help?”
The soft southern inflections in the deep, rasping voice soothed her fears. She leaned down and braced her hands on the open passenger window to peer inside. “My car’s in the ditch,” she said, eyeing the large shadow of the man behind the wheel.
“I can see that,” he said, calm as could be. “Need a lift?”
“I need a tow. And probably repairs. The engine took on water.”
“Get in. I’m heading into Bayou Noir. Henri’s gas station isn’t open this late, but you can get a room at the motel for the night and figure things out in the mornin’.”
She nodded, hesitated for a second, hoping he wasn’t a rapist posing as a cop, and then opened the door to slide onto the bench seat. When she closed the door, she turned to get a better look at her savior. Her mouth dried in an instant.
Even shadowed, she could tell he was handsome. Strong, rugged features, a blunt nose and square chin. A full head of dark hair, cut short and with a slight curl.
Probably married. Nothing that delicious wouldn’t have been wrestled to the altar long ago.
He studied her while she stared back, his dark gaze flicking over her hair, and she lifted her hand to comb through it, suddenly self-conscious. Then her mind began to click as she inventoried the person beside her, thinking she couldn’t have found a better hero for her next novel. “I’m DiDi Devereux,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Sheriff Mason Breaux.” He gave her a quick, impersonal clasp. “Anything you need from your car?”
Her palm burned from the handshake. Not a flicker of recognition had glinted in his eyes at the mention of her name. Good. “Um…my suitcase. It’s in the trunk.”
He put the squad car in park. “Give me your keys, and I’ll get it for you.”
Handsome and a gentleman. Mmmm. “I left them in the ignition.”
He nodded, let himself out of the car.
Leaning into the window opening, she watched as he plunged down the bank. Things were indeed looking up. Already her fingers were itching to tap on keys and capture her first impressions of her backwoods cop. Her mind leapt back to the cause of her current dilemma—the large animal that had stood defiantly in the center of the road.
If she hadn’t known the situation was impossible, she would have sworn the animal was a panther. A black panther. But they didn’t exist in North America outside of folktales, and tawny Florida panthers no longer roamed this part of the south.
No, what she’d spied was far more likely a large dog. Her imagination had simply traded one prosaic image for the fantasy her artist’s soul craved. She angled her head on the padded rest. But what would be the harm in creating a story, wrapped around the tale of a stranded tourist who found a strange enchanted land deep in a Louisiana bayou where black panthers roamed?
Mason cursed as his boots sank into muck. Damn tourists. The sooner he dropped her at the motel, the better.
He hadn’t liked how his body had reacted to the stranger—pulled, his groin heavy and surging. Almost like the instant, inevitable attraction between two soul mates. Not that he believed that old wives’ tale.
Likely he’d just been drawn by all that gold hair, curling wildly around her head. By the wide blue eyes that had stared avidly at him. She didn’t act like most women who hid their curiosity beneath the coy sweep of lowered eyelashes. Her gaze had scoured him from his head to where his legs disappeared into the shadows.
He wondered if she’d be that curious, that meticulous, when studying a naked man’s body. A snort escaped. Not that he’d ever get the chance to know.
She was just passing through. And it was a good thing too. The full moon was only a couple of days away. Outsiders weren’t welcome in Bayou Noir during a full moon. Add a lunar eclipse, and he and his deputy would have their hands full keeping order in their sleepy little town.
He inserted the key into the trunk lock and twisted it. The latch popped. Inside, he found her suitcase and a smaller computer bag. He hoisted up both, slammed down the trunk, and scrambled up the bank.
He opened the passenger back door, slid the larger case across the seat, and then started to place the smaller one on the floor.
“Could I have that one please?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
That sexy, husky voice raked right down his spine like the claws of a she-cat. “Sure,” he muttered, annoyed with his inappropriate attraction.
And he began to worry. Her car was indeed sunk deep in the mud. Henri might winch it up and tow it to his garage tomorrow, but Mason seriously doubted the mechanic could have it fixed before the full moon.
He’d suggest that Henri haul it to Destiny, just down the road a safe distance from the insanity that was poised to explode in his own little parish. Henri might bemoan the loss of revenue, but no one would want a single human female here. Not the way she smelled.
