Omega Moon Rising (Toke Lobo & The Pack) (2 page)

“Happy birthday.” Luke shot a look at Libby.

“She won’t tell, will you, Libby?”

“Nope,” Libby said. “We want Toke Lobo to hear Abby’s songs. Pay her lots of money for them.”

Luke’s grin turned into something else. Something that made Abby’s heart beat a little faster. Made her feel a little warmer than the weather warranted. “It’s a date.”

Chapter 2

She, Abigail Grant, had a date with Luke Omega.

Gary was going to kill her. But Luke Omega would be worth the grief, with his dimples, blond curls, and the indent in his chin. Plus he was a celebrity. But most importantly, he said he would help her get her songs in front of Toke Lobo. After the concert was late, though, and if Gary ever found out, he would make her life miserable.

But she had a date with Luke Omega.

Abby thought about what the lateness might also mean—beyond being a better time to run into Toke Lobo. Luke had been kind to Libby, which meant he was either trying to impress her or he was genuinely a sweet guy. Since nice guys usually ignored her, he must be trying to score points with her by sucking up to her sister, who was difficult at best. Maybe he wanted sex.

Abby wasn’t much of a dreamer any more. When she’d been a little girl and her father was still alive, when she and Libby and Mama were the suns to Daddy’s moon, life had been full of possibilities. But a freak accident left Mama a widow with two girls to support. The last fantasy Abby allowed herself was that Gary and Mama got married because they loved each other. A whole week went by before reality betrayed her.

Nowadays, the closest she came to dreaming was wishing Mama would get better and divorce Gary. But Mama was dying and the family needed Gary’s paycheck and health insurance. Needed to keep paying the taxes on the little house on Silver Moon Terrace in order to keep a roof over their heads.

Abby couldn’t bring herself to tell Mama being homeless might be better. Safer.

She hurried across the dark picnic area, thinking about Luke and what meeting him at this hour might mean. Her full skirt tangled between her knees. She hadn’t changed her dress because Luke had complimented this one. And the buttons bisecting the front might make some things easier.

What would someone like Luke Omega want in exchange for doing a favor for someone like Abigail Grant? She didn’t need much brainpower to come up with an answer to a question that was more rhetorical than anything else.

Abby weighed the pros and cons. She was completely legal. She also hadn’t been with anyone. Ever. Yes, she was that rarest of all creatures, the unicorn of her time: a virgin. She was going to have to lose it sometime. Why not on her terms? Luke was cute, almost famous, and apparently interested.

Still, it felt a bit cold. Calculating. But he was nice. And he’d approached her, so it wasn’t as if she was stalking him like a crazed fan or anything.

She wished Jenn and Rachel weren’t away at college. In the old days, she would have called them and speculated about Luke Omega. But they were gone, and her giggling-over-cute-boys days were over. Not that she’d been allowed to date. Gary hadn’t permitted any kind of social life. And now Abby’s high school friends had new friends, new lives, and she was stuck in Oak Moon. Unless Toke Lobo bought her songs, she’d probably die in Oak Moon, too.

Too bad she and Luke had run into Gary, Pete, and the rest of Gary’s cronies on the way to the lemonade tent. She wanted to keep Luke a secret from Gary. Something to dream about—no. No dreams. Not anymore. Luke Omega was just a cute guy. A very cute, very hot guy who tossed her a couple of bones. No point getting all gaga over something that could never be. She was Abigail Grant, stepdaughter of Gary Porter. Poor daughter of the dying Tina Grant Porter, older sister of "that strange Libby Grant." Best not to forget her place in the hierarchy of Oak Moon, Colorado.

The concert went well. Of course, there weren’t as many attendees as if it was a real performance, but the intimate setting was exactly why Tokarz continued to play at the Moonsinger picnic every year. The brewery employees were the band’s original fans. Toke Lobo would never desert them.

Luke couldn’t see much from his vantage point at the rear of the stage, but he did find himself scanning the fringe of the crowd for a pink dress. He kept reminding himself Abigail was meeting him at the lemonade stand, not the concert.

The set wasn’t as long as a regular tour show. The performance was over in ninety minutes. Plus two encore numbers. Luke was getting mighty sick of “Full Moon Lady,” the band’s biggest hit to date.

