Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Teaser chapter

  PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF RUTH GLICK (WRITING AS REBECCA YORK)

  “A compulsive read.” —Publishers Weekly

  “York delivers an exciting and suspenseful romance with paranormal themes that she gets just right. This is a howling good read.” —Booklist

  “Mesmerizing action and passions that leap from the pages with the power of a wolf’s coiled spring.”

  —Bookpage

  “Killing Moon is a delightful supernatural private investigator romance starring two charming lead characters.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Rebecca York delivers page-turning suspense.”

  —Nora Roberts

  “Glick’s prose is smooth, literate, and fast-moving; her love scenes are tender yet erotic; and there’s always a happy ending.” —The Washington Post Book World

  “A true master of intrigue.” —Rave Reviews

  “No one sends more chills down your spine than the very creative and imaginative Ms. York!”

  —Romantic Times

  “She writes a fast-paced, satisfying thriller.”—UPI

  “Edge of the Moon is clever and a great read. I can’t wait to read the final book in this wonderful series.”

  —Paranormal Romance Reviews

  Don’t miss these other werewolf romantic suspense novels from Rebecca York

  CRIMSON MOON

  A young werewolf bent on protecting the environment ends up protecting a lumber baron’s daughter—a woman who arouses his hunger as no other . . .

  KILLING MOON

  A P.I. with a preternatural talent for tracking finds his prey: a beautiful genetic researcher who may be his only hope for a future . . .

  EDGE OF THE MOON

  A police detective and a woman who files a missing persons report become the pawns of an unholy serial killer in a game of deadly attraction . . .

  WITCHING MOON

  A werewolf and a sexy biologist investigate a swamp steeped in superstition, legend, and death . . .

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  SHADOW OF THE MOON

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation edition / June 2006

  Copyright © 2006 by Ruth Glick.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without

  permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of

  the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-0-425-20961-5

  BERKLEY SENSATION®

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY SENSATION is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE THICK UNDERBRUSH of Rock Creek Park made the perfect cover for the gray wolf who hunted in these woods where no wolf should be.

  He wasn’t stalking deer or rabbits. He was a werewolf, and he was after much more exotic wildlife.

  Laughter drifted toward him through the darkness, and he moved closer to a hulking building perched at the edge of the woods. A fantasy of stone and concrete, it was built like a medieval fortress with turrets and small, arched windows designed for privacy—or to prevent escape.

  To his right, he picked up footsteps and the strong scent of a man who hadn’t bathed in a couple of days.

  Blending back into the shadows, the wolf watched a security guard pass on his rounds, then crept toward the front of the building.

  It was called the Eighteen Club—or, more familiarly, the Castle—and he knew the main floor housed a couple of nightclubs. Above and below it were much more interesting private rooms—set up to accommodate any sexual fantasy that the elite of the nation’s capital could imagine.

  A long black limousine pulled up and disgorged a U.S. senator, his broad smile and craggy eyebrows instantly recognizable. Tonight he bent his head as he hurried toward the front door.

  The wolf watched as the senator was swallowed up by the massive stone building. Then something subtle caught his attention.

  He looked to his left, peering into the darkness, then blinked as he saw a shadow detach itself from a tree. A woman, judging from her body shape and feminine scent. She wore black leggings, a long-sleeved black top, and her hair was tied up in a black bandanna.

  Like her body, her face was delicate. With his night vision, he could clearly see her light eyes, her little nose, her lips that might have been sensual if they hadn’t been pressed into a thin line.

  A wisp of blond hair had escaped from her bandanna, adding an endearing touch.

  But the overall effect was no-nonsense. He saw anger, determination, and more.

  What had the Eighteen Club done to her? Alienated the affections of her lover?

  Something dangled from a strap around her neck. A camera.

  Was she part of a special security patrol? Had she come to take pictures of the people who entered the club, so she could blackmail them? Or was she stalking this place for the same reason as he? And what were the odds of that?

