Moon Love: A Short Story (A Samantha Moon Story Book 10)
MOON LOVE
A
Samantha Moon
Valentine
by
J.R. RAIN
Acclaim for the Stories of J.R. Rain:
“Be prepared to lose sleep!”
—James Rollins, international bestselling author of The Doomsday Key
“I love this!”
—Piers Anthony, bestselling author of Xanth
“Dark Horse is the best book I’ve read in a long time!”
—Gemma Halliday, award-winning author of Spying in High Heels
“Moon Dance is a must read. If you like Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum, bounty hunter, be prepared to love J.R. Rain’s Samantha Moon, vampire private investigator.”
—Eve Paludan, bestselling co-author of Witchy Business
“Impossible to put down. J.R. Rain’s Moon Dance is a fabulous urban fantasy replete with multifarious and unusual characters, a perfectly synchronized plot, vibrant dialogue and sterling witticism all wrapped in a voice that is as beautiful as it is rich and vividly intense as it is relaxed.”
—April Vine, author of Unbound
“Is it possible to redefine two genres in one book? I don’t know, but J.R. Rain has left a lasting impression for the vampire and mystery genres.”
—P.J. Day, author of The Sunset Prophecy
Other Books by J.R. Rain
STANDALONE NOVELS
Robotica (coming soon)
Mr. Invisible (coming soon)
Winter Wind
Silent Echo
The Body Departed
The Grail Quest
Elvis Has Not Left the Building
The Lost Ark
The Worm Returns
Lavabull
Jack and the Giants
Dolfin Tayle
Dragon Assassin
The Accidental Superheroine
Lost Eden
Judas Silver
The Vampire Club
Cursed
Glimmer
Bound By Blood
VAMPIRE FOR HIRE SERIES
1: Moon Dance
2: Vampire Moon
3: American Vampire
4: Moon Child
4½: Christmas Moon
5: Vampire Dawn
6: Vampire Games
7: Moon Island
8: Moon River
9: Vampire Sun
10: Moon Dragon
11: Moon Shadow
12: Vampire Fire
13: Midnight Moon (coming soon)
SAMANTHA MOON CASE FILES
1. Moon Bayou
2. Blood Moon
3. Moon Magic (coming soon)
SAMANTHA MOON ORIGINS
1. New Moon Rising
2. Pale Moon Calling
JIM KNIGHTHORSE SERIES
1. Dark Horse
2. The Mummy Case
3. Hail Mary
4. Clean Slate
5. Night Run
6. Hold Tight (coming soon)
THE WITCHES SERIES
1. The Witch and the Gentleman
2. The Witch and the Englishman
3. The Witch and the Huntsman
4. The Witch and the Wolfman
5. The Witch and the Hangman (coming soon)
6. The Witch and the Bogeyman (coming soon)
THE PSI SERIES
1. Hear No Evil
2. See No Evil
3. Speak No Evil
4. Touch No Evil
5. Kiss No Evil (coming son)
6. Love No Evil (coming soon)
NICK CAINE SERIES
1. Temple of the Jaguar
2. Treasure of the Deep
3. Pyramid of the Gods
DEAD DETECTIVE SERIES
1. The Dead Detective
2. Deadbeat Dad
THE ACCIDENTAL SUPERHEROINE
1. The Accidental Superheroine
2. My Big Fat Accidental Superheroine Wedding
THE SPINOZA TRILOGY
1. The Vampire With the Dragon Tattoo
2. The Vampire Who Played Dead
3. The Vampire in the Iron Mask
THE ALADDIN TRILOGY
1. Aladdin Relighted
2. Aladdin Sins Bad
3. Aladdin and the Flying Dutchman
THE WALKING PLAGUE TRILOGY
1. Zombie Patrol
2. Zombie Rage
3. Zombie Mountain
THE SPIDER TRILOGY
1. Bad Blood
2. Spider Web
3. Spider Bite
SHORT STORY SINGLES
Skeleton Jim
Moon Love
The Vampire on the Train
Vampire Requiem
Ghosts of Christmas Present
Easy Rider
Dark Side of the Moon
Blue Moon
Vampire Gold
Halloween Moon
Vampire Dreams
Vampire Blues
Vampire Nights
Teeth
Vampire Rain
The Santa Call
The Bleeder
Moon Love
Published by J.R. Rain
Copyright © 2016 by J.R. Rain
All rights reserved.
Ebook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. All rights reserved.
Dedication
To all the lovers.
Moon Love
Chapter One
“It’s a cabin,” I said.
“Not just any cabin,” said Kingsley, dropping our suitcases just inside the door. “It’s our Valentine’s weekend getaway cabin. Which means...”
“I know, I know,” I said. “It means it’s magical. You told me.”
Kingsley stepped beyond the foyer, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of such ‘magic’ as he moved under a rough-hewn beam from which potted ferns hung. He looked up, ooh-ing and ah-ing. I looked up, too, although I didn’t ooh and I certainly didn’t ah. The log cabin was spacious and open and well-lit. Most of the light came from the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked a lot of forest and the bright blue lake beyond.
