Taming the Moon Read online

  One thing he had always prided himself on was his ability to not let criminals get under his skin, not allow them to prod a response from him. Calm and cool, that was DCI Sullivan.

  Not anymore.

  God. What kind of hell had Declan brought him into?

  From behind him he heard the slide of restraints being fastened around the suspect’s wrists, the scuffle of feet as the man was led away.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Detective Constable Aubrey Lindstrom moved in front of Sully. “You return from holiday and start attacking suspects?”

  Sully closed his eyes until the burning stopped. Once they felt normal again—once he felt normal again, or as close to normal as possible—he opened them to see Lindstrom standing there, a muscle twitching in his jaw, waiting for a response.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Lindstrom glanced over Sully’s shoulder, then pointed toward the departing police cars. “That bloke is going to tell everyone who will listen that you tried to kill him.” His pale blue eyes held a mixture of confusion and frustration. “This is me you’re talking to, Sully. Remember? The guy who sees through bullshit?”

  DC Lindstrom had a knack for ascertaining when someone was lying—whether it was a suspect or a man he’d worked with for nearly ten years. But Sully couldn’t very well tell him what had happened to him on holiday. For one, he wouldn’t believe it.

  For another thing, it meant potentially exposing his friends as well, which he wouldn’t do.

  Even if he wanted to break every bone in Declan’s body, it wouldn’t change anything. Something told him this was a secret better kept than exposed.

  If humans found out that werewolves really did exist, he and his friends—and every other werewolf out there—would be in danger.

  He shouldn’t give a rat’s ass, but he did. The fact that he no longer thought of himself as human started the rage building again.

  He used to be human. Now he was something…

  More.

  Or perhaps something less.

  Maybe a little of both.

  “Look, I…” Sully broke off with a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. He loosened his tie. Pushing his suit jacket back, he thrust his hands into his front pockets. “I can’t go into details, all right? I’m just a bit tired.”

  With a slight lift of his eyebrows, Lindstrom gave a nod telling Sully clearer than words could that he wasn’t buying that, either. “Well, you can expect a call to the Chief’s office. You know that, right?”

  Sully pursed his lips. Frustration burned in his gut, tempting the wolf to come out and take care of things. With a growing sense of panic, he pushed the beast down again and turned toward the park exit. “He can do whatever he wants,” he said with a barely restrained growl.

  “Yes, he bloody well can.” Lindstrom put one hand on Sully’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “And if you go in with an attitude like that, mate, he’ll slap you with a suspension so fast your head will spin.”

  Sully jerked away from the detective. The entire situation was a sodding mess, and the only ones who could help him were the two people he didn’t want to see. If his so-called friends had been up front with him from the beginning, his life might not have been plunged into this hell. He trapped a howl of fury in his throat. “You let me worry about that,” he rasped and stalked to his car.

  “Yeah. I’ll do just that,” he heard Lindstrom mutter.

  Sully unlocked his unmarked sedan with the remote key fob and opened the door. He sighed and looked at Lindstrom over the roof of the car. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  Sully jerked his head toward the park. “For back there. For…bringing me to my senses.”

  The detective shrugged. “You’d do the same for me.”

  Sully gave a nod. He would. They had each others’ backs. “See you back at the Yard.”

  A scant half hour later, Sully stood in front of his superior’s desk, receiving the dressing-down of his life.

  “Just what the hell were you thinking, Sullivan?” George Glace’s voice climbed a full octave.

  Sully hid a wince. The Chief Superintendent was in rare form. Rightly so, he supposed, but it didn’t mean he liked being taken to task like a boy still in knee britches.

  “Tackling a fleeing suspect is one thing, but wrapping your hands around his throat is unacceptable. And, I might add, bordering on illegal as it would imply excessive force. Not to mention it’s highly irregular.”

  Sully turned his face to one side to hide a smirk. Everything with Glace was “highly irregular,” from a hangnail to one of his best DCIs nearly choking a suspect to death.

