Bad Moon Rising Read online

  “How easy you make me want it.”

  “You liked it when Bobby had you.”

  Is he really discussing this? “Only because you were stuffed up inside my pussy.”

  He gave a grunt of laughter. “Will you let me have you?”

  She groaned and smothered her face again. “Yes,” she said, the words muffled to her own ears.

  Fingers slid between her folds in front and played with her clit. His cock pushed, but so slowly that her entrance eased open around him. He came inside a couple of inches before she tightened again.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  She nodded, biting her lip against the tight fullness.

  “Enough I should stop?”

  “God, no,” she groaned.

  His thumb and forefinger pinched her clit, and then tugged it, a tiny wet jerk-off that sent shivers through her belly. “Mason!”

  She felt his thighs bunch against the backs of hers, the eager press of the hand on her hip, and then he was thrusting forward, filling her, and stretching her until she burned.

  His breath hissed. “Baby, you’re so fucking tight.”

  She smiled to herself, liking that hint of distress.

  “Come up on your arms.”

  “No. Too weak.”

  “Come up, now.”

  Just his tone, rough and raw, had her pushing up eagerly. Then he blanketed her back, and she locked her elbows to withstand the extra weight.

  His left hand landed on the bed beside her. The other tunneled fingers into her vagina. Then he began to pump, fucking her in earnest, and she gave a joyful shout.

  Filled with Mason, she forgot to breathe, her mind focusing on the pleasure of his relentless motions and the curling arousal tightening in her womb. “Oh, God. Oh, God,” she chanted over and over.

  He powered into her, jerking her forward and back. The scrape of a fingernail, the thickness plundering her, was painful but lifting her arousal higher and higher. When her gasps were echoed by his, she closed her eyes, arched her back and flew.

  Bright colors exploded behind her eyelids, and she gave a shattered, keening cry.

  Mason shouted, hammered her twice more, and then gentled his strokes as his come jetted inside her. When the storm passed, he gently withdrew, folded her inside his arms and took her to the bed, cuddling her body against him, his hands gliding in sweat. He pushed her hair from the side of her neck and kissed her there. “You okay?”

  “No. I’m shattered.” Tears of contentment tickled her eyes.

  “In a bad way?” he asked.

  His voice was as gentle as she’d ever heard it. She gave a gusting sob and snuggled deeper into his embrace, pulling his hand up and trapping it between her breasts. “Just shut up and hold me.”

  *

  Minutes after Mason left, a knock sounded on her door. She’d just showered, and quickly spritzed the air with perfume to mask the smell of sex in her room.

  Somehow, she wasn’t surprised to find Bobby when she opened the door.

  His gaze rose beyond her, peering into her room. His nose twitched.

  DiDi didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused. “You just happened to be dropping by?”

  “We have work to do. Thought you might want a lift, seein’ as how you’re stuck without a car.”

  His expression was guileless, but she wondered if he’d been stalking the parking lot to see when Mason left. If the visitor had been any other man, then she’d have been a little creeped out, but it was Bobby. He might seem a little simple, a little raw, but he was handsome enough he could find his own playmate if all he wanted was to seduce her out from under Mason. “I’ll just grab my purse.”

  The drive took only minutes. As they pulled in front of her aunt’s house, she shivered because the mist rising from the bayou was milky and thick, almost ominous.

  Bobby quickly opened his door and slid to the ground.

  She moved slower, peering into the fog, because again, she felt as though she was being watched.

  He stopped in front of his truck and glanced back, his dark brows furrowed.

  DiDi shrugged off her unease and got out of the truck. “Maybe you could gather the boxes and wrapping paper to take to the dump. I want to have another look at my aunt’s studio.”

  Bobby nodded then led the way inside. Without looking back, he headed into the kitchen.

  She climbed the stairs, aware of every creaking board as she ascended the shadowy staircase. After opening the studio door, she glanced around. Everything was as she’d left it. Even the footprints in the dust that she, Bobby, and Mason had left were undisturbed.

