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

“I don’t think ‘mate’ means the same thing to you that it means to me,” he said finally.

Doing everything I could to look away from his magnetic presence, I focused on the sky behind his head. The view was breathtaking, or more like breath giving. As my chest expanded, the darkness of my anger was pricked by endless points of perfect light.

Calmed by the beauty of the cosmos, I managed a question. “What does ‘mate’ mean to you then?”

His answer came fast, as if he’d thought it through at length. “A mate is an equal life partner. Someone to stand back-to-back with in the face of adversity. And, yes, there would be sex.”

My traitorous body clenched in certain very specific places. Tank’s words were as seductive as his kiss had been.

But I wasn’t looking for a mate. I wasn’t looking for anything other than two more years of good money to get Harper through boarding school. I’d found the cash. Now I just needed to hold the line.

I shook my head. “Look....”

Then Tank’s hands were on my shoulders, pushing me behind him. I nearly tripped. Managed to stay upright. Inhaled the overwhelming scent of a wolf riled and aggressive and nothing like Tank.

BY THE TIME I CAUGHT my balance and turned around, they’d faced off. Two huge males, darkened to anonymity by lack of moonlight. Both had fists clenched. Both were leaning into the other’s personal space.

“Ryder.” Tank’s voice sounded like a wolf with ruff raised. “What are you doing here?”

Ryder didn’t answer. Instead, he smiled, ready to fight.

I paced along the perimeter of their sight line, ready to throw myself between them at the first hint of danger. After all, I’d seen this sort of posturing far too many times during my childhood from a stepfather who tended to be a mean drunk.

Tank wasn’t mean, but I wasn’t so sure he was thinking straight either. Our conversation had been intense, and to have it interrupted by another male would set off any werewolf. For some reason, I wasn’t willing to let that happen now.

Ryder, in contrast, thought the whole thing was funny. He shook his head, voice syncopated with the faintest hint of a chuckle. “Tank, Tank, Tank. Your wooing skills are rusty. Allow me to show you how it’s done.”

For a big man, Ryder moved fast. One second, he was four feet away from me, feet pointing toward Tank’s feet. The next second, I was bent backwards over his arm while he whispered in my ear.

“Play along. This is going to be a hoot.”

Ryder’s words reflected the fact that his embrace was entirely impersonal. He wasn’t feeling me up the way it likely appeared from the outside. He wasn’t going to kiss me either, even though his face slid so close to mine that he easily could have bridged the gap.

Ryder was teasing Tank...and that pissed me off.

“Get your hands off me,” I growled, letting my knees buckle so I could slide down through the loop of his arms. My ankle twinged only slightly as I swept a foot in a long arc, intending to pull Ryders’s feet out from under him. But...I didn’t manage to connect.

Because Ryder was already falling. The crack of a fist connecting with a face was followed one instant later by Ryder thudding down beside me on his back.

Not that a direct hit kept Ryder down for long. He spat out blood along with a string of expletives, the latter fading into growls as his body morphed into lupine form.

Tank had already shifted. The pair were perfectly matched, a recipe for a long, bloody battle. They’d wind up broken. Far worst off than me on my gimpy ankle.

And the fae? Our Samhain duties? Apparently the big picture had faded in the face of werewolf instinct.

Whatever they were thinking, the males struck each other like battering rams. Two feet from me, the glint of teeth and flashing eyes promised this fight wouldn’t end until someone was hospitalized.

It was hard to make out what was happening, but Ryder must have won the first round because Tank grunted. His response struck me in the stomach. Still, I took a step backward. Not my monkey, not my circus. Or, rather, not my wolf, not my pack.

Tank and Ryder were animals to turn a stupid joke into a life-or-death altercation. Why, when I told myself that, did I not believe my own words?

No matter how hard I strained, I could barely see through the darkness. But I could smell the fury. Hear the thuds of impact. This time I advanced forward. Toward the roiling mass of fur and fangs. If I shifted, Tank and I could stand together. Surely Ryder would back down then....

But before I could do more than grab the bottom of my shirt in preparation for disrobing, movement caught my eye. A cabin door had been flung open. Harper padded out, pale PJs glowing.

And my hand dropped. My sister understood I was a werewolf, but she couldn’t see this. Couldn’t see blood on my fangs and hear my growls. Tank would have to take care of himself.

Another pang in my stomach, even though I was pretty sure the yelp had come from Ryder this time.

Harper couldn’t see this fight...so I’d have to end it the sure way. The way that turned me into a hypocrite but would save Tank’s hide without traumatizing my little sister.

Because the tried-and-true method of dealing with battling werewolves was to call on their alpha. Or their temporary alpha, as the case may be.

I sucked in a deep breath, then I hollered “Lupe!” at the top of my lungs.

Chapter 20

A second cabin door slammed opened, but it didn’t disgorge the female I’d been hoping for. Instead, Butch emerged, took one look at the scene, then shifted as he fell forward onto four rangy lupine paws.

The singlemindedness of Butch’s advance backed up my gut reaction that this fight wasn’t