  Though what he’d wanted to do was feast.

  That thought erased the smirk.

  “You’d better not be smiling.” The Chief Superintendent stalked around the corner of his desk, his tall, lanky frame as stiff as a two-by-four. “The only possible saving grace for you in all of this is that the suspect seems to be quite mad. He’s been raving on about your eyes changing color and your teeth being sharp like an animal’s.” He shook his head. “I won’t be surprised if the tox screen comes back showing he’s high on something.”

  Sully remained silent. He could guarantee forensics would show the suspect was high. Sully had smelled it on him. The Chief was right in one thing. It definitely worked in his favor if people thought the rapist was a strung-out lunatic.

  Because everyone knew that werewolves weren’t real.

  He clenched his jaw so hard it cracked.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Glace crossed his arms, drumming the fingers of one hand against the opposite elbow. “You’ve been back from your holiday for two days, acting like a lion with a thorn in its paw.”

  Make that a wolf, and he’d be half right—though the thorn wasn’t in his paw.

  Which was why he was so surly.

  “Sir—”

  “Save it.” Glace walked around his desk and sat down, tipping his chair back. The slight squeak as he rocked back and forth grated on Sully’s already tightly drawn nerves. The Chief sat forward and rested his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers. His graying eyebrows beetled. “At this moment, Detective Chief Inspector Sullivan, you are on an extended personal leave of absence.”

  “Leave of absence!” Sully scowled. “I don’t need a bloody leave—”

  “Yes. You do.” Glace eyed Sully. “I could make it something of a more official nature, though I’d prefer not to have that sort of thing on your record.” He watched Sully, and when he didn’t respond, Glace went on. “Turn in your badge and car keys. You’re to conduct no official police business during your leave. You may keep your weapon.” He put the tip of his index finger on his desk blotter, pointing to the spot where the badge was to be placed.

  Sully ground his jaw but did as directed. He yanked his badge off his belt and tossed it onto the blotter. Taking the car keys from his pocket, he plunked them onto the desk as well.

  “Whatever’s eating at you, Sullivan, I suggest you deal with it while an investigation into this”—Glace waved one long-fingered hand—“distasteful situation is conducted. And hope that, because of the suspect’s unhinged behavior, police brutality charges aren’t brought against you.”

  Sully repressed the urge to snarl. “Maybe I’ll go on another holiday.”

  The Chief opened the top drawer of his desk and scooped Sully’s life into it. “Good idea. You do that. And get your head screwed on straight while you’re at it.” He closed the drawer and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “You’re a good policeman, Sullivan. A good man. I’d hate to see your career go arse over elbow.”

  Sully nodded, the only thing he could manage at the moment. When Glace gave a wave of dismissal, Sully turned and strode out of the office.

  By the time he got to his desk the rage had returned. He wanted to hit something. Someone. He wanted to run until he couldn’t run anymore.

  What he didn’t want to
do was talk to Declan, the sodding prat who’d gotten him into this mess. That Irish devil was a bastard of the first degree. Declan was a dirty, rotten son of a bitch who’d let him get involved in something dark and dangerous without giving him all the facts. As far as Sully was concerned, it was Declan’s fault he would turn furry once a month, starting…

  He glanced at his desk calendar. Starting in two fucking weeks. Though he’d felt an urge to shift a couple of times already, he’d have no choice of it during the full moon.

  Damn Declan. He was…

  Sully scrubbed his hand against the back of his neck. Damn it. Whatever else he was, Declan was his friend. And one of two people who could help him through this.

  “So?” Lindstrom leaned forward in his chair at the desk next to Sully’s. “What did the old man have to say?”

  Sully brushed the edge of his suit coat aside to show where his badge would normally be clipped to his belt.

  “Damn.” Lindstrom’s pale gaze met his. “I really was hoping he wouldn’t go that route.”

