Temptation: Reckless Desires (Blue Moon Saloon Book 2) (12 page)

Then he strode to the stables, because a guy couldn’t stand and stare at an empty stretch of road all day. He dropped the picture off at his apartment — a place that felt twice as small and four times as empty now that Janna was gone — then went to the stables. The horses tossed their heads and nickered warily but settled down and let him work. Pip came over, looking strangely meek, too. The dog kept his tail between his legs and licked Cole’s hand like he’d been granted an audience with the Pope or a king.

Something inside him gave a grunt of satisfaction.
Top Dog. Me. The boss.

Which was ridiculous, because all the animals knew Rosalind was the big boss. That had always been okay with him, as long as he came a close second. But tonight…something had shifted somehow. Even Thunder, who nipped anyone who came into his stall, didn’t pull any of his usual tricks.

Cole swept the center of the barn, then leaned against the creaky door. The stars had come out, one by one, and hung winking in the indigo sky. Crickets chirped and warm yellow light radiated from Rosalind’s place and the guest house nearby. The scent of stew carried on the dry air, and he breathed it in deep.

Peace. Goodness. Harmony. It was in the slopes of the hills, in the quiet murmur of the animals in the barn. A firefly blinked on and off, not far from Cole’s knee.

A nice night. A good night. With more goodness to come because he had a date with Janna. He had plenty of time to get cleaned up for her, and he’d do a good job because he cared for a change.

He headed back to his place and ate some leftovers. Looked around and swore, because damn, it was a mess, and Janna might come over later. So he set about cleaning and tidying — for a whole hour since he had time to kill. But the cleaner he got the place, the more off-balance he felt.

He showered again, trying to scrub the feeling away, but it only got worse. His gut clenched up, not from the food but from the feeling inside. He shaved slowly, carefully, pretending everything was fine.

He turned and checked his back in the mirror, looking for a reminder of Janna. She’d scratched his back enough to have cooed over it afterward, which he’d enjoyed almost as much as he’d enjoyed the act that had created the scratches in the first place.

He twisted and craned his head over his shoulder. Not a scratch in sight. All gone. All healed. That fast?

An hour after he’d shaved, he ran his hand over his chin and crap, he’d missed several patches, so he started all over again. He really ought to get a better light because he kept overlooking spots. That, or the stubble kept speeding right back in again.

His arm itched — ferociously — and his mood soured. Could he not enjoy half a day of happiness without the constant ups and downs?

He fiddled around the place for another hour, getting more and more restless, until he finally stormed out the doorway and onto the landing, just to have someplace to stomp to. He grabbed the handrail and gritted his teeth against the pain under his nails. That nails-being-pulled-out feeling again.

Then his chin snapped up to the night sky, and he froze.

The moon shone on him like a spotlight, and he threw up a hand to block it.

“Goddamn moon,” he cursed under his breath.

Cursing felt better than fretting about nothing, so he said it again. “Goddamn moon.”

He shook his fist at it and repeated the words until he was babbling like a crazy man and the letters slurred. The part he held longest was the A of
damn
and the long OO of
moon
. A. Moon. Mooooon. A. Oooon. A… Ooooo…

Before he knew it, a howl rose up in his mind.

Aroooooo.

A strangled, angry sound that his body wanted to sway with, like a dance.

Aroooooo…

He darted inside and slammed the door so hard, the windows rattled in their panes. Then he backed up until he dropped to the bed and slammed his hands over his eyes.

Think about Janna. Think about good things.

He tried, but the
good
kept meandering off into
bad
. Like how desperately he’d wanted to tear into her neck. What kind of sick mind thought up things like that?

Mate. Needs us. Wants us,
the dark voice said.

He shook his head and ground his molars. Freeze-framed back to the glorious image of Janna riding him. Her pert little breasts had swayed with the rest of her body, and her glossy hair had danced back over her shoulders. She’d leaned over him with a hot, hungry look, and her hair tickled his skin. So shiny and fine, his fingers reached into thin air.

But no Janna. Not for real. Just images that got worse and worse. Images he feared might become real.

Like Janna screaming, not in passion but in pain. In fear. He saw hands all over Janna, ripping her clothes. Raping, pillaging hands that reared back and rushed forward with merciless slaps and punches.

“Janna!” he cried aloud, and the sound carried into the night.

Cole!
Her mouth opened and closed as she screamed in the terrible vision. Was she screaming at him? For him? He couldn’t tell.

Mine. Must have her! Must have my mate!
the voice went crazy inside.

Stop!
Janna screamed.
Stop!

But he didn’t stop, and the images got worse. It was him, hurting her. The realization made him sick. He’d ripped her shirt off that afternoon. He’d eyed her neck. Now this crazy moon fever was upon him, and he wanted to do worse.

Must get to her…

He jumped up and bolted the door. Dragged the desk in front of it, too. He hunched as he did it, because his back was bowed and bent.

Will not hurt Janna! Never.

The banging in his head became an earsplitting screech, and the ugly images got even worse. Janna, screaming. Fighting. Losing…

Whatever force had taken over his mind made him roll to all fours and snap his head up toward the door.

Get Janna! Find her! Now!
the voice barked.

He scrambled backward, fighting madly. Promising himself he would not break through the door and heed that evil voice.

Claim her!

He fought it every step, but the body that was not quite his own inched closer to the door while he fought and shouted inside.

No! No! No!

Out of the jumble of wild images that bombarded him, one jumped to the foreground. Janna, leaning forward and handing him her bandana. Saying,
Hang on to this.
Kissing him.

Hang on to this…

A thousand more images flashed, and the pain grew worse.

