Blood on the Moon

Rose

I cross my right leg over my left, resting my elbow on the table, swiping my pointer fingering across my bottom lip. This metal chair is so uncomfortable I haven’t found a good sitting position, but I guess that’s the point.

The interrogation room is dimly lit with another, far more comfortable-looking chair on the other side of the plain metal table. There aren’t any decorations, just blank walls, one with a small window facing the outside with drapes that can be pulled to cover it. I’m thankful for the natural sunlight, though, since the room would feel far gloomier without it. Plus, it gives a small ray of heat in the otherwise freezing cold room. I usually run cold since I have no blood to keep my temperature up, so the sun's warmth is a welcome sensation.

Another reason to be grateful for being a daylighter.

I hear the sound of the door clicking shut, and my eyes immediately dart toward it, watching as a tall young man enters. My mouth waters slightly as I take him in. He’s tall, probably about six foot one or two, with massive muscles. I wouldn’t be surprised if his biceps were the size of my head. I feel my fangs extend as I stare at his legs, practically ripping the seams of his well-tailored pants. The buttons of his dress shirt strain against his prominent pecs set between his broad shoulders. And I’m sure a lovely set of washboard abs lies underneath the thin fabric.

I lick my lips as his large hands fold on the table, adorned with light brown hair as he sits. I roll my shoulders back, straightening my posture as he looks at me with gorgeous chestnut eyes, and I gulp, his strong jaw set in a challenging, unreadable expression. He has the remnants of a shaved beard shadowing his face, giving him a mature look despite still seeming very young. Maybe in his early twenties.

His hair is light brown and short with a military-style cut, giving him an intense, stoney vibe overall.

My stomach flutters as he smirks at me, his full lips curling as my breath catches in my throat.

I take a breath through my nose, taking in his scent to get a sense of who he may be. He’s a werewolf, but his scent isn’t as foul as other male werewolves are. It’s almost… Pleasant? Woodsy. Feral, but in a way that makes me want to tear those buttons off his shirt.

But then my eyes land on his neck.

He wears a mating mark.

“Rose Carver,” he announces as my heart sinks, his voice deep but kind. “Leader of the Crimson Night Clan. I have to say, it’s impressive to see such a young woman in a position of power.”

“I appreciate your flattery,” I tell him, batting my eyelashes as I send him my own charming smile. “What is your name?”

“Asher,” he answers, extending his hand for me to shake. “Alpha Asher, that is.”

“Genevieve’s mate?” I ask, my tone much angrier than I intended as I feel a fire burn in my belly, rage swelling inside as I think of that vile woman getting to be with such a herculean man. But as I take his hand, warmth spreads through my bloodless body, his eyes seemingly glittering in the thin ray of sunlight. If my heart had a beat, it’d surely be skipping right about now.

His skin is warm and rugged, but not unpleasantly so. His handshake is firm, and the size difference between our hands is almost comical.

“Yes,” he replies, a bit of distance in his eyes. “That’s why I’m here.”

“She couldn’t interrogate me herself after all the fuss she gave?” I scoff, rolling my eyes as I take my hand away. “So she sent you to do her dirty work?”

He shrugs, his eyes blank, almost like a thousand-yard stare.

“And you let her?” I ask, leaning in as I study him. “Did she tell you why she brought me here?”

He answers robotically, almost as if reading from a notecard, “She told me that you hunted an elk close to our territory, and its blood contaminated one of the streams that run through our pack.”

“And you think this offense is worth all this trouble?” I ask, gesturing to our situation. “The events unfolded exactly as you described. I was hunting an elk on my territory, which just so happens to have a border with yours, and some blood was spilled on my side that flowed into yours. Tell me, where did I violate any of the conditions of our treaty with that?”

“Listen,” he says, leaning in as he glances over his shoulder. “Can I speak candidly?”

“Yes,” I answer immediately, hungry to know everything this man has to say. I’d dive headfirst into his mind if he’d let me. See what secrets are swirling around in there.

What fantasies.

“I have no interest in keeping you here longer than you need to be," he sighs. "Genevieve is just trying to assert her dominance by bringing you here.”

He sounds an awful lot like Margaery. I wonder if the drama that obviously, at least to me, exists between the two sisters also extends to the mating pair.

I didn't see a mark on Genevieve's neck, after all. But it's possible her hair was covering it.

“Then why are you speaking to me and not her?” I ask, tilting my head to the side as my focus involuntarily drifts to his gorgeous face. “Not that I mind.”

He smiles, a bit of blush rising in his cheeks as he looks away, and I notice a small dimple on his left cheek. I almost tell him how adorable he looks when he smiles; how sexy.

But I stop myself.

He doesn’t answer my question, and I can see a bit of pain flash across his eyes, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly as the smile falters. I hone in on his heartbeat, listening to its pattern, and I notice it’s beating a little faster than a standard resting heart rate.

Is he nervous? Upset? Angry?

Aroused?

“So,” I say, breaking the silence and inviting him to meet my gaze again. Partly because I want to read his expression but also because I think I see specs of chocolate and caramel in his eyes that I'd love to study further. “Is there anything else you wish to ask me?”

He shakes his head, his stare locked with mine. “I don’t believe you had any bad intentions with your elk hunt. So, I don’t see any reason to keep you here.”

I smile, feeling only slightly disappointed that I don’t get to stay and talk to him longer.

“Well, I appreciate that, Alpha,” I reply.

He corrects, “Call me Asher.”

“Alright,” I answer gently as I stand, and I watch his eyes, and they stay connected with mine, only glancing away and raking up my body for a split second, which he quickly corrects.

But I still noticed.

“It was lovely meeting you,” I tell him as I turn to the door, resting my hand on the handle. “I look forward to working with you in the future.”

“Likewise,” he answers, his voice hoarse, his eyes aimed at the floor now.

I frown, feeling the heavy sorrow emanating from what looks like a broken-down man. But he’s an Alpha, so why does he appear so…

Timid? Is that the right word? I’m not sure. Because I could see the wolf inside him, peeking out of those gorgeous brown eyes, but he only came in flashes. In stolen glances, uninhibited words, and winsome microexpressions.

Brief but electrifying all the same. The light extinguished by whatever demons torment him, slumping his shoulders and silencing his voice.

My brows furrow.

I exit the room, the air feeling much lighter as I close the door behind me, the wheels in my head spinning.

What is going on at Black Opal Pack?