Blood on the Moon (The Federal Witch Book 7)
Blood on the Moon
by TS Paul
BOOK SEVEN IN THE FEDERAL WITCH SERIES
Table of Contents
Title Page
Legal Stuff
Dedications
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Author Notes
Author - TS Paul
Gen’s First Adventure
Legal Stuff
Copyright © T.S. Paul, All Rights Reserved.
Reproduction of any kind is strictly prohibited unless written permission granted by the author.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Editing by Diane Velasquez, Dorene Johnson, and Kat Lind
Dedications
Special thanks to my wife Heather who keeps me grounded and to Merlin the Cat, we are his minions.
Chapter 1
It was raining in Jackson, Tennessee when L J Austin rode into town. Rain streamed off his long, stringy hair mixing with the mud and other grime coating his leathers. His motorcycle was a strange mixture of many brands and styles. It made an unusual put-put-put noise as he pulled in under the gas station canopy.
L J sat on his bike for a couple of moments staring out at the rain. The ride took way longer than he expected it to. Reaching out with his leather-clad hand he pulled several sheets of window cleaning paper out of the dispenser. Wincing, he wiped his face off. Without all the dirt and road dust the scars could be plainly seen under his hair.
“You need gas, mister?”
L J looked over his shoulder to see a short red-haired teenager in a gas station uniform approaching him. “No. Is there someplace I can get a drink around here?”
The kid stopped and stared at the mud-covered stranger. “Sure. We’ve got beer and stuff inside, but about the only place that’s open this time of night is the Moon.” He pointed back toward Interstate Forty.
“What the hell’s the Moon?” L J asked.
“You didn’t see the signs coming in? It’s the biggest and best barbeque this side of Memphis. Blood Moon BBQ is the name, but we all just call it the Moon around here. It’s on the other side of the highway next to the RV park,” the red-head answered.
L J pulled off his wet, slimy leather gloves and pushed his hair out of his face. A large one percent symbol stood out on his hand along with a stylized wolf paw tattoo. He ignored the kid’s intake of breath when his scars became visible. “Thanks.”
He watched the kid beat a hasty retreat into the gas station office. He chuckled to himself. Not every day someone sees a monster out on the road. The rain was letting up a bit, so he pulled his gloves back on and gave his bike a crank. The put-put noise was familiar and soothing to him after so many years of riding solo. Time to see what this town had to give.
Finding the Moon was easy once he knew about it. The signs were everywhere. The one thing that stuck out in his mind was the wolf and moon logo. It reminded him of his past. Whether that was a good thing was questionable.
Blood Moon looked like the perfect place for an outlaw biker like L J to hang out it. It was almost too good to be true.
L J parked his bike under the lone oak tree in the parking lot. A few scattered trucks and cars surrounded him at the edge of the lot. Looking to his left, he could see the tops of RVs sticking up over the fenced-off lot.
The magnetic feel of a Magickal ward hit him as soon as he approached the front door. Looking from side-to-side L J could see the slight color shimmer he associated with wards. He nodded. This confirmed what he picked up in that bar in Arkansas. Biker gangs were hit or miss. Especially with independents like he was. He almost didn’t make it out of the bar that time.
<<<>>>
“Do you know any places an indie would be welcome?” L J had asked the bartender.
Wearing short-shorts and a cut off t-shirt, the woman could have been one of the entertainers or a paid escort. Being behind the bar marked her as the bartender. In a place like this, it was hard to tell.
“Stranger, you’re risking your life just being here. Didn’t you see the skull outside? This is a Demon Skull clubhouse!” She looked his tats over, “That ink of yours might have got you inside, but they will see through it quick.”
“I can handle myself,” he told her.
The bartender shook her head violently. “No, no you can’t. There’s a place East of here in Jackson that might work for you. Get out of here before there’s, even more, blood on the floor,” she slid a beer in his direction.
L J caught the can before it slid off the bar. He popped it open without even looking. Glancing around he didn’t see anything different from other biker bars he’d been in. Same dirty bikers.
“What club are you with?”
The voice shocked L J because it was right in his ear and he didn’t even feel the owner approach him. Turning carefully, he found two burly men staring at him. The one of the left wore dirty Harley leathers with chainmail gloves. It was the biker on the right who spoke to him. L J could smell the shifter scent on him.
Looking the shifter in the eye, he spoke, “I used to be with Pepin’s Paws. When they went down, I hung with the Pelts for a while. I’m on a vision quest.”
The big man laughed and nudged his companion. “The Paws? You actually rode with those losers? We heard a Witch took them down all by herself.”
L J didn’t let any emotion show on his face, but he did nod. “I wasn’t there for that fight. I heard about it later. Satan’s Pelts picked up the slack in our old territory as well as any of our stranded club members.”
“Now you’re saying the Pelts is your club? They’re worse than the Paws.” The big man stepped closer to L J. “Why are you here in our territory if you’re a dirty Pelt?”