  Sully sighed and sat down in his chair. Lindstrom was not only a good cop, he was a good friend. A good partner. “He really had no other choice, did he?” Sully stared at the top of his desk for a moment, gut churning with regret, frustration, and restrained rage. Biting back a curse, he pushed to his feet with enough force to send his chair rolling back to thud against the desk behind him.

  “Oi!” The detective behind the desk looked up with a frown. “Watch what you’re about, Sully.”

  “Sorry,” Sully muttered. He shoved his right hand into the front pocket of his trousers. He looked at Lindstrom. “I have to get out of here.” He couldn’t stand the thought of heading back to his terrace house or, God forbid, home to the family estate in Suffolk—it would send him ’round the bend if he had to go stare at four walls or pretend to his mother that he was fine.

  He was far from fine. He’d never been further from being fine. He was about as fucked up as a man could get.

  And, as much as he hated to admit it, he needed Declan’s help.

  “I’ll probably be headed to the States for a bit.” He straightened a stack of folders on his desk and then met Lindstrom’s gaze. “Sorry to do this to you.”

  Their caseload was horrendous, and the last thing the detective constable needed was to have to take the load by himself. But there was nothing Sully could do about that. He needed to get his head on straight and come to terms with this new twist in his reality.

  “Don’t worry about it, mate. We’ll manage.” Lindstrom gave a slight smile. “You take care of yourself.”

  Sully nodded. He said his good-byes and left the building, stopping for a moment on the pavement to stare at the New Scotland Yard sign. This was his job, his life, and he was damn well going to fight to keep it. Up to this point his record was impeccable, so he didn’t think the review would cause him to lose his job, though the timing of his next promotion would probably be affected.

  To sit at home and wallow wasn’t in his nature. There was something he could do, as much as he might be reluctant to ask for help. Scowling, he yanked his mobile phone from its holder on his belt and punched in Declan’s number. As soon as Declan’s sleepy voice came on the line, Sully muttered, “I need your help, you son of a bitch.”

  “Do you have any concept of time zones at all, boyo?”

  Over the phone line Sully could hear the rustle of bed linens and pictured Declan rolling over to look at the clock. He glanced at his wristwatch and did the math. It was only three in the morning in Arizona where Declan was. Tough shit.

  “I nearly bit the head off a suspect today. Literally.” Sully hailed a cab. As he climbed into the backseat of the black Austin, he switched the phone to his left ear and pulled the door shut. “Lyall Mews, Belgravia,” he said to the cabbie. The car pulled away from the curb, and Sully turned his attention back to the phone. “I’ve just returned from holiday only to be this close”—he measured a small space between thumb and forefinger—“to being suspended, you bastard.” He settled back against the car seat cushions.

  “How exactly is that my fault?” Declan’s voice was heavy with sleepy irritation, which thickened his Irish brogue. Sully heard a feminine voice murmur in the background, and Declan’s tone immediately softened. “It’s just Sully, love. Go back to sleep.”

  “Is he all right?” Sully heard her ask. Pelicia Cobb, Declan’s fiancée—the woman Declan had asked Sully to help him protect. The woman in whose home Sully had been attacked by a werewolf, his life forever changed.

  Forever fucked up.

  Royally.

  “He’s fine. Go back to sleep.”

  Sully heard the soft smack of lips meeting lips, and Pelicia’s sleepy sigh. Then Declan said, “I told you that you should’ve come to the States with us from the get-go.”

  “I didn’t call to hear you say ‘I told you so,’” Sully interrupted. “Just…” He heaved a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. “Just tell me the offer to come stay with you and learn how to control this…” He met the gaze of the cabbie in the rearview mirror and changed what he’d been about to say. “Tell me the offer is still on the table.”

  “The offer’s still on the table.”

  The cab pulled up in front of his four-storied terrace house, and the cabbie told him the amount of the fare. Sully muttered, “Hold on,” into the phone. He pulled out his wallet and extracted several five-pound notes and handed them to the man. “Thanks.”

  “Right. ’Ave a nice day, guv.”