Ripe, musky, spicy.
He ground his teeth, handed her the bag, and walked around the car, hoping like hell she hadn’t noticed the erection thickening alongside his thigh.
Once inside, he slammed the car into gear and pressed on the gas, taking it a little fast, but he knew the road. The cats knew the sound of his engine. No one would burst out to see who was coming.
He had no doubt who was responsible for DiDi’s mishap. Cats rarely ventured this far from the center of the parish for fear of a night hunter’s spotlight. Bobby Sonnier was careless, reckless, and if he’d gotten a whiff of this little blonde chatte, it was going to be hell keeping him away while she waited for her car to be repaired.
Add another worry to the list of things Mason had on his mind.
“I’m sorry to be an inconvenience,” she said quietly.
“You’re not,” he bit out.
“Sure,” she said, but she didn’t sound sarcastic.
When he turned to gauge her expression, he saw she was still staring, and grinned when he caught her at it. She was bold. Ridiculously unafraid. But then she had no clue she’d entered a lion’s den.
They pulled into Bayou Noir, driving down Main Street, the only street. He signaled to turn, even though there wasn’t a single other motorist on the road. Light blazed from the motel office. The neon sign above the door announced “Vacancy”—in two days that would change whether or not any rooms were available to let.
They climbed out of the car. She entered the office while he waited outside, watching her and growing more curious by the minute. She gave the clerk that same avid stare, signed for a room, and received the key.
So her interest hadn’t been for him alone. He felt a niggle of disappointment but reminded himself that fact was just as well.
When she returned, she held up the key and smiled. “All set.”
“I’ll get your case,” he mumbled.
After pausing to stomp the dry muck off his boots on the pavement, he carried it through the door of her room and gazed around, thinking the shabby surroundings couldn’t be what she was used to. But she didn’t turn up her nose. The room was clean however thin the carpeting or nubby the bedspread.
He placed the case on the bed and turned to leave, but he hadn’t realized she stood so close behind him.
They bumped, and he reached down to clasp her hips to steady her. He should have dropped his hands the moment she looked up, but he couldn’t.
Again, that same unwanted attraction held him as he stared into her blue eyes.
Color flooded her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “Thanks for everything,” she whispered.
His thumbs smoothed up and down on her hips bones. She was slender but sturdy. He liked her height. Her head would rest over his heart if he pulled her closer.
She cleared her throat.
He took the hint, dropping his hands. He stepped around her, embarrassed now that he’d betrayed his interest.
“Sheriff?”
“Maso
n,” he ground out, although he questioned why he wanted to be on a first-name basis.
“Mason, is there anywhere around here to get a bite to eat?”
He bit back a curse. That he wanted to get as far away from her as possible wasn’t her fault. “Grab your purse. I’ll take you to the LeChat. It’s the only restaurant. But noisy. It’s honkytonk, too.”
“That’d be fine,” she said, breathlessly. “I’d like to take in a bit of the local flavor, seeing as how I might be here a while.”
He forced his mouth into a faint grin. “We’ll see about gettin’ you back on the road tomorrow.”
“No hurry. I’m not travelling much farther anyway.”
Something about the way she said it, or perhaps because she looked away for once, alerted him he wouldn’t like what she said. He lifted an eyebrow.
She cleared her throat. “I inherited property nearby. I was on my way there when I ran off the road.”
“Where exactly are you headed?”
“The Gauthier House. I guess it goes by that name?”
His back stiffened, and he schooled his expression into an implacable mask. Oh hell, no. The woman couldn’t be related to Ondine Gauthier. And she couldn’t take possession of the house. The building sat in the center of sacred ground.
“Your purse?” He bit out.
He’d see her to dinner. And hope like hell one of the clan leaders was there to discuss this disaster. Something had to be done quickly to dissuade her from staying. That or they had to figure out a way to keep her away from the house and occupied during the full moon.
She slung her handbag over her shoulder and gave him a curious glance. “I say something wrong? Or do you know the place?”
“I know it. Do you want to change?” No way did he want to wait outside while all he could do was think about her stripping, but he had to ask.
To her credit, she glanced down her length and then shrugged. “We both look like hell. I don’t care if you don’t.”