  More cars pulled up, and she began snapping pictures. First she caught a man and a woman. He wasn’t a political celebrity. Far from it. This guy kept his face out of the media. But he had a reputation for getting things done if the price was right. The woman with him was a looker, wearing a barely there little red dress. She was slender, except for the large breasts that had probably been purchased from a plastic surgeon’s catalog.

  The woman in black snapped another patron. A matron in her late forties or early fifties with auburn hair and a face that looked like it was just on the verge of sagging.

  When the photographer moved closer to get a better angle with her camera, he might have growled a warning—but it was already too late. One of the security men had spotted her.

  “Hold it right there!”

  She whirled as the guard moved quickly toward her.

  “Freeze. Hands in the air—or I’ll shoot.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE WOLF COULDN’T see the woman’s face, but he felt her terror—smelled it wafting toward him in the night air.

  “Take off your camera and put it down on the ground.” The guard’s voice was edged with steel.

  With unsteady hands, she followed directions, standing helplessly by as he slung the strap over his own shoulder.

  “Come on,” he ordered.

  “Where?”

  “Inside.”


  She looked like she wanted to run. But the gun kept her standing in place.

  “Let me go. I didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Then what were you doing?”

  The wolf waited for the answer, and gave her points for guts—and fast talking. “I’m an amateur photographer. I was in the woods taking pictures of the natural environment, and I was curious about the lights. I didn’t see any No Trespassing signs.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that? When you sneak up on us at night dressed like a damn ninja? Move. Down there. Around the back.”

  The man started toward his victim, obviously enjoying himself.

  The wolf watched the drama. This woman’s fate was none of his business, he told himself. But he couldn’t make himself buy into it.

  Over the past weeks, he’d discovered a lot about the Castle. If the guard took her inside, she might never come out again alive. And death might not be the worst thing that happened to her.

  The wolf could feel his heart pounding, his adrenaline pumping as his body tensed to strike. Once the thought of attacking entered his mind, the savage need built.

  He was in back of the guard, and the man was focused on his victim, sure that a lone woman in the woods wasn’t going to get the drop on him.

  He pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Hands behind you,” he ordered.

  With a snarl, the wolf sprang, leaping on the man’s back, taking him down. The handcuffs clanked to the ground, and the guard’s finger squeezed the trigger of his gun.

  As the wayward shot rang out, the wolf went for the gun hand, chomping down until the man screamed in agony and fear as he lost his grip on the weapon.

  The woman screamed as well, then turned and dashed into the trees, as the security force came pounding toward the sound of the shot.

  Snatching the camera strap in his teeth, the wolf pulled it free, then took off after the woman, his body bracing for the thud of a bullet piercing his flesh.

  But he was lucky. The guard was in no shape to fire his weapon, and the other men were too far away for an accurate shot in the dark.

  The wolf disappeared into the forest, following the woman’s scent, the camera thudding against his chest.

  “What the fuck?” he heard someone shout.

  “Get the damn girl,” another voice gasped.

  “And the dog.”

  He kept moving. He couldn’t see the woman now. But he could hear her crunching across dry leaves, desperate to get away from the men with guns. And from the creature who had come to her rescue. He knew that as well as he knew anything else.

  She was in good shape; she could run fast. And she must have made sure of her escape route, because she seemed to know where she was going.

  Too bad she hadn’t done a little more research before coming here in the first place. The Castle was a well-guarded playground for the rich and powerful. Anyone who tried to get too close was taking an enormous risk.

  She fled through the woods, up an incline, then slipped partway down again. Scrambling for purchase, she righted herself and kept going toward the houses on the other side of the stream valley.

  He saw her hand go into her pocket, probably fumbling for keys. She pulled out a remote control, pressed the button, and lights blinked as a car lock opened.

  As the wolf reached the edge of the woods, he heard the vehicle’s engine roar to life. Leaping onto the black-top, he put on an extra burst of speed. The car jerked, and pulled away from the curb. Exhaust roared in his face, making him cough.