  Gray, murky light shone through the large windows, and she walked toward them, glancing across the yard to the tree line where she’d seen the panthers gather. They were gone now, but the animals were nocturnal creatures, weren’t they?

  Drawing a deep breath, she surveyed the canvases again. Nothing sinister showed in her aunt’s paintings, but she’d apparently been obsessed with the wild creatures that roamed her property.

  She turned a painting that had faced the wall, and smiled as she recognized the dock Mason used for his impromptu picnic. The style of the painting was primitive and from an aerial view of the property. The house sat in the lower right corner; the river was a blue stripe that bisected the canvas. On the other side of the water, the shoreline curved to reveal a small island with trees rimming the edge, directly opposite her property. In a large clearing at the center of the island was a whitewashed church with a steeple and a cemetery beyond it.

  Curious now, DiDi set down the painting, strode out of the studio, and followed the stairs leading up into the attic. The attic door rolled down with a pull of its long cord. Curiosity overcame caution, and she waved a hand above her head in case she encountered any cobwebs, but when she came up to the floor above, she found the space no dirtier than studio had been. One window was at each end of the attic and boxes were stacked against the walls. But the window at the back of the house, the one that faced the bayou, was the one that drew her attention.

  Light spilled through a grimy window, but she used the bottom of her shirt to clean a spot then looked outside.

  The mist outside had thinned. Just as the painting had revealed, across the bayou, lay an island. One curiously free of choking vegetation at its center, but abandoned. Hair pricked up on her arms and the back of her neck.

  Intrigued, DiDi gave the island one more glance, then went in search of Bobby. The painting had shown a small boat, a flat-bottomed pirogue, tied to the end of the dock. Perhaps he knew where it was stored. Sifting through her aunt’s belongings could wait another day. Her writer’s curiosity was piqued. Already, new scenes played inside her mind. A lonely island, an abandoned cemetery—the perfect setting for the climax of her new story.

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  Not until well after noon did DiDi and Bobby push off from the canal’s edge. He’d had to dig past boxes stored in the garage to get to the boat. Then he’d cleaned it and made sure no leaks marked the bottom.

  All the while she waited, she’d been anxious. Wanting to get to the island to explore drove her, but she still needed to be back in time to honor Mason’s request that she remain indoors that night.

  The bayou was eerily quiet—just the gentle lap of a paddle in water audible. No sounds of insects or birds. And strangely, the fog hugging the far bank hadn’t burned away, so although they left in searing sunshine, they entered a muffling mist.

  “What is this place?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet, and not sure why she felt she should.

  “It’s da ancestors’ home.”

  “Your town’s founders?”

  He gave a nod and continued to paddle slowly toward the opposite bank, reminding her of Charon, the ferryman, crossing the river Styx. Perhaps she was a bit uneasy because of the taut lines of his back and shoulders, or maybe the sharpness of his gaze as he peered into the mist.

  Whimsically, she
wished she had a coin in her pocket now to pay him. “No one lives there now?”

  “No one lived here back den, either. It’s jus’ a place we hold sacred.”

  “Because of the church?”

  He snorted. “The church was somethin’ a preacher thought we needed.”

  DiDi frowned at his cryptic answer. She opened her mouth to ask him another question, but the boat slid through a clump of tall grass, and the bottom scraped against the bank.

  Bobby pulled the paddles inside and stood, stepping out then offering her a hand as she did the same.

  “Don’ wander too far, chère.”

  “You’re staying with the boat?”

  “Do you want it driftin’ away?”

  She wanted to ask him why he couldn’t simply pull it farther up the bank, but she held back her words because she knew her tone would have a bite. This place unnerved her. The quiet. The lack of vegetation surrounding the graveyard and the path leading to the church. Beyond the church was forest, but it was dark and shadowy—ominous, she thought—the exact word she’d use when she wrote her next installment.

  “Dere be history, here, chatte. Answers, if you’re brave enough to ask da right questions.”

