Moon Glamour by Aimee Easterling (books to read to be successful TXT) 📕

Or at least, I thought his eyebrows were raised during the fleeting glimpse he granted me. After that, something Tank saw on my face must have reminded him of his supposed ugliness, of the brightness here beneath a street light. Because he curved his neck away from me, twisting so far tendons bulged out of his skin.

That wasn’t why I agreed to go with him, of course. I was just reacting to the sure knowledge that my throbbing ankle wouldn’t have been able to press the gas and brake pedals of my own vehicle. Urgency pulsed through me, the need to ensure my sister’s safety.

That was the only reason I didn’t shoot Tank down.

“Head for the highway,” I said against my better judgment. “I’ll tell you where to turn next.”

Directions were our only conversation for the next hour. As if Tank didn’t want to scare me out of the decision to trust him. Still, I regretted my choice the instant the tree-lined curve at the furthest corner of Highlands’ grounds opened out before us. There was the culvert, an easy hiding place for a misused cell phone. And there was a human shape standing next to it, arms crossed and feet spread hip-width apart.

The car slowed as Tank took in the same view. “You didn’t say you were meeting someone.”

“I didn’t think I was.” After all, I’d given Harper strict instructions to ditch the cell phone and go back to bed. Not stand shivering in the cold, dark forest waiting for me.

But that shape was my kid sister. I could tell by the way she swiped hair off her face, the way she shielded her eyes against our headlights. She wasn’t sure this was me. Perhaps recognized that the shape of the car was wrong the same way I’d recognized the shape of her body was right.

Tank slammed on the brakes a good long trek from the culvert. “Stay here. I’ll deal with it.”

The car stank of aggression. He thought Harper was, what, a cop? A backstabbing co-conspirator? I guessed I couldn’t blame him since I’d turned up the radio and ignored his one attempt at questions during the commute.

But—“No. You stay here. That’s my....” Sister. I snapped my teeth closed around the word. Couldn’t imagine why it had almost come out in front of this near stranger in the first place.

After all, the purpose of this trip was to protect Harper from repercussions. Not to throw her under the bus.

Tank waited for me to finish the sentence. When I didn’t, he reached behind the seat and came up with yet more spare clothing.

“I’m already wearing more than I need,” I reminded him. The clothes he’d lent me didn’t fit, but they were functional. Only my feet remained bare.

Tank apparently disagreed. Shaking his head, he continued rolling the sweatshirt up into a bundle. “Padding. For your stick,” he rumbled while pressing the fabric down over the jagged wooden end of the object in question.

As if he’d noticed the scratches on my armpit from using the found crutch to pull myself up the stream bank. My skin warmed, then I focused.

Tank’s padding meant he wasn’t going to raise a stink about me going to speak with my sister solo. This felt too easy.

I cocked my head. “You’ll stay here?”

“No.”

My fists clenched...then relaxed as he continued.

“I’ll drop you off and drive past. Park far enough away to be out of earshot. If you need me, just wave.”

It was impossible to be angry with him after that.

“DID IT WORK?”

Harper was bouncing with excitement at being part of something grownup and illicit. So I didn’t have the heart to chastise her for waiting out where anyone could see her. Didn’t have the heart to tell her that she’d taken off her gloves too soon—the plastic bag she’d slipped the phone into would carry prints.

But I’d dispose of everything carefully enough so she wouldn’t be implicated. The phone, I noted, had both battery and SIM card removed and dropped into the bag separately. So I leaned in and planted a kiss on her forehead. “You done good, kid.”

“I know.” Harper was dancing around me now, oblivious to the fact I was leaning on a homemade crutch and barely managing to stay upright. But she was fully human. Unlike me, she couldn’t see in the dark. “That guy on the phone totally believed that I was a crazy dog lady. He recommended a trainer and a groomer. You could use a haircut, especially if you’re working with other ‘dogs’ now. Do I get to meet him? Is he cute?”

Harper pranced in closer as she spoke, arm extended as if she intended to grab my hair to illustrate her point. But her eyes weren’t good enough to see where she was going, and I was too tired to take evasive action. Whatever the reason, Harper’s heel came down on the unshod toe of my injured foot.

I hissed. I didn’t mean to, but breath escaped along with a word I tried not to say in Harper’s presence.

“Athena?” She froze. “What’s wrong?”

Then hands were on my shoulder. Big hands. Hot hands.

Tank. I blinked, trying to figure out how he’d materialized out of nowhere.

He hadn’t, obviously. Instead, he’d done exactly what he said he would—parked beyond the reach of wolf ears. Then he’d used the hum of the idling car engine to cover up the sound of his approach.

“Who are you?” Harper demanded. Her fists were clenched. She was going to punch him. This was why I kept my sister far away from werewolves, myself excluded.

I tensed when Tank stepped sideways, one arm slipping down to cradle my waist. The gesture felt far more intimate than I suspect he intended. As if he was doing more than holding me up.

But the important part was how he responded to my sister’s show of aggression. “Tank Morales,” he answered, extending his free arm for a handshake.

I exhaled, tension I hadn’t even realized existed