Hunger Moon Rising Read online

  Hunger Moon Rising

  Evangeline Anderson

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Evangeline Anderson Books

  Hunger Moon Rising

  Copyright © 2007 by Evangeline Anderson

  E-book License Notes

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  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek at Alien Mate Index 4: Severed

  Also by Evangeline Anderson

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Danielle Linden

  “Come on, Ben, put your back into it.” I looked across the solid mahogany desk at my writing partner and best friend and pushed at the heavy wood again. He was being remarkably unhelpful for such a big guy, and I was beginning to wonder if he needed a multivitamin or something.

  “Since when did you turn into such a slave driver?” Ben grumbled good-naturedly, shoving at the desk, which barely moved.

  “Since I finally rate my own corner office around here. And since we're holding up traffic.” I jerked my head, nodding at Pete, the copy boy, who was giving us a frustrated look for blocking the walkway between the bullpen and our managing editor, Barry Craythorne's office. The Sun Times was a big prestigious paper shoved into a teeny-tiny cramped space. They kept saying we were going to move to a new building, but I wasn't holding my breath.

  “Ya know, that's going to be my office too,” Ben pointed out. “We're a team—we share the office and the desk.” He looked at it critically. “It's certainly big enough to fit two.”

  With any other guy, I would have automatically assumed he was thinking of having sex on my great-grandfather's solid mahogany desk. But with Ben, it was just an innocent statement. He was such a nice guy he wouldn't know how to sexually harass someone if he took a seminar on it.

  “We're not sharing anything until we get the damn thing into the office,” I pointed out. “Now come on. All those muscles can't just be for show.”

  “But they are—they're strictly ornamental. Not meant for everyday use.”

  “Just like your brain, I guess,” I said, teasing him.

  “Aw, Dani, are you saying you love me just for my looks?” he teased back, flashing that “aw-shucks” grin at me—the one that was so sweet and innocent it always made people forget he was built like Mister Hardbody. Ben was six-four if he was an inch—all broad shoulders, big muscles, and naturally tan skin I would've killed for, especially in winter when my own epidermis was a sad shade of fish-belly white. He also had coal-black hair and those big brown eyes to die for, or so my little sister Tara said. Personally, I didn't notice Ben that way. He was the nicest guy in the world, and I would've done anything for him, but we were just friends. Friends who currently weren't getting very far with moving the heavy mahogany desk.

  “Ben—” I started again in exasperation, but a frantic voice interrupted my words.

  “Danielle Linden—I need to talk to Danielle Linden!” A man with ragged gray hair and wide, frightened eyes bolted into the newsroom, followed by Sam, our elderly security guard. He clutched a crumpled piece of paper in one hand, and he was dodging around desks like an Olympic athlete to get to me.

  “That's me,” I said, climbing over the top of the desk to reach him, since there was no room on either side to walk around. This wasn't an easy maneuver in a short skirt, but I managed well enough.

  “Ms. Linden. Oh, thank God!” The man skidded to a halt in front of me, but not before Ben had managed to put himself between us.

  “Hold on a minute.” He held out one large hand to keep the frantic looking man at arm's length and frowned. “What's going on? Why do you need to see Ms. Linden?”

  “Oh, Ben, for heaven's sake.” I shoved out from behind him just as Sam, puffing and blowing like he'd just finished a marathon, finally caught up.

  “Sorry…Ms. Linden,” he puffed, attempting to grab the man's arm. “He got…right past me.”

  “That's okay, Sam,” I said distractedly. I looked at the man who was still clutching the crumpled paper in one hand. “What did you need to see me about, sir?”

  “About this.” He shoved the paper into my hands, and I did the best I could to straighten it out. It was a graduation picture folded in half, and it showed a pretty girl with white-blond hair and pale blue eyes wearing a matching cap and gown. “It's my girl. She's McKinsey. They took her. She's gone.” His words were so quick and mumbly I could barely understand him.

  “McKinsey? What's her first name?” I asked, but he only shook his head.

  “They took her. They took her!”

  “Who took her, sir? And what makes you think I can help?” I asked him.

  “'Cause you help people. I read your articles. You sent all those people to jail. Made sure they couldn't hurt nobody else in that nursing home.” He nodded at me hopefully.

  “Oh.” I nodded back, pretending to understand. He must have been referring to the article on nursing home corruption that Ben and I had won an investigative journalism award for last year. I was proud of the piece and the results it had gotten, but I still didn't see how it applied here.

  “They took her—please, Ms. Linden. Nobody else believes me. The police don't believe me. Nobody can help but you,” the man babbled.

  “I want to help you, but I don't understand,” I said gently. I pointed at the picture. “Is this your daughter?”

  The man nodded vigorously, making his ragged gray hair flap comically. Okay, now we were getting somewhere.

  “Good,” I said. “Now, who, exactly, did you say took her?”

  The man's eyes got wide. “Wolves!” he blurted, his fists clenched at his sides. “Werewolves took her away!”

  The tension that had been building from the minute he shouted my name suddenly broke as someone behind me gave an incredulous laugh. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ben's face grow suddenly tight, probably because he was worried for my safety. The guy seemed harmless enough to me, but it was clear he was just another nut-job. I sighed. And I had been sure I smelled a story.

  “Okay, buddy, that's it. Let's go.” Sam tugged at the man's arm, yanking him forcibly away from me. He was doing a pretty good job for an older man, but my visitor was still frantic.

  “Please,” he begged, tugging against the restraining hand on his arm. “Please—just ask Doctor Locke. He can tell you all about it. Please help me, Ms. Linden! The werewolves—the wolves got her.” He lunged forward, breaking Sam's hold on his arm, and shoved his face into mine. I flinched backward, startled and a little frightened. Was he crazy enough to hurt anyone? For a second I could smell stale coffee and cigarettes on his breath, and the odor