  She left him standing beside the boat, the sides of his plaid shirt open. She marveled at how quickly she’d gotten used to seeing his male body that she didn’t feel a stirring of arousal or discomfort glancing at his naked chest. She could acknowledge that he was a handsome beast, but she didn’t want him.

  DiDi made her way along the rugged path, spotting odd patches of grass, most surrounding the granite and concrete family tombs scattered over the open area in front of the church.

  The names carved above doorways were all French, and two she recognized—Breaux and Sonnier—with large tombs that faced each other across the pathway. She moved closer to the Breaux family crypt and noted the lock on the thick wooden door. No windows showed, but she trailed her fingers along the design carved into wooden panels on either side of the door. Only one species of creature was featured in the sculpted wood—panthers, their long sleek bodies stretched as their muzzles scented the grass or sitting while cubs played beside them.

  She wondered about this affinity the small community seemed to hold for the large cats. The fact they existed at all and hadn’t been hunted into oblivion was likely due to the protection provided by the residents of Bayou Noir. She’d seen one and knew how beautiful the creatures were. But why this seeming reverence?

  Continuing toward the church, she wished she’d worn something a little more substantial than shorts and a tee. A weird chill clung to the moist, foggy air.

  As she approached the church, she heard a low squall coming from the forest behind the church. The hairs on her arms lifted. She hurried her footsteps and climbed the wooden steps to enter the pretty, white clapboard church that oddly didn’t show any wear. Unlike her home, the paint was fresh, the steps swept. Someone tended the church.

  Pushing open the heavy double doors, she stepped inside the chapel. Everything was as she expected. Neat, polished pews. A pulpit. Light shone through a large stained-glass window behind the pulpit.

  But the window didn’t portray Jesus or any saints. Instead, the tiny panes depicted lush green foliage, a lazy river meandering past, and a panther at the center, its golden eyes huge and round, and appearing to stare right at her.

  A shiver shook down her spine, and she tore her gaze from the window to walk the outer perimeter of the pews and look at the framed art on the walls. A couple of the paintings were her aunt’s work. Similar to those in the attic, with panthers resting, their bodies still as though posing for the artist. She continued around the room, looking at more paintings and the occasional embroidered picture. The subjects of these were stranger. Humans walking beside panthers, resting with their heads atop big cats’ shoulders. And there were necklaces around the humans’ necks, thin chains, with what appeared to be leashes dropped beside the cats.

  When she came to the last one, she held still. This one was a large tapestry. To the right was a boat leaving shore, figures huddled on the deck as they peered toward the open sea. In the center was a winter scene, thick pillowy snow stained with bright red slashes, panthers lying in disarray, dead. Looking to the left, across the cresting waves of the ocean, she saw thick vegetation, and an alligator sunning on a river bank. This place. This church, with large cats, and people who appeared to be part-cat, their mouths shaped with clefts at the top, their ears tufted and on either side of the tops of their heads—their bodies coated with a short coat of dark fur.

  She stood mesmerized and remembered her encounter with Bobby and Mason in the woods, how Bobby’s body had felt against her skin. A fine down gliding against her back.

  Hands settled on her shoulders, and she jerked.

  “So, you see now,” Bobby said, his words lightly lisping.

  “I see that your little corner of the bayou is very creative,” she said, fighting to keep from shivering. Fighting to keep from turning, because the cheek that rubbed against the side of her neck was covered with the softest fur. “What is this place?”

  “This little island in da canal is da one place we are ourselves. Our haven. Come da full moon, you’ll feel da wildness in your veins, hear our squalls. Da Prowl makes even a pretty blonde chatte…hot.”

  “Are you marking me?” she asked, stiffening against another rub of his cheek.

  His chuckle was low and dirty. “Not until tonight. Den, I’ll savor covering you.”

  She stiffened. “I’m not an animal. I won’t be covered. Not by you.”

