Page 88 of Crimson Moon Falling

Sighing, I held out my hands, and he carefully handed her over, her tiny body rigid with distress.

Her wails bounced off the walls, and I laid her upright against my chest. Then I sat in the rocking chair in her room and patted her tiny back, trying to work out whatever bubbles might be trapped in her tummy. She finally let out a few burps, her breathing evened out, and her tiny body softened against my chest.

Owen leaned against her crib and looked at us. His energy had shifted from hate and resentment to grudging curiosity. “You’re not Pack, and you don’t know shit about kids. Why does she like you so much?”

I glanced down at Feeny’s face with her tiny fist scrunched up under her chin. Her mouth worked as she slept. “Maybe she knows I’m terrified I’ll damage her somehow, so she cuts me some slack.”

He was quiet for a long moment as Feeny’s tiny chest rose and fell against mine.

“I don’t like you.” His words didn’t have the usual venom. “You don’t belong here, and you make my brother weaker.”

His words scraped against me. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“That makes it worse.” He let out a long, heavy breath. “You’re better for Feeny than Anna could ever be. And most female shifters I know,” he grudgingly added. His gray eyes met mine in the dim light. “Feeny wouldn’t even be alive if you hadn’t shown Anna mercy that night.”

Conall spoke from the doorway. “You’re a fucking hypocrite.” Owen turned, his shoulders stiffening. “You tell her you don’t like her and that she doesn’t belong. But you knock on her door, hand her your daughter, and admit she’s the best role model you know. So she’s good enough to help raise your child but not good enough to be Pack?”

Owen’s jaw worked. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s exactly that simple.” Conall stepped into the room. “Take your daughter and get out of Riley’s face.”

Chapter 27

Riley

The Thirsty Crow sat low against the desert landscape, with its rusty sign, weathered timber, and a wooden porch running its length. The smell of lemon cleaner, beer, and whatever gumbo Otis was making hit me as I walked in.

Otis stood behind the bar, wiping down glasses, his slate-blue skin catching the light from the front windows. He reminded me of some epic Nordic god.

“Morning, cher. You look a little tired.” He was a former Marine, stood over six and a half feet tall, and spoke with a slight French Creole accent. I still didn’t know why he was here, working as our cook in this small-town Western bar.

“It’s been a week.” I slid onto a barstool. “Where’s Parker?”

“Doin’ inventory.”

Parker emerged from the stockroom with a clipboard and a pencil tucked behind his ear. His hair was messier than usual.

He lifted an eyebrow when he saw me. “Well, look what the cat hacked up.”

“Nice to see you too. I have a comb if you lost yours.”

Parker leaned against the bar. “We heard about Owen being the father of Anna’s baby. What a little shit.”

The ogre slid a cup of coffee to Parker and hot black tea and a slice of savory jalapeño cornbread to me. “And I thought my family was crazy,” he muttered. He set honey next to my plate, and I drizzled it over the cornbread, then squeezed a drop into my tea.

“This smells delicious, thank you. Where’s McKenna?”

Otis’s mouth tightened. “She’s probably working at the bike shop, but she’ll be happy to see you. I need to check on my gumbo.” He went back into the kitchen, and I turned to Parker.

“What’s going on?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s struggling. Her nightmares are bad, and she wakes up screaming sometimes.”

I set the teacup down. McKenna was the missing person in my last case, and we’d tracked her down, and Conall and Sawyer got us out alive. But not before she’d been tortured and repeatedly raped.

“Otis keeps an eye on her. He takes her food, and they sometimes eat together. She doesn’t flinch around us as much as she used to.”

“I’ll go see her today.” My Airstream trailer sat behind the bar and Parker’s house in a grove of juniper trees. He would be able to hear her screams.