He said, “It’s going to be the rarest kind of magic, Sam. This is a kid-free, vampire-free, werewolf-free, monster-free, work-free, kid-free zone—”
“You already said kid-free—”
“Shh, Sam,” he said, appearing at my side far faster than the hulking bastard ever should be able to move. “Mostly, this is a no-worry zone.”
“Fine,” I said. “Except, how are we going to escape the no-vampire and no-werewolf part? Last I checked, I have a penchant for blood, and you have a penchant for sniffing butts.”
Kingsley shook his head and laughed a little too loudly. The sound of it echoed throughout the Big Bear cabin, itself nearly eight thousand feet above nearby Orange County, where we both worked and played—though I didn’t do much playing these days. Not with two kids, one of whom is a telepathic teenager with a rebellious streak, and the other, a budding superhero who is as strong as a moose. Well, a young moose.
“Now, Sam. We agreed: No talk of anything paranormal, abnormal, supernatural, unnatural, preternatural, metaphysical, non-physical, weird, freaky or downright not right.”
This had been his mantra all freaking week. Enough! It had been emailed, texted, and voice-noted. Voice notes were still new to me, but the hairy bastard loved to leave me long-winded notes, which came through as text message alerts with a “play” button attached. Cute, but gimmicky.
I’ll admit, despite all
of Kingsley’s efforts for a relaxing weekend, and despite all his planning and attention to detail, I was in a bit of a mood. I’d had it up to here—that is, up to my five-foot, three-inch frame—of just how darn wonderful this weekend was going to be. He’d promised I was going to be wined, dined and cloud-nined. I knew what he really meant: a wonderful kid-free weekend. Meaning, free of my kids, since the big oaf hadn’t sired any of his own yet.
(And how he’d managed to escape seeding the world with hairy, oversized kids, I didn’t know. The man had been a world-class playboy. Maybe he shot blanks. Maybe werewolves were sterile. Maybe he’d practiced safe sex, using massive, custom-made, Teflon-clad condoms. I wondered again if the big meatball could get me pregnant, or if I could even get pregnant. Maybe since I turned vamp, I, too, was sterile.)
He’d stipulated a work-free weekend, too. Hell, he even made me sign a legal agreement that I would not work any cases for precisely three days. I had signed it just to get him off my back, and because the agreement was kind of cute, too. Of course, my signature had read: “Bite me.”
Truth was, I had a full caseload. More than full. I was busy as hell, and not with sexy cases. Lots of background checks, cheating spouses, and process serving, all of which I did to pay the bills. But, yes, this was Valentine’s weekend, and I wanted to be a good girlfriend. I also wanted to pay my mortgage, since having a place to call home is always nice, but I’d put my work on hold and decided to go along for this little misadventure, er, weekend getaway. Had I said no, well, there would have been a lot of whimpering. And not the cute kind from puppies. The grating kind from a full-grown, butt-hurt werewolf. Of the two of us, he was the romantic. Go figure.
“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms, maybe a little too tightly and defensively. “No talk of things that go bump in the night—or of my kids, whom, apparently, you hate.”
Okay, maybe I was the butt-hurt one.
Kingsley took one of my hands and untangled my arms. He held it in his big, warm paw. That he towered over me by nearly a foot-and-a-half should have been off-putting, but it wasn’t. Not with him. He was exactly the right size, as far as I was concerned. I loved the way his long hair just reached down to me, or that it enveloped me completely when he held me close. I loved that Kingsley was bigger and badder than just about anyone, ever. The private eye in Huntington Beach was a close second, but he didn’t have shoulders like Kingsley, nor the sheer amount of muscle mass.
“I adore your kids, Sammie. You know that.”
“Well, you mentioned them twice in your little run-down of terrible things not to talk about this weekend.”
“And I also mentioned us. Or, rather, our kind. After all, one of us is a bloodsucker, and the other, apparently, likes to sniff butts.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” I said. “Not when I’m mad at you.”
“Mad at me… why?”
“Because you think my kids get in the way. You knew I had kids. You knew what you were signing up for when you availed me of your werewolf charms.”
“I love your kids, Sam. I really do.”
This was, of course, the first time he had said those words. About my kids. I pulled back. “You do?”
“Sam, I know I don’t say it enough, and certainly, I haven’t said it to them, but you’re damn straight I love those little freaks.”
I punched his shoulder, hard enough to hurt. At least, hurt anyone who wasn’t the size of a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float. He laughed and rubbed his shoulder. “Those little fists can do damage.”
“You have no idea.”
“I have some idea. Now, are we good?”
“So, you really love them?” I asked.
“Your little fists? Yes, they’re very cute—ouch!”
I had punched him again. “My kids, furball.”
He chuckled and held my hands in his and looked down at me with those big, beautiful, intense amber eyes. He nodded once, twice, and said, “Yeah, Sam. I really do love them.”
