Trial by Moon Page 6

  Why does the simple question feel like the second invasion of privacy today, the first being when he held and then fucked me so I’d have a non-sad memory in my father’s study?

  I start to type a response and then realize I don’t know the answer. Perplexed as to how I don’t know my own favorite color, I look around my room. My closet door is open, so I can run my fingers through the different fabrics whenever I pass them. I’ve dug out an old, worn sheet set of pure cotton, too, after my polyester sheets gave me rashes. The material is rough, and I find myself missing the tranquility and soft textures of Benjamin’s house.

  Refocusing, which is harder than usual since I’ve become a werewolf, I examine the colors of everything in my room. I have a lot of pink, some red, greens and … purple. Tons of purple.

  Purple, I type, followed by, Why????

  Just curious, he replies.

  I frown. Is this a trick of some kind? Another example of him fucking with me? What’s his game?

  What’s yours? I type.

  He answers fast. Orange. Fave sex position?

  I snort and rerun all we did through my mind. I’m hot and bothered by the time I’m finished. I kinda like it when you’re rough and fuck me from behind, I type.

  You’ve got the perfect ass. Pussy too. Not as clumsy fucking as you are in wolf form.

  I sling the cell across the room. It lands in a laundry pile. I want so badly to ignore it the rest of the night.

  It lights up the corner several minutes later. I will myself not to pick it up but find it impossible to resist my curiosity.

  Fucking you is different. I like it. A lot, he’s written.

  That makes up for calling me clumsy again, but not for him walking out on me. I lock the screen and set the phone down. I’m not really sure what to say. I could tell him the first thrust of his cock is better than every other orgasm combined I’ve ever had in my life, and the time he ate me out sent me into a different realm of existence completely.

  But … yeah. Too personal and I’m not about to give him any credit for fucking me senseless.

  The phone pings. I look.

  Fave food? He asks.

  Now that one I can answer. EVERYTHING. I’m a foodie, I reply. I hit send then debate a split second before sending a follow up message. You?

  Small talk with a werewolf pack leader? This feels weird, like we’re dating instead of stuck together for a week.

  Everything but cinnamon rolls, he writes.

  I start to smile, not expecting the response. Another quick debate and I decide I have to know if there’s a story involved and ask him why.

  I was trapped in a bakery for a full moon and ate ten pounds of cinnamon roll dough and a tub of icing. Was sick for a week. Can’t stand the sight of them, he answers.

  I laugh loudly, startling myself, and then read his response a second time. Why were you trapped in a bakery????? I text.

  Soon, my books are at my side, forgotten, and I’m lying on my stomach, eagerly awaiting his next message.

  We text for hours, not about anything serious, though more than once, our conversations dive into the sex realm. Whenever there’s a lag, he asks me something else about myself. I’m kind of surprised a two hundred year old werewolf knows how to text let alone how to keep a discussion this light going. He’s intense in person. I never would’ve guessed he has a wry sense of humor, the pop culture prowess of a teen girl and the odd ability to keep me texting when I’m pretty certain he’s trying to manipulate me. Or undermine me. Or trick me. Maybe he wants to be the leader of the clans bad enough to talk about reality TV with me.

  He’s up to something. I know this, and still I text back, because it’s fun. Because, if I want to choose a leader, I at least have to get to know them a little, right?

  The quiet voice of my father is lecturing me about getting too close to the animals.

  “I’m doing this for my job, Daddy,” I tell him aloud. My she-wolf’s rabid excitement drowns out my father’s objections. I continue to text until I’m so tired, I fall asleep.

  I don’t sleep well. The world won’t let me be at peace. There’s always some sound or scent dragging me out of deep slumber, and moonlight fills me with adrenaline every time I roll into a position where it can hit me.

  When I wake up, I’m groggy and pissy from a terrible night of sleep. What’s worse, the wolf seems angry at me, I think because I didn’t run last night. I have no real clue, though, because it’s my second full day as a werewolf. The only thing we can both agree on this morning is that we’re starving.

