Hunter s Moon - By Lori Handeland Page 0,54

you do?

"The ultimate werewolf," I murmured.

As if we didn't have enough problems with the regular ones.

"What, exactly, is a supreme alpha?" Jessie asked.

"I think that means he's in charge of all the other werewolves."

"Let me guess," she continued. "They're his army. He's the head man-wolf. He gets to rule the world."

"Appears that way."

"What is it with wanting to rule the world?"

"Got me." Will shrugged. "Sounds like a pretty lousy job."

I had to agree. "How does the power eater become the supreme alpha?"

"By eating the power of a hundred werewolves before the hunter's moon."

"Yuck."

"You asked."

"What should we do?"

Jessie was staring at me. I was kind of surprised. But then again, I was supposed to be in charge.

"Kill them," I said. "Kill them all."
Chapter 22
I waited for Will to argue, but he didn't.

"The fewer werewolves for the Weendigo to kill and eat," he said, "the less power he accumulates."

"And if he doesn't have a hundred by the night of the blood moon, I'd say he's screwed." I glanced at Jessie.

"Works for me," she said.

I glanced at the window. The sun was coming up. "Too late today. But tonight - "

Jessie nodded. "Tonight we have some fun."

Neither one of us noticed Will going into the bathroom, but we saw him come out. He held Jessie's blood-spattered uniform in his hands.

"What the hell is this?"

We exchanged glances. I shrugged. He was all hers.

"What does it look like?" Jessie headed for her bedroom. I assumed to get dressed. I know I never like to argue while wearing a towel.

Will followed her. "What happened?"

"Relax, Slick; it's not my blood."

"I'm so relieved."

He didn't sound relieved. He sounded pissed.

I retrieved my gun and slipped out the door. I didn't want to listen to them argue. I definitely didn't want to be around when they made up. Just the thought made my body remember what I'd been doing with Damien about twenty-four hours ago. I wanted to do it again.

That I couldn't only made me want to more.

I drove home as daylight burst over the horizon. I enjoyed sunrise, the end of night. All the dangerous beings with fangs gone to sleep or returned to human form. What wasn't to like?

For the first time I could remember, I pulled into an empty parking lot. Where was everyone?

I climbed out of the car, taking my guns along. Upstairs I set the weapons on the table, took a quick look-see around my apartment. Didn't appear that anyone had been in here lately, except for me. I considered taking a shower and climbing into bed. Then I heard the music.

The notes flew on the early-morning breeze and shot through my window. Not jazz for a change, but a hoof-stomping country tune. Toby Keith singing about the red, white, and blue. I loved that song.

I loved country music. I liked the slow ones and the fast. I liked the easy southern cadence of the words and the long-drawn-out stories they told.

Who was playing country music in an empty bar? Only one way to find out. I went downstairs.

The door was open. I stepped inside.

Half-afraid I'd find Cowboy, I wasn't any happier to see Damien. Well, who had I expected? Elvis?

A huge boom box perched on a table, a stack of CDs at its side. Damien swept the floor with his back to me. I tried to inch out, but he straightened. "Wait."

Toby was informing the world we'd put a boot in their ass; it was the American way. You can see why I like him. He's a man after my own heart.

"I... can't." I kept moving backward. He turned. The anguish on his face stopped me in my tracks.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. You're right. You should go."

I should, but now I couldn't. He was upset. Seriously upset. I'd planned to avoid him, as best I could living in his front yard. I'd definitely decided we shouldn't be alone together. I knew what would happen if he came anywhere near me. I had no self-control around him. I'd already proven that.

But he was hurting, badly. I couldn't just run upstairs and go to bed. Even if he did turn down the music.

I inched closer. Toby wanted to talk about me, I, number one. I wanted to talk about Damien.

"Bad night?" I murmured.

He shrugged and returned to sweeping, though the floor seemed pretty damn clean to me.

"Not really. I accomplished what I set out to."

I frowned. "What? Selling more whiskey than rye?"

"No, more beer than tequila."

I couldn't tell if he was joking or