  Sully got out of the cab, pausing on the walkway in front of the house and watched the car pull away. A few doors down, a woman climbed out of another taxi. He couldn’t see her face, but long, dark hair streamed over her shoulders and caught the sunlight with strands of red and gold.

  His fingers curled with the desire to stroke through those tresses, to feel their silken strands against his skin. He drew a breath and smelled a light, orangey perfume and, underlying that, a sexy, musky all-woman scent that made his cock jerk against his thigh. He stared at her, his gaze zeroing in on the flare of her buttocks in tight blue jeans. His gut tightened with something that went beyond lust. It was…

  Primal.

  More than mere want. It was need.

  Deeper than he’d ever felt before.

  Sully was five paces down the pavement after her before he realized he’d moved. There was something vaguely familiar about her, something that drew him like an unaware fly to the spider’s web. Just as he decided to keep following her, to find out who she was, Declan’s voice sounded in his ear.

  “Hey! You still there?”

  Sully stopped. He watched the woman who, without a glance in his direction, started up the short front walk of a redbrick terrace house three doors down. Her head was turned, so he still couldn’t get a look at her face.

  For all he knew, she could be butt-ugly. But with an ass like that, somehow he doubted it.

  He huffed a sigh. Turning back toward his own house, he shoved his right hand into his pocket. Jingling his keys as he walked, he told Declan, “I’ll make travel arrangements and be in Tucson tomorrow.” He went up the pavement to his front door and drew his keys from his pocket. “My passport’s up-to-date, so it’s just a matter of booking a flight.” He unlocked the door and went inside, closing the door behind him with one heel. “Fuck. I hate this. I really, really hate this.”

  “It’s not that bad.” Declan was beginning to sound more alert. “You’ll find there are a lot of things you can do now that you couldn’t do before. You’ll have lots more stamina, for one thing. In all areas,” he added with a low chuckle.

  Sully ignored the innuendo. Since he had no sex life at the moment to speak of, whether or not he had more stamina wasn’t an issue. “Yes, and I can run faster, see clearer, hear things from greater distances.” He gave a growl of frustration. “I also nearly killed a man today. If my DC hadn’t caught up to us when he did—”

 
“But he obviously did, otherwise you’d be sittin’ in a jail cell and not talkin’ to me on the phone.” Declan heaved a sigh. “Look, call me when you have your travel itinerary, and we’ll pick you up at the airport, okay? Until then…buck up. It’ll be all right.”

  “Hmm. Maybe.” Sully said good-bye, not waiting for Declan to respond, and closed his phone, disconnecting the call. He loosened and then pulled off his tie, tossing it onto a decorative table in the narrow entry hallway. Then he went upstairs to pack and try to begin coming to terms with his new life.

  Chapter 2

  Olivia prowled around the back yard of the swanky town house, taking particular care to be quiet so the werewolf inside wouldn’t hear her. She tried to find a way in and cursed under her breath at being thwarted. Damn. Cops were the same world-over. This guy’s place was buttoned up tighter than the White House.

  Or, since she was in London, maybe Buckingham Palace was a more appropriate analogy.

  She’d already lost almost twenty-four hours of her seven-day reprieve getting from New York to London and waiting outside New Scotland Yard for a glimpse of DCI Sullivan and the chance to follow him home. He’d finally come out, looking as pissed as hell and, interestingly enough, flagged down a taxi instead of driving off in an unmarked police car as she’d thought he’d do.

  She’d grabbed a taxi of her own and followed him, having the driver pull over a few houses up from where Sully got out. Thankfully Sully was so preoccupied with his current…predicament that he hadn’t noticed he’d been followed.

  When she had first gotten out of the taxi she’d seen him glance her way. She’d quickly turned so he wouldn’t see her face, her heart beating fast. Her citrus-based perfume would mask her scent, so he wouldn’t be able to smell her as another werewolf.

  She had to act like she belonged in the neighborhood, so she’d walked down the short sidewalk to a nearby town house as if it was hers—thankful no one poked their head out asking what she was about, loitering around their front door.