Alpha's Moon: A special forces shifter romance by Renee Rose (top novels .txt) 📗

number?” I type out and send before I get nervous and delete it.

No answer.

“Just kidding. I was teasing. I’m glad you texted,” I type quickly.

Still no answer.

And then my phone rings. I fumble with it and almost drop it before I answer.

“Hello?” My voice is breathless like I’ve just run a marathon and then up a flight of stairs. Which is exactly what I’ll tell Deke if he asks why I’m out of breath—that I just got back from a run.

“Babe,” he drawls, low and deep, and I feel it in the pit of my belly.

“Hey,” I say with a smile in my voice and collapse slowly backwards onto my bed. “You got my message.” I’m too excited to tease him about it.

“Happened to be in the office.”

“I hoped you’d get it.”

He makes a low rumbling sound. A chuckle? I can’t tell. I bite my lip before I blurt out that I’ve selected him for my rebound fling. So much for playing my feelings close to the chest.

“Thought you were calling Rafe about a career day not me,” he chides gently.

“I was. But maybe I wanted you to get my number.” My insides scrunch with my boldness. It’s not like me. It’s like I’m braver around Deke. Or my feelings are too strong to hold in.

After a pause, he says in a rougher voice, “I already got your number. The night I gave you a ride.”

“Oh right, you’re one of those tech guys who can figure everything out.” It’s my turn to chide. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“You didn’t give me your number directly. And you’ve already got a stalker.”

“You’re not a stalker,” I say quickly. I don’t like the dark, almost painful tinge to his voice. “So, I get the feeling your biker peeps don’t like me.”

“What?” Deke asks after a pause.

“Your peeps. Friends or posse or whatever.” I dance around calling them a gang. They seem tighter knit than friends, more like family. Brothers. I remember what Charlie said about them being in the service together.

“Why do you think they don’t like you?”

I squint at my ceiling fan, thinking back over the last two meetings with Deke’s buddies. One case of clam-jam, one of flirtus interruptus. “They seem to have a problem with me.”

“It’s not you they have a problem with.” Deke clears his throat. “We’re not supposed to mix with civilians, that’s all.”

“Why not? You’re not even in the military any more, right?”

“We’re still in a dangerous business. We go out on missions a lot. Dating isn’t really allowed.”

“How about casual hook-ups?” I blurt.

Deke coughs, like I just made him choke.

I twitch my inner thighs together, trying to alleviate the needy pulse between my legs.

“You know. If you wanted to collect that favor.”

Silence.

Deke’s quiet so long I wonder if he’s still there. “Deke?”

“Sadie, it's not a good idea.” His voice is rough, and I realize he sounds sad.

“Because you have a record?” I ask as gently as I can.

Another pause. “How did you find out about that?”

“I have my ways.” I want to joke about being a badass super spy, but it sticks in my throat.

“Yeah. I’m dangerous.”

“You were special ops. Of course, you’re dangerous. Kinda the job description.” I try to sound playful, but he’s getting more distant. I’m losing him. I barely know him, and it already hurts.

I swallow, and it feels like there are knives lining my throat. “Can I at least call you?” I ask.

“Yeah, Sadie. You can call me.”

Chapter 5

Swiss Alps, Four Days Later

Deke

The wind whips over the rocks and cleaves a path through our camp. The frozen breeze slices through my thin jacket. If I were human, I’d be shivering, but my shifter blood keeps me warm. Snow crunches under my boots as I make my way to Sierra One, the highest sniper position in our mission. Lance is already there on his belly, peering through his rifle scope down at the fancy ass chalet. We’re deep in the Swiss Alps, high above our target.

My radio crackles, and Rafe’s voice says, “Sierra One, this is TOC. You got eyes on Tango?”

“TOC, this is Sierra One,” I respond. “No movement yet.” Several hundred yards below our stakeout perch, the mansion is lit up like a candle, each window emanating a soft warm glow. Nestled in the side of the mountain, surrounded by snow-dusted pines, the castle looks like it’s part of a Christmas village set. One of those kitschy toy ones grandmas put out around the holidays, with mounds of cotton balls to make fake snow. Except this place is real. Twenty-five thousand square feet of luxury housing, inhabited by the most successful black market arms dealer in the world. Gabriel Dieter, a guy who makes a living being pure evil.

“Should we move in closer?” Lance asks me softly, his eyes still trained on the target.

“We’d better not.” The mission is surveillance only. Getting close could cause us to engage when we’re just here to watch.

Of course, my wolf hates that. Just being on a mission brings on blust lust. My wolf wants to tear down the mountains, howling, take on the mansion security—guards, dogs, lasers—find Dieter and rip the Tango’s head off. Mission accomplished. Which is why my alpha’s concerned I’m not stable and sane.

“Movement, front left. Near the pool,” Lance reports.

I lift the radio to my mouth. “TOC, we have movement. Eyes on Tango.” I report the subject’s movements. Gabriel Dieter is set to meet with a contingent from an unknown terrorist force. We're here to spy on the meeting, record Gabriel’s movements and get any evidence we can of his illegal arms deals.

But first it looks like the man's going to use his fancy schmancy outdoor pool. Dieter walks out of the glass conservatory. He’s a tall man, fit. A head full of dark hair with no sign of going grey or his body going to seed. Of course, anyone would be fit and toned if they had enough money to hire an army of cosmetic