Birthright (Pale Moonlight Book 1) Read online

  Birthright

  Book 1, Pale Moonlight

  By Marie Johnston

  Birthright

  Copyright © 2016 by Lisa Elijah

  Editing by The Killion Group Inc.

  Cover by P and N Graphics

  The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and unintentional.

  Porter Denlan’s home is in turmoil, his pack lives in fear of their cruel leader, but he knows one female whose birthright can govern them without question. Unfortunately, his nemesis is also searching for her—and it isn’t to bring her back to the home she was taken from.

  Raised as a human, Maggie Miller wishes she could connect with her species. But when a sexy carpenter makes outrageous claims about her destiny, she blows him off—despite her intense attraction toward the rugged male. Hours after she watched his admirable backside walk out, three brutes attack her. Unable to stay away from her, Porter jumps to her aid; they barely escape.

  On the run, they learn what Maggie’s birthright truly is—and how it could tear them apart.

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  For every book, there are so many people to thank and I truly appreciate each and every one. Writing began as a solo endeavor and with each book, I realize how important having a team is. The first member of my team, my husband, has been one of the most critical. Without him running interference between the kidlets and the daily grind, my writing time would be next to nil. His support and enthusiasm have kept me going through the ups and downs of this business.

  We make a good team, my dear.

  Chapter One

  The only reason Porter Denlan wasn’t a tuft of fur in the breeze was because his death would be too obvious, too convenient. But soon, it wouldn’t matter.

  Sitting in Town Hall, he fumed while listening to a power hungry psycho speak at the podium. The speaker’s best interest wasn’t for the town, Lobo Springs; his primary concern wasn’t for the people of the quaint, woodsy village. And that was a shame because he was their leader.

  Porter never whispered about his opposing thoughts of Seamus Meester’s leadership choices. Instead, he was vocal and well witnessed—always. As one of the six clan heads under Seamus’ rule, he ensured none of his pack spoke against the male. As the resident carpenter, Seamus had never viewed him as more than a burr in his paw.

  What Seamus didn’t know would soon hurt him.

  Switching his focus to the asshole at the podium only made Porter want to tear the wooden stand down, plank by plank. To think, he’d built the thing Seamus snidely spoke behind.

  “Denlan is correct. Our new government, the TriSpecies Synod, granted each shifter colony the option to vote in their leadership. However, it does not mean we need to change our ways. We have six clans, each with a capable leader…” he threw Porter a side-eye, suggesting maybe one of the clans’ heads wasn’t, “we have functioned as such for a quarter of a century. Did I not bring Lobo Springs into current times with the name change and all of our advancements?”

  Porter snorted in derision. Seamus narrowed his focus on him. The former name, Great Moon, had been a name worthy of a shifter colony, and in no way dated or suggested that it was any different than a human town.

  Seamus increased the volume of his rough voice until it boomed off the walls. “This town was on the brink of bankruptcy when I took charge. Now you see new stores opening, a library full of books, and our cars no longer sit on the side of the road in disrepair.”

  While he could claim that success and be accurate—he was a money savvy bastard—it didn’t mean the townsfolk had free access to new technologies like wireless internet. Not unless they had a special connection to Seamus or carried out certain favors.

  “Proof alone,” Seamus’ tone dropped low, “that I am a worthy leader of the colony.”

  The figurative dead horse lay in front of Porter, but he beat away on it. “If we have the chance to vote,” he said, biting each word out, “we’ll find out how the shifters of each clan feel about the way the colony is run.”

  “So far,” Seamus’ lips turned up smugly, “the only shifter I see complaining…is you. How far would you have us carry this voting business, Denlan? Do we elect clan leaders next?”

  Ah, the slick prick knew how to play the crowd, from the way he spoke to his styled russet hair and silk ties adorning his business suits. Other clan leaders might fear losing their standing if their members were allowed to vote. Porter didn’t fear his position like the others did. Those of the packs that made up his clan trusted him implicitly, like they had his father.

  “We have an opportunity to advance, to move forward with the world around us. It’s necessary to blend in with humans.” Porter paused to look each one of the representatives in the eye. “It’s necessary to keep up with the vampires.”

  Grumblings wafted through the stale air in the room. Porter knew his remark hit them where it counted. Vampires and shifters may have united in government and species’ security, but the old colonies, the rule-with-an-iron-fist-and-hide-behind-tradition ones like Lobo Springs, resisted as aggressively as possible. They may have accepted satellite TV and Netflix, but it didn’t mean behaving like humans and doing absurd events like elections.

  “We do not follow the herd like fangers.” Typical Seamus move, using shifter pride against them. Typical shifters, it would work. “The Synod leads us, provides council, we follow their laws. No reason to change.”

  Porter wanted to howl, but he wasn’t given to chasing his baser instincts. His wolf demanded release, to challenge Seamus like the old ways, but Porter preferred higher thinking. It’s what made their previous ruler a better leader than Seamus “Kill Them if They Don’t Agree With Me” Meester.

  “You are dismissed, Denlan.” Seamus’ hard voice resonated, quieting any mumblings from the clan representatives.

  Porter sneered at all of them, lingering the longest on Seamus. All eyes dropped away in a sign of deference—and shame.

  The glint of hard steel in Seamus’ green eyes promised retribution. If Porter was a cat, he’d be on life seven-point-five. That’s right, fucker. Think about killing me, and how you can’t because for once it’d be obvious it was you.

  Unlike their leader, Porter used his carpentry skills for the people, often not charging for repairs. He didn’t conduct business like Seamus by holding it over their heads until they loaned him their daughter for the night. His vocal objections often tamed Seamus’ violent tendencies because one, Porter’s work kept him in peak physical shape and Seamus was slightly threatened. Two, Porter was so well-liked within the village that Seamus couldn’t retaliate by killing him without inciting questions that he’d gone feral.