L J tilted his head from side to side letting the vertebrae shift and crack. Carefully he raised his hands and pulled the hair back from his face, tying it up in the back with a rubber band that was around his wrist. His facial scars became instantly visible.
“Is that supposed to scare us? Ooh, the big scarred man. You look like someone took a hot iron to your face,” the club leader replied.
“It was a soldering iron, actually. I’m just passing through, looking for someplace to lay low,” L J cut his eyes to the left.
“That place is not here,” the club leader scowled.
“You can take your Pelt ass out of our clubhouse right now. We don’t take your kind in here.” Magick flame sparked in the man’s hand. “If you take my meaning, dog.”
L J looked at the Magick user with hooded eyes. “I understand. Thanks for the beer.”
He felt rather than saw the man on the left as he attacked. His left arm caught the blow, then he tossed the man to one side using his enhanced strength.
“The beer’s not free. We’ll take payment right now!” The club leader replied. His fists turning to flame.
L J shook off that memory. His body still bore the burns to show for his escape. That fight was almost a parable. Never take on a bunch of wannabe Magick users i
n their own place. Magickal fire burns can’t be easily healed by any sort of Were. It was only his being a wolf that saved him from those maniacs. The bartender was no help there. Turned out she was the one that ratted him out. Maybe the next place would be different.
<<<>>>
The inside of the Blood Moon was a rough-hewn restaurant. Picnic tables were scattered around the room in a semi-organized fashion. A large ornate bar stood off to one side of the room. Wall sconces projected light across the smooth wooden walls. One spot caught L J’s eye. A blackened spot on a far wall looked as if a fire had spread outward in a circle. Some rafters were scorched as well. It seemed out of place for some reason.
“Need a table?” the hostess asked.
L J shook his head before he spoke. “No. I’ll sit at the bar.”
He staggered a tiny bit as he walked to the bar. His senses were kicking into high gear as he realized that almost everyone in the room was a Were. And they were all watching him.
“What can I make you?” This bartender was heads and tails better looking than the last one with blond hair and nice clothing. She smelled good too.
“Uh, beer. House brand will do.” L J sat on the bar stool and wiggled a moment to get comfortable. The stool was padded and very well made.
The bartender made a face. “You don’t want that horse piss. Here, try this one.” She pulled a glass of a creamy looking brew from her taps.
L J pulled off his gloves and dropped them on the bar. Carefully he took the offered glass and brought it up to his lips taking a sip.
“Mmm. That’s nice. What is it?” he asked.
“Homebrew. We call it Mountains of the Moon. It’s our number one brew here. Did you want food? The kitchens still open,” the woman asked.
L J shook out his hair and pulled it back. It was his way of judging people based on their reactions to him. “A burger? I don’t have much…”
The bartender held up her hands. “No charge. We will always help a hungry wolf around here.”
He could only blink at her statement. She ignored his scars and knew he was a Wolf?
The woman smiled and giggled. “Surprised you did I? We are all Wolves here. Couldn’t you tell?” she asked.
L J slowly nodded his head. “I wondered if my senses were playing tricks on me. Is this the local pack den?”
“It is. Welcome to the Blood Moon Pack. I’m Gundi Moon.” The blond woman held out her hand to him.
L J set his beer down on the bar and held out his own hand. “Nice to meet you. Call me L J or Jack.”
Remembering his last bar experience L J paused, “what do I owe you for the beer?”
“No charge, hon. We are informal around here. What Pack are you from?” she asked.
“Pepin. I’ve been riding with the Satan’s Pelts since then,” he replied.
The blonde cocked her head to one side. “Nasty business that was. Sorry about your Pack. Did you lose anyone?”
“Everyone. Father. Grandfather. Everyone. I was out of town when it went down.” L J replied to the question.
“We heard about the battle way over here in Tennessee. There hasn’t been a clan war like that for years. Your Pack might’ve won if the FBI hadn’t interfered. At least that was how we heard it here,” she replied.
“The Petrov’s and the Jaegers were nothing. We had people in place inside their Packs for years. The local Geri told me of the battle just before he ran me out of town. I was lucky he didn’t call the FBI on me,” L J spat.
“What sort of things did you do for the Pepin Pack?” Gundi asked.
L J snorted, “Negotiations, recruiting, and errands were my primary duties. I was supposed to come back in time to help, but I got stopped at the border by a joint ATF-DEA patrol. I was clean, but they didn’t care about that part. They held me in custody until the war was over and gone.”
“Witches are like that. We should be hunting them down. Let me tell you something you might not know. The same Witch that took down your Pack threatened us here,” Gundi told him.
L J’s mouth dropped open. “Here? You had that bitch of a Witch here? In the bar?”
Gundi nodded. She pointed to the blackened wall to the rear. “Right there. She threatened to burn all of us to death.”
Following her finger, L J looked at the fire-blackened wall and ceiling. “Damn Feds. Did you report her?”
