The Alpha's Lunar Bond

“Meet me at the café on 5th Street at three p.m. tomorrow, and I’ll tell you everything I know about the murders.”

I watched Ezra stuff his phone back into his pocket and dug my claws into the earth.

So he was going to the humans, was he? Sell us out for a moment of safety he’d never live to enjoy?

Well, that couldn’t happen.

As soon as he had his back to me, I launched out of the trees and sank my teeth into his neck. They passed easily through the skin and muscle, warm blood filling my mouth.

He attempted to pull free, and fur began sprouting from his knuckles. Before he could shift, I wrenched my head back and ripped his jugular. Blood sprayed the meticulously mowed lawn.

For a moment, I glanced at the farmhouse at the other end of the property, but the lights were out.

Satisfied I wouldn’t be seen, I stood over the body—blood slick on my muzzle, the heat of the kill still pulsing in my veins.

Ezra would have betrayed the pack. And I would rip open a hundred more throats before I let that happen.

Especially now that I was one step closer to fulfilling the prophecy.

I pulled into the parking lot of the address I’d been given and was pleasantly surprised to find a nice stone building there to greet me.

Perhaps my crappy apartment had set me up to believe I’d work in a crappy office building as well, but I would guess this high-rise was less than five years old.

The inside was just as nice. Glass doors opened into a large lobby with white marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows everywhere.

I spotted the elevator directly across the room from the entrance and hurried toward it, my heels clicking nervously on the shiny floor.

I’d left half an hour earlier than I thought I’d need, but traffic made me only ten minutes early.

Melville wasn’t very big, but a car accident had managed to back everything up. Apparently, every single person worked in the same two blocks at the same time.

As I passed people, I caught myself studying their faces. Did any of them seem familiar?

Did any of them recognize me?

I didn’t even know what I was looking for—just a flicker of something. A connection.

But nobody looked twice.

The elevator barely made a sound as it took me up to the fifth floor.

Through the glass door, I spotted a freckle-faced man coming.

He wasn’t very tall—maybe five foot eleven—and sported curly red hair that would make Shirley Temple jealous.

He pressed a button next to the door and pushed it open, greeting me with a smile.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Clara. The new journalist?”

I extended my hand, and the man brightened.

“Oh! Welcome! I’m Jason. Come on inside. Mr. Perkins is waiting for you in his office.”

Jason shook my hand, and I couldn’t help but notice how strong his grip was. He practically dragged me inside, but his enthusiasm kept me from being offended.

The office consisted of four rooms: a break room that we passed through to reach the rest of the space, an office, a conference room, and one large area broken into cubicles.

Jason marched me right up to the office door and knocked, while I did my best not to panic. Something about being dragged right to the boss’s office made my lizard brain think I was already getting fired.

Because that made any kind of sense.

I rolled my eyes at myself and straightened my spine to assert my dominance. Over what, I didn’t know, but I did it anyway.

Mr. Perkins was a large man with a smattering of gray hair and a handlebar mustache.

“The newbie is here, sir!” Jason chirped, stepping behind me.

I maintained my dominant posture and walked up to meet Mr. Perkins at his desk.

He stood and shook my hand, then shooed Jason away.

“Barnabas Perkins,” he introduced himself. “You must be Clara Parks.

“I know I assigned you to interview Ezra Howard this afternoon with Jason as an introduction to the job, but circumstances have changed. Jason will be working on that project alone, and I’ll bring over your new assignment shortly.

“Here’s your badge and intake paperwork; don’t lose the badge. It gets you through our security door and also works as your press badge in the field.”

I accepted the folder and white name tag with my photo on it.

I hated the headshot that I’d sent in with my resume, but I never imagined it would end up on a badge. I resolved to get that replaced someday and nodded my understanding.

Mr. Perkins dismissed me, and I walked back into the large room.

For a moment, I felt a bit lost, but then I located Jason’s curls over the top of one of the cubicles. I made a beeline for him and stood next to his desk.

“So, uh—the boss says he took me off the Ezra interview.”

Jason leaned back in his chair and stifled a sigh. “Unfortunately,” he grumbled, then brightened. “But that means you don’t have to deal with it. Also, we don’t really have assigned desks, but everyone has their favorites. You’re welcome to take the one next to me. Nobody ever sits there.”

“Because you’re annoying?” I teased.

To my surprise, Jason began to laugh. “Because I’m annoying,” he agreed. “But I swear I shower regularly, and I don’t bring tuna sandwiches for lunch. So there could be worse people to sit next to.”

I chuckled and sat down at the empty desk, which held a computer, a box of tissues, and a container of pens.

“Why did the boss kick me off the project? He was happy to let me interview Ezra with you when he called me at seven a.m.—while I was still sleeping.”

“Because Ezra is dead. It’s gone from ‘take the newbie to interview this guy who may or may not know anything’ to ‘go interview the man who found a body.’”

I stared at Jason, waiting for him to crack a smile and tell me he was joking. But he didn’t, and my eyes widened.

“Seriously? I thought you just spoke to him on the phone an hour ago!”

“I was probably the last person to talk to him. He was found dead at the edge of the woods on the north side of town at eight o’clock a.m. Apparently, his body was pretty messed up, like he’d been attacked by a wolf or something.

“But the wounds were too targeted for a random animal attack, so it’s being treated as a murder. Fourth one this year. People are starting to talk about a possible serial killer with really big pet dogs. So instead of interviewing Ezra, I’m going to go interview the guy that found him.”

I shuddered, unable to keep myself from imagining what that corpse must have looked like. “That’s terrible. And I’m guessing all four bodies have turned up the same way?”

He nodded. “Sure have, all in the same area. Though here’s the strange part: up until now, they’ve all been women between twenty-five and thirty years old. They don’t seem to have any physical similarities, per se, so the police are having a hard time putting together a victim profile.”

Before I could ask for more information, Mr. Perkins ambled over. He had a manila folder and a look that immediately set me on edge. What kind of bottom-of-the-totem-pole job was I in for?

“Good morning, boss man.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and sat on the corner of my desk, much to my annoyance. I restrained myself from reminding him that desks are for computers, not butts, and pasted a smile on my face.

“Here to give me my first big assignment, since my fifteen years of prior experience aren’t enough to do a tandem interview on the original case?”

He ignored my attitude and handed me the folder.

It was light, and if I hadn’t seen the white corner of a page sticking out, I would have assumed it was empty.

I did my best not to growl at Perkins, flipped open the folder, and began scanning the page. “Artist Elias Franke,” it said at the top, bold and simple.

An artist?

He really was starting me on Baby’s First Interview… But I gave him a small salute and closed the folder.

“Can do. Anything I should know before I start?”

I picked up the notepad and pen next to my computer, eager to show him I was serious. I could handle real jobs. I’d handled plenty of them. I didn’t need “tests.”

“Not much. The guy is elusive and lives in a cabin about an hour into the woods. I’d suggest scheduling your interview during the daytime or in town if you can coax him out.”

Mr. Perkins smirked and stood, finally removing his nasty butt from my desk.

I was distracted enough with thoughts of Clorox wipes that it took me a moment to process what he’d said.

Elias Franke lived in the woods?