  “T’ink you can resist da moon?” His hands smoothed over her shoulders, then down her arms. He locked her wrists with his fingers and raised their arms to the meager sunlight spilling through the window.

  She drew a slow shuddering breath. Proof in the form of a fine coat cloaking his arms caused her breath to catch. When her wrists were released, she wriggled to make room and turned slowly, lifting her gaze to his face.

  Shock held her frozen in place. His eyes were large and round. His ears, triangular and tufted, split his long hair. His mouth was the most frightening. Divided by a cat’s cleft at the top. Long canines peeked from beneath his upper lip, which was stretching into a smile. His chest, bared by his unbuttoned shirt, was completely furred.

  “You were the panther in the road,” she whispered.

  He nodded, his glance unblinking and focused on her face.

  She swallowed against a dry throat. “Your town…is everyone…what you are?”

  He shook his head. “Dere are too few felines among us. We take human mates.”

  “My aunt knew what you are?”

  “She was part of our community. For all her…oddness… she was counted as an elder. Trusted. An’ she left you her house.” He dipped his chin then met her gaze again. “She gave us a parting gift.”

  DiDi swallowed again. “I have to return. Now. Mason—”

  “Mason be busy tonight. Won’t be here to protect you.”

  DiDi closed her eyes for a second then asked the last question burning in her mind. “Is he also a panther?”

  “Of course. He marked you. Didn’t you feel da wildness rise after his first kiss?”

  She swallowed again, her mind spinning—fear and a dreadful curiosity resounding. “Something happens during the full moon?”

  “Somet’in’ happens every full moon, but tonight’s be more powerful, impossible to resist. A lunar eclipse comes, and when darkness falls…you’ll know da bite of dis cat.”

  Her heart began to thump like a drum in her chest. Bobby expected to mate with her.

  Not fucking happening. But she doubted he’d listen if she simply said no. She had to get away. Do as Mason had asked. Lock herself inside. DiDi slipped beneath his arms and faced him from a couple steps away. “I’m still curious about the island.”

  He stretched his neck, and his fur receded. His face returned to the handsome line
s she’d admired when she’d first seen him. A lazy, charming smile stretched his sensuous lips. “Come, den. I be your guide.”

  Mason finished placing the last of the road barriers at highway intersections, warning of flooding in their area. Just another precaution to keep outsiders from wandering through their parish during The Prowl. Humans had gone missing here in the past—victims of panthers’ heightened aggression.

  As he drove back into the town, he noted the empty streets. Likely everyone was cat-napping, readying themselves for the night’s activities. There’d be no feast, no ordinary celebration. Cats would congregate, one longboat at a time, in the narrow isle in the bayou. They’d shed their clothes and inhibitions and don fur as they scouted new partners. The full moon was time to shed rules that bound humans—married partners sought new lovers. What happened during the full moon was natural, and a means to expand their small community, one pregnant chatte at a time. Human partners were shadowed by their night’s mate, to protect them from the battles that erupted between the males as they fought for the privilege of covering a female. Human women tended to become frightened when cats snarled and claws appeared. Lust wasn’t easy to stir when a woman worried whether she’d survive.

  And human women had cause to worry. Their delicate skin didn’t protect them from the loving bite of a male mounting her from behind. Some males found holding back their instinctual urges hard. His own mother had died by his father’s teeth sinking into her neck.

  Mason drew a deep breath and shook off the memory of his father the following morning, bringing back the limp body of his mother. His father had wept over her until the elders had come for her body, and he’d mourned her for months following her interment in the family crypt. And then, during a subsequent full moon, he’d simply disappeared. Mason supposed he’d wandered into another parish, looking for an honorable and just end to his life. His father had loved his mother, but not enough to ensure her survival.

  Mason would never make the same mistake. When he’d taken the job as sheriff, he’d vowed to keep the peace, to watch over the ruts to make sure no violence occurred. The past five years had passed without incident, and the elders had been pleased, knowing he’d abstain and protect the cats from their own natures.