Then it was over. Luke hurried off the platform, leaving the roadies to break down his kit. Toke Lobo and the Pack were professionals now, and that included roadies to do the grunt work. Grunt work Luke, omega, lowest of the low, no longer had to do.

Most of the picnic attractions had been packed up. The crew from the rental company was working on dismantling the carnival rides. The food concessions had stopped serving and were dark and silent.

The moon was four nights past full, spilling silver light over the landscape. Not even the exaggerated shadows bothered Luke. Nothing ever happened in Oak Moon. Even if something were about to happen, his werewolf senses would alert him long before an incident became a problem. Like now. He could smell Abigail waiting for him. She was a little nervous, but she was there.

“Hey,” he softly called out, not wanting to frighten her. “It’s me. Luke.”

She jumped a little any way.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, even though he was fifteen minutes early.

“I barely got here myself.” Abigail’s voice was low. Quiet. “How was the concert?”

Luke figured she really wanted to know what kind of mood Tokarz was in. “It was good. Oak Moon loves us, and we love Oak Moon. And not only because it’s close to home and we can sleep in our own beds, either.”

He offered Abigail his arm. She hesitated before taking it. Luke headed toward the stage. Sparks of awareness skittered through him.

“So, what do you do besides play guitar and write songs?” Luke asked. “A pretty girl like you must have a boyfriend.”

“No, no boyfriend. Mostly I take care of Mama and the house. She needs a lot of care.”

“Did you go to college?” College fascinated him, but werewolves never went to college. At least, none from Loup Garou ever did. He would make such a great frat boy.

She shook her head. Her hair was loose and cascaded around her shoulders. Moon-bred rainbows, more subtle than the flash of the sun, twinkled at him. Luke preferred this look over the earlier one.

“I’ve applied for a part time job at the Safeway where Mama worked. How do you like being in a famous band? You must meet all kinds of pretty girls.”

“The band is good,” he replied. “Sometimes touring gets a little old—a different town every night. Hardly any time off. And you’d better get along with the other folks on the tour, because you’re stuck together a long time.”

He didn’t want to talk about the honky-tonk angels and how he told them he was diabetic to explain why he wasn’t drinking a longneck with them or why he couldn’t get an erection despite their best efforts. Some marvelous efforts. Stupid werewolf chromosomes. With luck, at least half that was going to change tonight. He was already feeling the effect of the blue pill he’d swallowed between encore numbers.

“Toke Lobo is building that recording studio here in Oak Moon. Does that mean other famous bands will be coming to town?”

Poor kid. Looking for a market for her songs. Looking for something better in life than checking out her neighbors’ groceries at the supermarket. “That’s the plan.”

“Did you have a chance to mention me to Toke Lobo?”

“Not yet. But I will.”

They drew close to the sole bus used for this gig. Luke greeted the guards. Greeted the roadies. “Anybody seen Tokarz?”

The driver told him Tokarz had gone home.

Abigail slumped at his side.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Let’s grab your guitar. Maybe you can play something for me. A private concert.”

Abigail rubbed her arms. It might be mid-July, but the nights were cool. She should have been wearing a sweater. Luke draped his arm across her shoulder. She didn’t resist.

“You must have more songs than the ones you played at the talent show.”

“I do,” she admitted. “But you’re only saying that to be nice so my feelings won’t be hurt. I came in second in the talent show.”

Luke stared across the park they’d crossed. Their footprints were dark holes in the dew-stained grass. His cock was hard inside his jeans. He wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass. Abigail was pretty, and she smelled a whole lot nicer than most of the women he usually ended up with after a performance. Cleaner. Sweeter.

“It’s kind of cold, and I should be getting home. I don’t like leaving Libby alone with Mama.”

“Stay a little while,” Luke wheedled. “Come sit in my truck with me. I’ll drive you home in a bit.”

Abigail’s eyes widened. She shook her head. “No. If you drive me home, a neighbor might see and tell Gary.”

“Okay, but I’ll walk you home. Later. My mama would have my head if she thought I let a pretty girl walk home alone this late at night. But come for a ride with me. Otherwise, I’ll think you only had lemonade with me because you wanted to meet Toke.”

Actually, his mother would have his head for even being with a human girl this late at night, but Abigail didn’t need to know the finer points of Loup Garou culture.