  But he focused on the license plate, taking in the letters and numbers, committing them to memory as the woman sped into the darkness, not bothering to turn on her lights.

  The guys in back of her didn’t know she’d escaped. They were crashing through the woods behind him like crazed elephants, unwilling to give up.

  What were they going to do—start shooting in the middle of a residential neighborhood?

  He dashed past the homes across the street and into an alley. Two dogs heard him streak past and started barking. He could hear people behind brick walls warning them to cut it out.

  He ended in the backyard of a house that was currently vacant, trotting past beds of blooming black-eyed Susans. He’d called them chocolate daisies when he’d been a kid. In the breezeway between the house and the garage, he carefully set down the camera, then began the chant that he had learned when he was sixteen.

  The words of transformation. As a wolf, he couldn’t say them aloud. But they echoed in his mind, in his very bones.

  Taranis, Epona, Cerridwen, he silently intoned, then repeated the same phrase and went on to another.

  Ga. Feart. Cleas. Duais. Aithriocht. Go gcumhdai is dtreorai na deithe thu.

  Before he finished, he felt the familiar pain as his body began to morph from wolf to a man named Lance Marshall. The change from one form to another was in his genes, in the fabric of his existence.

  Back on the night he’d first changed from boy to wolf, he’d been giddy with relief when he’d found himself lying in a forest clearing with his head throbbing. His father, a shaggy gray wolf, had been standing over him, no doubt exhilarated to find that his fourth son wasn’t going to die during transformation as two of his older boys had.

  Tonight, he pushed through the change, then quickly reached for his sweatpants, pulling them on over his naked butt because speed was the important thing about dressing and undressing out in the middle of a city.

  It was always hard to cope with the senses of a mere man when he had been blessed only moments before with a wolf’s wonderful faculties. But there were compensations, he thought as he picked up the camera in his hand and stuffed it into his knapsack.

  After waiting in the shadows for a few minutes, he stepped into the alley, walked to where he’d left his car, then drove out of the city toward his property bordering the Patuxent State Park in Howard County, Maryland.

  His brother, Grant, who owned a construction company, had built him a house. Nature lover’s rustic, he’d called it. A wood and stone structure, nestled into the side of a hill, with lots of space where he could shelve his books and spread out his research materials.

  Although he’d gotten exactly what he wanted, it had been difficult for two werewolves to work together because they were all alpha males. But they’d each tried to keep from attacking the other—because they were determined not to end up like their father and uncles, exhibiting all the old family traits of brotherly love. Not.

  When he stopped at a traffic light, he picked up his cell phone and punched in a speed-dial number—for his cousin Ross, who was a private detective.

  Until three years ago, Lance had never met his cousins, but Ross had gotten in touch with Grant and then with Lance, partly because he had some important information about preventing the death of werewolf children. Now they had a gentleman’s agreement to help each other when help was needed.

  “Lance, are you keeping out of trouble?” Ross asked.

  “As much as you are.”

  His cousin made a dismissive sound. “My life isn’t exactly like the old days, before I acquired a wife and kids and responsibilities.”

  “Yeah,” Lance answered, thinking none of that was on his personal agenda. But he hadn’t called to spout his philosophy of life.

  “I read your story on that heroin ring in Baltimore. That was good work,” Ross said.

  “Thanks.”

  “I guess you sniffed out the drug dealers.”

  Lance laughed. “Yeah.”

  “You’re a damn good writer—for a guy with your genes.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I need some information for another project—something that I’ve moved to the front burner.”

  “For the Washington Post?”

  “It’s still in the preliminary research stages. Maybe it’s going to be a book.”

  “Fantastic.”

  Lance dragged in a breath and let it out. “Can you get your police detective friend to run a Maryland license plate for me?”

  “Sure.”

  He gave his cousin the letters and numbers, wondering what he would find out about the woman dressed like a ninja.