“To who?” Gundi asked.
“I know you meant ‘whom’ there, little sister. Hello. I’m Jacob Moon,” the Pack Alpha appeared next to L J holding out his hand.
L J looked at the hand like it was a snake trying to bite him. His senses were screaming at him that something big and bad was nearby. Carefully he slipped his own hand into it.
“Welcome to the Moon, Jack. Are you looking for a new home? We are always looking for a few good Wolves around here,” Jacob stated.
Chapter 2
“It’s just a broken leg. I’ve worked with way worse injuries. Isn’t there any way I can at least go back to my team? We have a bus. I can spend all day with the science geek.” Bill was increasingly frustrated with the doctors at the Austin, Texas rehabilitation hospital. Seven weeks was a long time to just sit and not work. His wife had left the day before to go check on the house and take care of bills and things. She couldn’t stay here forever. Neither could he.
Smirking, Dr. Mitchum could only shake his head at his patient of the past five weeks. “Mr. Maxwell, Bill, we have discussed this numerous times. Healing takes time. That bullet caused you a severe leg fracture. If not for the ORIF surgery performed by the attending hospital, you might never have used it properly again. The way they fused the bones together… Let’s just say the cast on your leg needs to stay on. You are free to move about the facility carefully, but please tell your nurse. If we have to send out a search party like last time, I will have you strapped down and fed intravenously. Do we have an understanding?”
Bill made a grumbling noise that sounded a bit like “yes,” possibly “yes, sir.”
“I will take that as an agreement from you. Have your nurse call me if you have any different questions or at least ones that refer to your treatment,” the doctor turned and walked out of the room.
“Stupid,” Bill muttered to the empty room. “You take one little walk outside, and everyone loses their damn minds.”
“Only when that walk is up on the roof and through a door that is supposed to be locked,” a strange voice replied.
Bill looked up to see a tall brunette nurse watching him from the doorway. “I wanted to get a little fresh air that’s all.”
The woman was leaning on the frame. She cocked her head to one side and smiled. Raising her hand, she pointed toward the windows. “I do believe that is what that window and the park trail outside is for. Walking the trail out there might do you some good stretching out your legs. It would sure make my job a little easier.”
Bill frowned at the stranger. “Your job? What would your job be exactly then?”
“Physical therapist. Yours to be specific. Someone up there thinks you’re sort of special and told me to come work with you a bit. They tell me that we need more special people just like you out in the world.” The woman pointed her finger toward the ceiling.
Snorting, Bill shook his head at the physical therapist. “My bosses have two opinions of me. The first one is that I’m out of date and should be put out to pasture.”
The dark-haired woman pushed off the door frame and stepped into the room. Her gaze taking in every detail of the place in a single glance like someone in law enforcement might do. Catching Bill’s eyes as he studied her, she smiled. “You aren’t all that old. I would think your bosses, whoever they are, would appreciate experience over youth.”
“You would think that. But the FBI doesn’t share your opinion. They are like a kid with a shiny new toy. All whizz bang and no work. A buddy of mine tells me it takes three agents to do what one could do when I first started working for the bureau.”
“I thought computers and all that new technology was supposed to speed things up. It’s not all paper and pencil anymore is it?” The woman in nurse’s clothing asked Bill as she crossed the room and settled into the lone chair.
Bill tracked her movements like a cat watching a squirrel. His eyes narrowed as she sat down. None of his other nurses even tried to talk to him like this. “It’s not that way at all. To be truthful, I love the features of my new phone. It makes much of my investigative work far easier. But everything still takes time. Many of our records are old and only now being inputted into the system. My current boss bitches about all the paperwork constantly.”
“It sounds to me like he needs to take a breather. Is this the same boss that is trying to put you out to stud?” The nurse grinned at Bill and made her eyebrows jump.
Bill laughed. “She. My boss is a woman. My wife might object to that just a bit. I can see her chasing any filly that tried across the field with a very heavy frying pan in her hand. She’s a terror in the kitchen.”
“It sounds like both of them keep you in line pretty well."
“My wife does keep a pretty good eye on me. Agatha, my boss, has other ways of keeping track of me. Who are you exactly?” Bill looked pointedly at the nurse.
“I told you I was your new physical therapist. It’s my job to get you back in shape.”
Bill frowned at the physical therapist. “Name?”
“I’m not one of your cases, Agent Bill Maxwell. My name is Genevieve Vogel. As I told you before. I’m here to help.” She smiled at his puzzled expression.
“You are the first person here to take the time to talk to me like this. It makes a man a bit suspicious ... that’s all. What do I call you?” Bill patted his hospital gown as if looking for something.
“You are ever the investigator, aren’t you? Call me Gen if you like or Nurse Vogel when your wife is around. I don’t want you to get into any trouble.” Gen pulled a notepad and pen out of her tunic and handed it to him.
Taking the pen and paper from her, Bill asked, “What’s this for?”