His fingers groped empty air, suddenly desperate for that bandana. Where the hell was it?

The bandana was gone, but he remembered the kiss.

Hang on to this…

So he hung on to that memory with everything he had. Let his mind push back the pain and the awful banging and greedy voice in his mind. He concentrated on the memory of her soft lips. Her rose-petal tongue. Her hands, flat on his chest. The tickle of her breath as she tasted him and let him taste her back. A taste like raspberry muffin and sweet iced tea, mixed with something just a little bit wild.

He hung on to the kiss for dear life and added nuzzling to the image, too. He stumbled toward the bed, panting. Remembering Janna spread out there, so eager for him. So innocent, so undeserving of anything but love.

His body was on fire. His shoulder blades pinched backward, and his skin itched all over, the way it used to do on that one spot on his arm. His jaw swung open in a shout of pain but no sound came out. Worse, his jaw locked in that position. It stretched much farther than it should until the skin on his face stretched, too, and became a mask. A twisted, horrible mask his hands flew over frantically, finding everything in the wrong place. A long, protruding nose. High, pointed ears. Stubble, not just on his chin but everywhere.

Arizona was full of old native legends about demons and devils that he’d never paid attention to. He writhed on the floor, wondering if he ought to have. Wondering if there was any way to save his body or his mind.

His fingers tensed up and clawed the air, and bolts of pain sparked through his body. He’d broken plenty of bones in his time, but now it was happening all at once, and all over. Even his mind started to blur.

Then everything tipped sideways, and he crashed to the floor.

“Four ball in the corner pocket,” Janna murmured, lining up her shot.

Click!
The balls rolled across the green felt of the pool table, bounced exactly as she’d intended, and the four ball made a satisfying plonk into the corner pocket.

Someone whistled. “Nice shot.”

She didn’t take her eyes off the pool table, nor her mind from where it really was: Cole. What to do, how to do it.

Part one of her plan had come off without a hitch, thank goodness. She’d endured what seemed like the longest evening shift of her life at the saloon then headed out, telling her sister the truth. Well, most of the truth, like where she was going. She did embellish a little by saying four guys from Twin Moon Ranch would be there, too. In reality, the last thing she needed was a chaperone for the night — and definitely not four shifter chaperones who’d take one look at Cole and cry wolf.

Her eyes darted to the door of Jay’s Bar for the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes, then went back to the pool table to calculate her next shot. Some people took long walks to clear their minds. Her sister needed to bake. Janna played pool.

“Six ball, side pocket,” she said, taking aim.

A couple of guys had clustered around the table, but she barely paid attention to them. They were part of the background, like the country music, the clink of glasses, the stale smell of beer. Funny how the first time she’d been here, she didn’t pick up on what a dive the place really was. Her eyes had been focused on Cole’s sandy hair. Her nose, filled with his oaky scent. Her mind, whirring with possibilities.

Now her mind just spun. She’d done all the subtle questioning she could do at the Blue Moon, but all she’d learned was what she already knew: how low the survival rate for Changelings really was.

Shit, shit, shit.

Her mind made up a dozen reasons why none of that applied to Cole. Her mate was strong. Smart. And he had her to help him, right?

Which is exactly what she’d do. She’d talk to him. Try to explain. Then she’d bring him to Tina Hawthorne-Rivera, because she’d concluded she really did have to enlist some help. Tina would know what to do. Tina’s own mate had survived the Change, so Cole could, too. It would all be fine. Somehow, everything would work out.

When the bar door opened, she straightened in hope, but the man who walked in was a leather-jacket toting, trucker type.

Damn it, where was Cole?

“Looks like your date ain’t coming,” the guy nearest her said in a flat tone.

“Got lots of good company here, though.” A second grinned.

Janna leaned over the table for a tricky kick shot, ignoring them. Okay, maybe meeting at Jay’s Bar hadn’t been such a good idea. The minute Cole showed up, she was out of here.

But when the music playing over the speakers switched, she went warm all over. Started swaying with it, too, because it was the very song she and Cole had first danced to, and she could still feel the tickle of him whispering the words in her ear.

There’s songs and poems and promises, and dreams that might come true…

That dance had been a high, and the slower song that followed led to their first kiss. A kiss that had her knees knocking. She closed her eyes and replayed it in her mind. Such soft lips for such a hard-toned man. Such a clean, woodsy scent, like home. Such a gentle hand, on her waist…

A hand really did slide over her waist then, nowhere near as gently as Cole’s, and she smacked it away.

“Watch it,” she barked, whipping around to swing her pool stick toward the man who’d snuck up behind her.

Yeah, watch it, asshole,
her wolf snarled inside.

She glared, finding a different man than before. Her nostrils flared, but all she could smell on the guy was a weird, whiskey-laced-with-diesel scent.

The man backed off as his beefy friends chortled all around. “Sorry, honey.”

She made a face and turned back to the pool table. Couldn’t a woman just be left alone to think for a while?

A breath of fresh air came wafting down a short hallway where someone had propped open the bar’s back door, letting in just enough of the cool night to make things bearable.

She pursed her lips. Next time she decided to meet Cole somewhere, it would be a nicer place than this dive.

She concentrated on the layout of balls around the table and calculated her next shot. What she needed was a good, three-ball shot to settle her mind a bit.

“Two ball in the side pocket,” she muttered, bending over again.

“No way,” one the men said.

Watch this,
her wolf growled.

She sent the eight ball hurtling down the middle of the table, where it struck the seven in a glancing blow that, in turn, sent the two ball rolling through a tight gap into the side pocket.