Hunter's Moon by Loribelle Hunt (e reader for manga .TXT) 📗

admitting for one minute that kind of friendship was missing from her life.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her, and no one else would have seen the worry he tried to hide. But what everyone didn’t know was her connection with Julian was more than just years working together. He was her uncle, her guardian, after her werewolf father went rogue and killed her mother. Shaking her head, she forced those memories away. It was too much in a week that had already been too much.

“I’m getting out of here.”

“It’s Halloween, Gia,” he almost whined, and she grinned.

“Believe me, I hadn’t forgotten that. Why else am I in this ridiculous getup?” she teased and tried to ignore the sadness he couldn’t quite hide from his eyes. Tried to ignore the matching sadness that weighed like a stone in her chest.

“You look more like your mother every day,” he said softly but with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “That is exactly the kind of thing she would have worn for Halloween.”

“Thanks,” she answered dryly. How did he know to bring her up when Gia had just been thinking of her?

“You need to start living a little, Gia.”

She rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to have this old argument again. It was too late to change now. She picked up a glass of wine rather than start a fight that never ended. “I’ll be on the porch.”

She exited through the French doors behind the makeshift bar. It was a little cool, but not uncomfortably so, and several people were hanging around outside. She waved hello, but didn’t stop, doubted anyone would have wanted her to, and walked to the corner where the porch wrapped around the back of the house, glad to find it empty.

She sat on the swing hidden in the shadows at the end of this long section, and nudged the floor with her foot. With a sigh of relief, she rested her head on the back, closed her eyes, and let the gentle motion rock her to a more peaceful state of mind. One that was ruined by the soft tread of footsteps. A gait she recognized. Damn him. Anthony just wasn’t going to leave her alone, was he?

* * * * *

He’d only looked away for minute, but when he was done being filled in on the search for the feral cat, Gia was gone. Eyes narrowed, he searched the room but there was no sign of her. He saw Julian playing bartender and the older man met his gaze with a hard, disapproving one of his own. What the hell was that about? Anthony started in his direction. If nothing else, maybe he could find out where Gia had run off too. He only made it two steps before that damned werelion blocked his path.

“I don’t have time for you right now, cat.”

“Make it. And apologize to your woman. If you can find her. Personally, I think there should be groveling involved for that little stunt.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” It better be damned good if the cat didn’t want his throat ripped out.

“She’s been waiting all day for you to show up. A woman like that does not put on a corset for just anyone.”

He hoped that was true. That corset was almost indecent. He liked it. A lot. He’d only allowed himself a brief glimpse, but what he’d caught…Slender waist, beautiful breasts, long bare legs. Tattoos. He was intrigued. He’d never figured her for the tattooing type. He was getting derailed. He focused on the cat and tried to banish the images of her naked, writhing beneath him.

“Where did she go?”

He scoffed. “You blew her off. Looked right at her and turned away. And the entire room saw it. I may be a cat, but you can be damned sure we know how to treat our women. But hey. You haven’t bothered to claim her. Why don’t you just leave her to me?”

He didn’t bother to repress the growl as he got in the cat’s face. “She’s mine. You better not forget that.”

“You upset her. I’m a cat. We react badly to that kind of thing.”

So he was just looking out for her? No way. The werelion smiled and stepped out of his way. “She went outside. Don’t make me have to give you a lesson in manners, wolf,” he added softly as Anthony walked by him.

He fisted his hands, ignoring the taunt and the urge to punch Carlos, and went outside. He found her alone. It was clear she was not happy when he joined her.

“What do you want? You think you could wait to get on my nerves another night? I’m really not up to going twenty rounds with you now,” she said without lifting her head or opening her eyes.

“What are you up for?”

She snorted, sat straight for a moment—just enough to take a long drink from her wine glass—before resuming her position or answering. “Nothing you can give me,” she whispered. He sat down next to her on the swing, a little alarmed at the change he was seeing in her. She seemed so sad. Is this what she hid under that sharp, acerbic tongue of hers? Rolling her head so she faced him, she opened her eyes. “What do you want? I really mean it. I’m not up for this tonight.”

“What’s wrong? Let me help.”

She met his gaze and held it. Which was a good thing because he was having a hard time not letting his gaze drift lower. It happened anyway and he nearly groaned at the glimpse down her cleavage. That promise of heaven was inked alright. As deep as he could see, an explosion of red roses covered the tops of her breasts, into that tantalizing V, and up to her collarbone.

“Like the view?” she asked sarcastically.

He bit his lip against replying in kind and went with simplicity. “Yes.”

Her eyes widened. “No snappy comeback?” There was a faint tremble in her voice, and with his superior