I had no idea why those words were so important for me to hear or why they had brought me to tears, but they were and they had. I buried my face deep inside the crook of his arm, while he held me close enough to smother me in his bulky embrace. Thank God I didn’t need to breathe.
Chapter Two
We were on our way into town for dinner.
These days, dinner was a bigger deal for me, for which I was eternally grateful. Dinner meant I could hold down my food, drink an array of beverages, and even have dessert. That my body needed none of it, well, that was another story. Or that some of the food had lost its flavor was a sad story I mostly kept to myself. Eating out was fun in and of itself, a chance to connect, to explore, to consume, and to spend Kingsley’s money. Something of a gourmand, he never took me out for cheap eats. It was always to the finest places that served high-end meat. And lots of it.
Big Bear Lake is picturesque and often breathtaking, with the bluest man-made lake imaginable. A long lake, it sat eight thousand feet high, nestled in what must have once been a ravine. Now, homes surrounded it, some of which were quite large.
Apparently, Big Bear was a getaway for the rich and famous, too. I wasn’t rich or famous, but Kingsley did rather well. Anyway, the blue expanse of water was a far cry from the desert lake I’d recently been exposed to, both above and below its surface. Where Lake Elsinore did all it could to cling to life in the deserts of Southern California, Big Bear Lake seemed at home up here in the mountains, as if it had been here all along, as if it had been meant to be here, and that man had only given it a goose, so to speak. Of course, Lake Elsinore had the added benefit of boasting an honest-to-God lake monster. What lurked beneath the surface of Big Bear Lake remained to be seen.
We rounded a bend in the road, with Kingsley driving a little too fast for my taste. That’s the thing with immortals: even if he wrecked the car, and wrecked us, too, we’d still come out of the wreckage smelling like roses. Granted, I wasn’t in the mood to roll off the side of the hill and into the lake below, but Kingsley seemed determined to push the limits of his Lincoln Navigator, his reflexes, and my nerves.
It was just past dusk and I was alive and alert and stronger than, seemingly, this time of day yesterday. Now, as I sat in the front seat, thrown occasionally to the right or left—like the turbulent Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland—I felt the energy of life itself coursing through me. It crackled and snapped and spread from my solar plexus and outward to my arms and legs, down into my core, filling me, filling me. I opened and closed my hands and wanted to... crush something. I wanted to hold a can of Mountain Dew, and just smash it down into a ball. I could, too. Easily, quickly, completely. I took in air and held it and held and held it, and then released it. As I exhaled, I wondered if my earlier thought was true: did I, in fact, get stronger each day, each year? Even if minutely? Kingsley got bigger with each turning. Why couldn’t I get stronger, too?
Sure, Kingsley’s steady growth was his body’s attempt to eventually match the size and shape of the hulking creature within him. Why couldn’t that extend to me? Why couldn’t I grow in strength steadily, as I eventually met the strength of the demoness within me? Which begged the question, just how strong was that bloodthirsty bitch inside me?
I thought about that as we rounded another bend on two wheels—or what felt like two wheels, hitting the kinds of G’s that I’d only experienced when hurtling through the air as Talos—when I spotted the little boy walking along the side of the road.
***
He was wearing only a tee-shirt and shorts. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets. He wore socks and shoes, but he looked cold and miserable. He also looked to be about eight years old. I glanced at the dashboard temperature: 42 degrees.
“Kingsley—”
“I see him.”
“Why is he walking on the side of the road?”
“Maybe he lives around here.”
“And why is he wearing only a tee-shirt and shorts?”
“I don’t know, Sam.”
I was just about to tell him to pull over when the boy did something mystifying: he dashed off the road and plunged into the woods.
“Jesus, where did he go?”
“Like I said, maybe he lives around here. There’s probably a house up on the hill.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said. But I didn’t like it. Not one freakin’ bit.
Chapter Three
It bothered me all through dinner.
We were at an Indian place called Himalaya. The fact that I could even eat Indian food again was a small miracle that was presently lost on me.
“He’s going to be fine, Sam,” said Kingsley for the dozenth time.
“I should have gone after him,” I said, playing with my matar paneer, a spicy cheese-and-peas dish that still delivered some flavor to my degrading taste buds. Why my taste buds had decided to slowly switch off, I didn’t know. But over the past year or so, food was losing its flavor, although hemoglobin was as delicious as ever. It was as if the bitch within just couldn’t ever let me be happy.
“Go after him? And what? Scare him half to death? That was a busy road. How do you know the kid wouldn’t have done something stupid—like run out into traffic?”
He was right, although the kid had disappeared into the forest, and hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down.
“Who was he running from?” I asked.
“I don’t know if he was running from someone, Sam.”
I shook my head and dropped my fork. “He was. Something happened and he took off running without a jacket or pants. He was dressed for summer.”
“Or maybe he was visiting a nearby friend—”
“No,” I said, cutting him off. “No parent—no mother—would have let him leave without warmer clothing.”
“Kids are pretty hardy up here, Sam. Their forty-three degrees is like our sixty-three.”