  Rolling out of bed, I retrieve the phone I knocked to the floor during a fit and see a single message from Benjamin awaiting me: the address of his corporate headquarters. Nothing else.

  He’s determined to get me to his company. I should be more eager to go, because that’s where I can start to meet and interview his clan members about both his suitability to become the next leader of the Community and to learn if he had a hand in killing my father.

  Aside from hating to be ordered around, I’ve been dragging my feet since I found the letter my father addressed to me in his will detailing the three supernaturals I was supposed to meet. I want to know who killed him and I have a duty to fulfill to choose the next clan leader.

  What’s stopping me? What am I afraid of?

  Is it because, if I go through with this, it’s somehow an acknowledgement that my father is really gone? That I’ll never smell waffles when I wake up in the morning? Never see him at his desk again?

  I don’t know, but if I don’t eat, I’m going to devour a school bus full of kids.

  Chapter Six

  Hours later, suffering from sensory overload, I’m seated across from the fourteenth employee I’ve interviewed today. My werewolf abilities are working too well, and it’s my migraine that’s preventing me from reading the name badge of the latest interviewee. I started giving them numbers after the sixth employee I’d interviewed.

  “Hmm,” I say when Number Fourteen is finished. “A loyal, aggressive businessman who always takes care of his own.”

  Every single one of them says the same thing. I stopped jotting down notes after the third interviewee.

  Number Fourteen nods with a smile that’s almost adoring. “He’s the perfect boss,” he gushes.

  This is getting annoying. Not one of Benjamin’s employees has had anything less than stellar to say about him. It’s like eating ten pounds of cinnamon rolls. So sweet, it makes you sick.

  I close my eyes and rub my temples, torn between the side of me that notices everything on the planet all at once, and the duty I’m supposed to be performing and failing at miserably. I’m tired of hearing the same glowing praise from every werewolf employed by the mega huge corporate headquarters that takes up an entire block of prime commercial real estate downtown. As soon as I arrived, I understood how Benjamin could afford to buy up half the world. He runs the largest construction company in the country.

  Reviewing every last conversation I’ve had with the intense werewolf alpha, I sigh. He’s been cautious with me, content to fuck me blind yet not reveal much about himself at all. In fact, he’s revealed nothing about who he is, how he thinks, his motivations in life.

  I don’t realize that until now. He’s seen me at my most vulnerable – crying in my father’s study, on my first night as a wolf – and he’s kept his distance. I didn’t even know what he did before this morning. What else don’t I know?

  “Stumped you, bitch,” I whisper to the werewolf side of me that’s trying to find some way to counter my rational that Benjamin is hiding a great deal.

  “I talk to mine, too,” Number Fourteen says with a laugh. “It’s, uh, none of my business, but I notice your headache and can smell, uh … you know. Pain.” He clears his throat. “And that you’re a new werewolf. There’s a sensory deprivation closet on every floor near the bathrooms. It’s marked as a janitor’s closet, but it’s where we go when we need a break from everything
.”

  I focus on him. With bright eyes and a big smile, Number Fourteen is an attractive man in his late twenties.

  “Wow. Thanks,” I say. His thoughtfulness surprises me. At no point did my father ever say supernaturals were capable of being pleasant. He always claimed the creatures had hidden motives, but there’s no benefit for Number Fourteen to tell me where to go to take a break.

  “You look like you could use it.”

  “I slept like shit last night.”

  “Sound proof walls.”

  “Yeah. I get it now,” I say.

  “This is a construction conglomerate. If you ask Ben, he’ll proof your home for free. He does it for all the clan members.”

  “Because he’s the best boss in the world.”

  “Yeah. Best alpha, too.”

  “What happens when one of you fucks up?” I ask.

  Number Fourteen’s smile fades. He averts his gaze and shifts in his seat. “He never hurts one of us without reason,” he says.

