Hunger Moon Rising Read online

  “The Cloven Hoof?” I repeated. I was already out of the booth and fumbling for my keys, but Dani's voice wasn't done yet.

  “I'm not telling you this because I want you to come down here—I don't. You've shown zero interest in this case from the start. I'm just calling to say I'm doing this one on my own, and if you find another story you want to follow up, well, that's okay with me. We can part ways for a while. No hard feelings. Okay?” In the background I could hear the bartender asking for her order, and Dani said, “Shirley Temple with an extra cherry, please.” She never drank when she was working. Then the message clicked off, and an automated voice said, “Message recorded nine twenty-five p.m.”

  “Shit,” I said dismally. Except for the occasional “hell” or “damn,” I don't usually curse a lot. Getting worked up enough to curse usually means I'm not controlling myself very well. But in this case it was totally warranted. Nebraska Avenue was a bad part of town, almost as bad as the docks—a strip of seedy bars and massage parlors where the rougher element of the city liked to hang out. And Dani had gone there by herself. “Shit” was an understatement.

  “Look, Grandpa, I'm sorry, but I have to go.” I reached into my wallet for some money, but he put a hand on my wrist.

  “On me, sonny boy. Did I hear you say something about The Cloven Hoof?”

  “Yeah.” I was already straightening my tie and shrugging into my jacket. I hadn't bothered to change out of my work clothes when I'd called my grandfather and asked him to meet me for dinner.

  “Well, that's a were bar. You know that, right?” He looked concerned.

  I groaned. “I knew it was a biker bar—a leather bar. But no, I didn't know it was a were bar too. Dani's down there all by herself trying to dig up a lead.”

  Grandpa whistled and shook his head. “Not a good place for a lady to be by herself after dark. But listen, Benji, you can't go down there dressed like that.” He nodded at my rumpled white shirt and black suit jacket. I looked down at myself.

  “Why not?”

  “It's a rough bunch down at The Cloven Hoof. You have to command respect the minute you walk in, or you'll end up fighting the lot of them. You need to look the part if you want to go down there and claim your lady friend and come back in one piece.” He dropped some bills on the table and slid out of his side of the booth. “Come on, I think I still have my old leather jacket in my car. That's gonna be more the style for The Cloven Hoof.”

  “All right,” I said, glancing at my watch. “But we have to hurry. Dani left that message almost half an hour ago, and Nebraska Avenue is halfway across town.”

  He chuckled. “You'll make it. Now when you get there, you're gonna have to claim her—show your ownership of her. You know that, right?”

  “What?” I followed him out of The Three Coins, trying to wrap my head around what he was saying.

  “Sure—there's no unattached females at The Cloven Hoof. There's just the ones who haven't been claimed yet.”

  “Look, Grandpa,” I said, “Dani isn't going to be too hot on the idea of being 'claimed' in any way. And as for me owning her…” I shook my head, picturing Dani's face if she got wind of that particular idea. “Well, let's just say she values her independence a lot.”

  He gave a short, barking laugh. “Listen to you, Mister Sensitive. By the Goddess, this damn political correctness thing you got goin' has just about ruined your whole generation.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Let me tell you somethin', sonny boy. If you see another man's hand on her, another male horning in on your territory, you're not gonna be able to help yourself. I'm just gonna give you the protocol. Okay?”

  I thought of my instant reaction of rage to the bum who'd tried to talk to her the night before and reluctantly decided he might be right. It was a good thing I had my grandfather to keep me up on things like pack protocol and all the arcane were language and customs, or I would have been walking into the situation blind.

  “All right,” I said, “But make it quick.”

  “Quick as lightning,” he assured me. “So here's what you do…”

  Chapter Seven

  Dani

  I glanced around at the people inside The Cloven Hoof as I slipped my cell phone back into my purse and waited for my drink to arrive. It looked like a tough crowd with everyone wearing leather and more ink on display than at a tattoo parlor. I noticed there were very few women sitting at the heavy wooden tables—the Hoof's clientele appeared to be mostly men, all of them large and most of them at least partially drunk. You could've cut the testosterone in the air with a knife—if you had a big enough knife that is.

  I was glad I had dressed the part, in an outfit I had borrowed from Tara. She'd gone as a dominatrix to a Halloween party the year before, and her costume was perfect for the leather bar, if a little bit snug on me. I looked down and adjusted the shiny, red vinyl, lace-up bustier for the fourth time, trying to get it to cover more skin. Tara was a full size smaller than me in the bra department, and the result was that my cups runneth over, so to speak.

  The black leather skirt that went with the top hardly deserved the name since it barely even covered my ass. I perched on the bar stool with my thighs pressed modestly close together, wishing I could cross my legs, and knowing I would flash someone if I did. Three inch, black stiletto heels completed the outfit and made me look every bit as trashy as any other woman in the establishment.

  The low grumble of southern rock came over the speakers, but no one was dancing on the tiny, rudimentary dance floor provided at one end of the building. It was just as well, because it looked like it could hold a max of three couples, probably less considering what big bruisers all these guys were. The big, broad-shouldered build that seemed to proliferate reminded me a lot of Ben, although most of these guys were older than my partner, and many were running to fat.

  I played with the tiny white cocktail napkin I hoped would soon hold my drink as I thought of my partner. What was going on with him lately? I would much rather have had him here with me, watching my back, but he had made it very clear that he didn't want anything to do with this story, for whatever reason. Well, at least he'd had the good sense not to ask me to drop it just because he didn't want in on it. Ben was good about giving me space to do my own thing when I needed to, which was one of the reasons I'd made the phone call—to let him know we could go our separate ways for a while. Even in the best friendship you sometimes need space. I just wished that Ben hadn't picked this particular time to need some.

  I sighed. The weirdness with Ben wasn't the only reason I was feeling blue—the atmosphere of The Cloven Hoof was contributing to my general malaise as well. The whole bar scene brought back unpleasant memories of my marriage to Mitch, but not because he'd been a biker or any kind of an outlaw type. No, Mitchell Jerome Whitford the third had been an attorney who specialized in civil litigation and had never been on a motorcycle in his life that I knew of. He'd had blond pretty-boy looks and a big white smile, paired with a forceful charisma that had attracted me at once when we met in college. Of course, I didn't find out until after we were married that he had no soul.

  What brought back the painful memories was the sour scent of beer in the air and the atmosphere of suppressed violence that seemed to hang over the entire bar. It reminded me of the way Mitch had used to get when he was drinking. He'd always start with a beer or seven to get warmed up before he moved on to the hard stuff. During his beer phase, he was a happy guy, as sweet as could be and no trouble at all. It was after the bottle of Jack Daniels came down from the shelf or he'd had a couple belts of Scotch that he started getting mean.

  I rubbed my hands over my arms briskly, trying to get rid of the chillbumps that had formed there. There was no point in thinking of my bastard of an ex-husband now. I had work to do—a lead to catch, and maybe a missing girl to find, if it wasn't too late to find her.

  Just then the bartender, a big guy wearing a leather jacket with no shirt underneath it, finally came back wit