Angela Knight - Over The Moon

"I'm an American, asshole. I don't believe anybody's blood is better than anybody's else's." Lucas smiled tauntingly. "But I do know inbreeding when I see it."

The Direwolf stared at him, those cold eyes all but glowing in rage. "I'm going to kill you."

"Not even on your best day." With a vicious gesture, Lucas saved the report and hit print. "It's time for you to go to jail, Stevie. You can spend the weekend thinking about how much I'm going to enjoy ripping out your throat."

"You know, boy," Ray Johnston's voice drawled in his ear, "you got a real gift for gettin' yourself in a shitload of trouble."

Lucas snorted and stopped the Crown Vic at a red light. He'd called his friend on his cell the minute he pulled out of the police department parking lot. "I can't help that all you fuzzy bastards are insane." Looking into his rearview mirror, he saw Elena's Ferrari behind him. She was supposed to follow him back to his house, though he had no idea what he'd do with her when he got her there.

"You think we're bad?" Ray demanded. "The Chosen are nastier than all the rest of us put together. And the Bradfords and the Livingstons are the most stone-cold ruthless of the lot. Not good men to piss off, my friend."

"What the hell was I supposed to do? He was beating that girl in the parking lot of the police department!"

"Yeah, that sounds like Bradford." His friend sighed. "And getting roped into serving as her champion sounds like you."

Since the night five years ago when Ray had made Lucas a werewolf, the two men had become close friends. Ray had even served as his Wolfmaster, teaching him everything he needed to know about Direkind.

Good thing, too, because almost everything Lucas had ever heard about werewolves was pure crap. They weren't allergic to silver or wolfsbane, and they didn't need the full moon to change. And it was Merlin the wizard who'd created them, not some curse-casting gypsy.

As for the ravening killer idea—well, last week Lucas and Ray had gone to Jennifer Rosemond's ninth birthday party. The little girl barely remembered her kidnapping at all, having been out cold for most of it.

Now, if only the current mess would end that well.

"What can you tell me about Elena?"

"Not much. I've just heard her address meetings of the Southern Clans a time or two," Ray said, referring to the Direkind council that governed the southeastern werewolf clans. "She's something of a rebel—wants to end some of the more medieval Chosen customs, which doesn't go over well with the other aristocrats. I always figured she was a little too idealistic for her own good. Sounds like I was right."

Lucas frowned. "How much danger is she in, Ray?"

"Not as much as you, son. Did I hear you say she's in her Burning Moon?"

"Far as I can tell. Every time I take a breath around her, I get a hard-on."

"Yep, that's the Burning Moon, all right. Either way, you'd better keep it in your pants. She's way out of your league. You lay one fuzzy hand on her, her daddy'll cut it off."

Lucas flicked a look in his rearview mirror at the Ferrari, still trailing behind. "Yeah, I kinda figured that," he said, and changed the subject. "You think you can find us somebody to officiate over the duel?"

"I'll give Don Jennings a call. In the meantime, keep it zipped, you hear me?"

He snorted. "Believe me, I'm not dumb enough to do anything else."

Lucas pulled into the carport of his rented house and got out to watch Elena whip the Ferrari in behind him. Even stopped, the car looked as if it was speeding.

Ray's right — she's definitely out of my league .

Then she got out of the car, and it was all he could do not to moan. Long-legged and slim-hipped, with high, sweet breasts, her hair catching flame in the light of the setting sun, Elena Livingston looked like every dream of sex he'd ever had. Even the bruises on that pretty face made her more appealing, like a woman who needed saving. A woman he could actually touch.

Now you really are dreaming. She's Chosen. She'd never let you lay one peasant finger on that pure-blooded Direwolf body.

Ray had told him all about the Chosen as part of his Direwolf indoctrination. They were the closest thing the Direkind had to aristocracy—direct descendents of the very first werewolves created by Merlin himself. Everybody else came from Bitten like him—poor bastards some Direwolf had fanged. Since the bite spread the spell called Merlin's Curse, whoever got bitten soon got furry.

The Chosen, on the other hand, considered themselves superior because their ancestors had been selected by Merlin. Proud of their bloodlines and highly secretive, they were bound by a web of complex traditions and blood relationships. They definitely did not mix with the likes of Lucas Rollings.

Great. Just what he needed: a weekend of sexual frustration followed by a a fight to the death with a jealous Direwolf.

As Lucas watched, Elena walked over and looked up into his eyes. Despite her apparent boldness, he thought he detected discomfort on her lovely face.

"I guess you're wondering what's really going on," she said softly. "Given that I couldn't tell you the full story back at the department."

"The question has crossed my mind." He gestured her ahead of him and tried not to inhale her luscious sex-and-sin scent.

She preceded him toward the house's entrance. "I need your help."

"And you'll get it. Bradford's already challenged me to a duel on Monday." Lucas reached past her to open the kitchen door for her.

"That's only part of it. I need you to get me pregnant."

"What the hell kind of game are you playing with me, lady?" Lucas stopped dead in the carport and stared at her, his handsome face darkening with offended anger.

Elena sighed. "I'm not playing, Lieutenant. Believe me, all of us are in deadly earnest." She raked a frustrated hand through her hair. "Look, could we just go inside and talk?"

He hesitated, then gave her a short, sharp nod. Well, at least he hadn't ordered her off his property.

Relieved, she stepped inside, finding herself in a small, sunny kitchen. For a moment she paused as the past several hours suddenly caught up to her. Her head ached, and her face throbbed. Her swollen eye was seriously throwing off her vision. She probed it delicately and winced.

"Want to Change?" Lucas asked gruffly. "The explanation can wait until you heal."

"You don't mind?" When he shook his head, Elena called her magic and threw her body into wolf form. No sooner was the transformation complete than she returned to human again.

Her legs always felt rubbery after Changing so many times that close together. She staggered over to his kitchen table and fell into one of the seats with a sigh of weariness. Gingerly, she touched her face and found it healed.

"Well, that looks a hell of a lot better," Lucas said.

She shrugged. "One of the mixed blessings of being a Chosen female. Our Alphas don't think it counts if you can heal it with a quick transformation."

He frowned, leaning a lean hip on the butcher block countertop. "Do all the Chosen go in for domestic violence?"

Elena grimaced. "Not all of them, but it is considered one of our 'traditions.'"

He curled a lip. "I thought the Direkind were supposed to be heroes."

"We are."

"Since when is there anything heroic in beating up somebody you outweigh by a hundred pounds?" He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "You want something? A Coke? A beer? I think I've got a couple of steaks…"

"A Coke would be welcome." Her stomach rumbled, reminding her just how long it had been since she'd eaten. "And I wouldn't turn down a meal, either."

He nodded and turned to the refrigerator. She stood and joined him, reaching for the Coke he offered her.