  I lean forward, interested in his reaction. It’s what my primal wolf is noticing as submissive behavior. I don’t understand enough about dogs to know if that’s good or bad or simply … a reaction.

  “What kind of reasons would cause him to hurt someone?” I ask. I’m not comfortable with this line of questioning, and my wolf is putting on the brakes, not wanting to learn anything bad about Benjamin.

  “Attacking another pack member or human. Failing to honor our code.”

  “And he what? Bites you?”

  Number Fourteen gives me an odd look. “Those are punishable by death. He kills whoever does those things.”

  “No trial or anything?”

  “No. He’s our alpha.”

  A chill runs through me. I get the dangerous alpha vibe from Benjamin, but it’s still unnerving to hear someone say he has the authority to become judge, jury and executioner.

  “But he rarely has to do it,” Number Fourteen adds.

  “Define rarely.”

  “Every six months or so.”

  “How does he do it?”

  “In wolf form during a full moon.”

  “What if someone from your pack hurts another supernatural clan member?” I ask, thoughts on my great-great grandfather, murdered by Benjamin’s hands.

  “Ben will hear both sides of the story and decide what to do. If it was something stupid, like a territorial fight, then the wolf gets off with a warning,” Number Fourteen says. He’s smiling again. “If it’s about a confrontation with a human, which happens sometimes when the construction workers have issues with each other, then the wolf gets off with a warning and a transfer. If it’s about the other business, then his second handles it. She ignores it, so long as whatever happened occurred in the line of duty, unless it’s a matter of contention between our clan and another.”

  “Other business?”

  Number Fourteen studies me. “Um, maybe I shouldn’t talk about it.”

  “I think you were told to answer all my questions. I’ll be happy to tell Ben you didn’t cooperate.”

  There’s a pause, and I sense him sizing me up, as if to gauge whether or not I’ll follow through.

  “Dude, I’m a Kingmaker,” I tell him. “The life of one werewolf doesn’t mean shit to me.”

  “Yeah. I heard about your kind.” He draws a breath. “We provide enforcers for the fae clan’s drug business.”

  I stare at him.

  “I mean, who’s gonna challenge a wolf?” he asks, a flicker of cunning in his gaze. “And because of our rules of engagement with others, the fae know we can handle anyone else, human or otherwise. We guard the shipments of N-Thrall.”

  “Werewolves are thugs for N-Thrall?”

  “N-Thrall, N-Chant, B-Witch, and all the other lines.”

  My face is warm, and anger pushes away some of my headache. Benjamin’s wolves are drug runners, and he has the nerve to tell me to quit taking them? Not only that, but the fae clan leader is making the illegal drugs. How the fuck can either of them qualify as the leader of the Community?

  How the fuck can I trust either of them to tell me the truth when they have one foot in the criminal underworld?

  The Book of Secrets, and the claim one candidate is a threat to the Community, is making more sense. Unless all of them have dirty little secrets like this to hide.

  “I think I need to hit the janitor’s closet,” I say and rise. “Thanks for your time.”

  Scooping up my notebook and backpack, I leave him and wander back towards the bathrooms. The janitor’s closet is positioned across the hall from the restrooms. I hesitate, knock then walk in.

  Instantly, the world drops away. I close the door and sink to my knees. It’s utterly silent here and dark. At once, my head and body aches start to retreat. God, I never want to leave this place!

  I’m trying to digest how little I know about the clans and their doings and stem my surprise about the drugs. I’ve done all the drugs Number Fourteen listed and more, but I had no idea it was a supernatural making them. My father said the supernaturals were behind everything that’s wrong with this world. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I let my fascination with Ben cloud my judgment already or maybe it’s been clouded since my father’s death.

  When I start to think badly of Ben, my inner wolf quickly reminds me of Ben talking to me all night and making me laugh, of his compassion, of how much his employees love him, despite his discipline methods.

  I don’t understand how someone can be so complicated, and I’m furious at the Book of Secrets for not telling me what I need to know in a way I understand. How do my father’s few notes seem to indicate he was expecting to be killed? Was it because of our family history of violent deaths, or is there more? Is the murder of my predecessors something other than a tragic accident?