“All right.” Abigail didn’t sound as reluctant as she could have.

Luke led her to his truck and tossed the guitar behind the seat of the extended cab. He helped her climb in, his hands spanning her waist and lingering there a second or two too long, before walking around to the driver’s door. His hands shook as he jammed his key into the ignition.

They didn’t converse as he drove to a secluded lake halfway up the mountain. All he could think about was opening that valentine dress. The moon spilled its quicksilver over the rippled surface of the water. He wondered if he had a blanket to spread over the stones on the shore.

“That’s pretty.” Abigail’s voice was no more than a breath in the night.

Luke turned off the truck and scooted closer to her.

“I’ve never done this before,” she said. “Been parking with a guy. Or anything.”

Luke hoped that didn’t mean she was saying no.

“I don’t do it much myself.” Okay, that was a lie. Luke parked with women as often as he could. The venues the band played in were filled with willing participants. But until tonight, until an illicitly obtained little blue pill forced its way past the werewolf barriers, his willingness had been sabotaged. “And nothing is going to happen that you don’t want to happen.”

He leaned in for a kiss.

Abigail’s lips were as soft and sweet as cotton candy. Ancient Ones, he loved kissing a pretty woman.

Abigail met his kisses with more enthusiasm than finesse. He liked her innocence. Her lack of experience made him feel better about his own virginal state. His soon-to-be ended virginal state.

Luke wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. No resistance. Her arms snaked around his neck. Oh, this was good. Very good.

And he was hard. Ancient Ones, his dick was hard and throbbing and wanting to bury itself someplace tight and wet and warm.

He cautiously rubbed a thumb against the side of Abigail’s tit. When she didn’t react, he grew bolder and ran the thumb over her nipple. Her tightly puckered nipple. It wasn’t cold enough outside to justify that intense a response from the temperature. Her boob filled his palm. Abigail made a sound in the back of her throat.

He rested his forehead against hers as his big, clumsy fingers fumbled with the buttons on the front of her dress. Abigail plucked at his shirt buttons with shaky fingers of her own. They were both breathing heavily.

He didn’t know how long the meds would work on him. His werewolf metabolism ran faster than a human’s, so it was conceivable the effectiveness would vanish before he had a chance to do everything he wanted to do to Abigail. He really wanted to take his time, but didn’t dare.

He dispensed with her bra as her fingertips explored the contours of his chest. Ancient Ones, that felt good.

Her nipples were pale in the moonlight. “You’re so pretty,” he said, as he traced the edge of her aureole.

Her fingers curled in his chest hair. Sensation shot straight to his groin.

Seduction. He sometimes forgot seduction could be a two-way street.

He lowered his mouth. His tongue replaced his forefinger on her soft flesh. He’d heard the puckering of nipples called pebbled, but how could something so soft and sweet be likened to stone? No, her nipples were more like raspberries. His cock was the rock.

His lips closed over the protruding nub of flesh. Abigail flinched, but cradled his head as he gently suckled. One of his hands toyed with her other breast; the other slid down her torso to the elastic band on her underwear. He could smell her arousal, sweet and beckoning. Her pubic patch was a bristle of hair against his fingers, but there wasn’t time to linger. Thanks to a few honky-tonk angels, he knew exactly what to touch. Abigail’s gasp told him he’d found the spot. One finger slid into her vagina as his thumb continued to massage her clitoris. She was tight. And hot. And wet. But tight.

Abigail tensed. Her entire body quivered. Contractions against his fingers betrayed her climax.

Ladies first was a great policy.

Luke withdrew his hand and fumbled with his fly. His cock was pulsing and aching. And hard. He hadn’t imagined a body part could get that hard. And big. His erection was much larger than he’d anticipated.

Abigail’s breathing was still ragged and shaky. She didn’t protest when he eased her onto her back. Yanked off her panties. Hoisted her skirt to her waist. “Oh,” was all she said when he buried his face between her legs, his tongue replacing his thumb. As turned on as she was, he figured she was good for at least another orgasm before he finally had his turn. And bingo.

He nipped his way up her body, then propped himself between her thighs. He knew what to do. Hours on the Deepnet had shown him. Some might call what he watched pornography; he called the material instructional.