  Why does no Kingmaker die naturally?

  If I’m supposed to exile someone, how will I know who, when my father taught me to believe all supernaturals are bad?

  I’m starting to reconsider my initial dismissal of the three leaders’ claim I’m not meant to outlive the month. If one of them is going to be exiled, and he spooks, then I can see it happening. Even Ben’s adoring employee admitted to his violent streak.

  My phone pings. The sound is unusually loud in the silent room. I pull it out to see Benjamin has texted.

  My office. Room 1010-B.

  My heart flips over, and I resist the urge to run to see him. I’ve got more reason to proceed with caution today, not that my werewolf side cares.

  After a few minutes of deep breathing, I don’t feel ready to face the world and its overload, but know I have to. I stand and prepare to leave. I need answers, and I’m short on time.

  Leaving the dark room, I cringe as soon as I set foot in the hallway. It’s impossible to block the world but I brace myself against it the best I can.

  Benjamin’s office is in a corner overlooking the city. I can smell him the moment the elevator door opens, and my wolf senses hone in on my anchor in the werewolf society. I refuse to let myself be drawn in or overwhelmed by him, to allow him to work his magic on me. At least, I tell myself this, until I reach his door, which is cracked open.

  Breathing his scent deeply, I can taste his flavor again. Memories from our fuck-a-thon in my father’s study are flashing through my head. I’m losing control already.

  Shaking my head, I push his office door open.

  Benjamin is sexy naked, in jeans, half-dressed and now, in a business suit that hugs his broad shoulders and drapes down his lean hips and thick thighs, hinting at what’s beneath. His cock is subdued today, and I’m both grateful and disappointed.

  I feel his eyes on me the moment I set foot in the office and close the door automatically then curse. If I were smart, I’d leave the door open and limit our privacy.

  And then I realize we’re not alone. The second scent belongs to a woman standing near his desk. Startled not to have noticed her until I’m a few feet away, I study her
briefly.

  She’s dressed in smart office clothing – a shirt, skirt and heels – though her clothing is snug enough to be barely on this side of decent. She’s gorgeous with large, brown eyes and blonde hair carefully slicked back into a French braid. Her nails are shiny blue sapphire in color, and she wears a necklace and expensive watch.

  I’m feeling a little underdressed. I had to search all my clothing for anything that was made only of natural fibers and ended up with jeans and a t-shirt. And my wolf … she’s really not happy. I recognize this woman’s scent from Benjamin’s sheets. It was the strongest of the seven women he’d had in his bed recently, meaning he either sleeps with her often or did so recently.

  “Leslie Kingmaker, this is Jenny Lake.”

  It sounds like a porn name. It takes every last bit of effort not to laugh. The joke isn’t mine – it’s gotta be my inner wolf, who’s feeling jealous. Sometimes it’s hard to wrangle the dual emotions I experience. The real me is guarded and a little curious.

  I’m half-jealous, but the searing look Jenny Lake gives me is nothing short of loathing.

  “Nice to meet you,” I speak first.

  The quiet is uncomfortably tense. My gaze is drawn to Benjamin then back to the woman shooting daggers at me with her eyes.

  “Should I come back?” I ask, uncertain why I was told to be here when my presence is clearly not wanted by one party in the room.

  “Jenny was just leaving.”

  Even I recognize the cool note of dismissal in Benjamin’s voice. Whatever I walked in on, it’s unresolved. I make a mental note to knock next time so as to avoid this awkwardness.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Kingmaker. I look forward to speaking with you later today,” Jenny says with a forced smile. “Don’t forget our five o’clock, Ben.”

  “I’ll be there,” he replies.

  She leaves.

  “Wow,” I murmur. “If you could just put a sign on your door next time she’s here, I’d appreciate it. I’m happy to sit in the janitor closet until she’s gone.” I meet his gaze, and my train of thought slides away.