  It made Porter consider offing himself and framing Seamus. If only Porter could risk leaving his pack at the mercy of Seamus orchestrating who he wanted to take Porter’s place if he challenged the male and lost.

  ***

  Maggie Miller waved goodbye to her coworkers as they all scattered like marbles rolling downhill. Her favorite part a
bout Fridays was that she had two whole days of not working at the daycare center. As an adult, she still hadn’t answered the question of what she wanted to be when she grew up, but it certainly wasn’t a preschool teacher.

  She loved the kids. They were the only reason she survived each day. Their energy helped her run her own levels down. The fidgety preschoolers had nothing on her; she was always so restless.

  Blame it on biology.

  During the routine drive home, she calculated the time she’d need to get to her other job. Freemont was coming alive with the weekend crowd. She watched them with keen shifter eyes, evaluating who was out for fun, who was out for mischief, who was out for no good. A habit of hers she’d developed as a teenager. Instincts she’d been acting on for a few years.

  As she drove into the underground parking garage of her apartment complex, her phone rang.

  One guess who was calling her on a Friday night.

  “Hey, Ma,” she answered, maneuvering into her assigned parking spot.

  “Maggie,” her mother’s raspy voice greeted in return. “I made too much for dinner if you’d like to come over.”

  Same thing, different Friday night. Her mother worried that she lived on her own. Fretted that she might go out after dark.

  They were shifters, for fuck’s sake! Darkness was when they came alive and roamed the city looking for company to get carnal with.

  The others out after sunset should be scared of her.

  “Sorry, Ma. I just picked up something to eat and ordered a movie on pay-per-view I’ve been dying to see. I was really looking forward to a quiet night in. Work was especially chaotic today. It’s always that way the week of daylight savings time.”

  “Oh.” Her mom’s disappointment was palpable—and meant to inspire enough guilt to change her mind.

  Maggie clued into her manipulations years ago. Armana Miller had contrived so much of Maggie’s life, took her away from their people to live in the human world, and drove away her brother, Jace. He was the only male who had ever been a part of her life and he was as good as dead to her. As her only family left, Maggie appeased her mom and practiced escape and evade tactics to safeguard as much freedom as possible. Like lying over the phone so she couldn’t scent Maggie’s deception.

  “Do you want to come over tomorrow?” Hope dripped from each word.

  Deep mental sigh. “Sure. An early dinner?” Because she had plans for tomorrow night, too. Ones her mother didn’t need to know about.

  “Absolutely. I bought an excellent roast. I can sear it and we’ll dig in.”

  The rarest of rare. Maggie’s empty stomach rumbled its approval. Her mother might irritate the shit out of her, but the female could cook. Roasts, bacon wrapped meatloaf, rib night…

  Every time she cut into one of her mother’s rare cuts of meat, she marveled that the shifter female hadn’t adapted the well-doneness humans preferred, too.

  It was comforting to know there was at least one limit to her mother’s human assimilation.

  “I’ll be there at four. Love ya, Ma.” Maggie waited for the automatic “love you, too” response and disconnected before her mother mothered even more.

  She took the stairs two at time to her third floor flat and burst through her door. She had thirty minutes to change and get to her second job.

  Shedding her chevron-print maxi skirt and billowy shirt, she tossed them into the laundry. Next went her bra and underwear. All the items were comfortable and hid her sensual figure—and that’s why they were absolutely wrong for where she was headed.

  She shook her long, mahogany hair out of its twist, running her fingers through it. Out of her closet she grabbed a red leather corset, tight red pants that hugged every inch of her rounded hips and muscular thighs. Black stilettos that tied up her ankles completed the ensemble, but she’d lace those before she left.

  The dickwads living below her called management and complained whenever she walked around wearing them.

  Sometimes she wished she’d brought her dates home. Let management bluster their way through an explanation of that bitch session.

  Brushing her hair into a sleek, dark shine to lay over one shoulder, she decided on her makeup. The smoky eye went really well with her pale blue eyes. Three layers of mascara and blood red lipstick and she was barely recognizable as the preschool teacher who ran around the playground.

  With two faux diamond studs and a pair of serpent wraparound earrings, she braced herself. Individually, she shoved each one through the tender skin of her ear lobe. Wincing slightly, she was accustomed to the pain. Her shifter blood healed her body so fast, just changing styles required a new piercing. They didn’t fit her daycare persona, so she chose to puncture a pair in whenever necessary.

  She’d love a tattoo, maybe one along her hipbone to peak out the top of her skirt, but the cost of silver-laced tattoo ink was well out of her price range. Anything less and her shifter skin would heal and wipe out the ink. To compensate and add flair to her appearance, she lined each wrist with sparkly bangles

  Twenty minutes before her shift started and it took fifteen to get to the edge of town for work. She grabbed a long grey coat out of her closet, threw it on, snatched her shoes and sprinted back down the stairs.

  Pulling up to work with minutes to spare, she crammed her feet into the fuck-me heels, yanked the ties up, and trotted inside as quickly as possible in sky-high shoes.

  The girl at the counter of The Gift Shop glanced up, then at the clock. “Cuttin’ it close, Miller.”

  “Is she still here?” Maggie shrugged off her coat. The shop was empty, but they hadn’t entered prime shopping time for the specialty store.

  “In the back. Here.” Vanessa’s French-tipped manicure clacked away on the computer as she logged out and turned the screen to Maggie. “Hurry and log in. You’ve got a minute before you’re officially late.”

  Maggie’s boss put any bitch to shame—shifter or human. Brenda Higgins ruled the novelty sex shop with a twenty-four carat gold fist. She knew the industry inside and out, had been in the sex business in some form her entire adult life. Mrs. Higgins wasn’t afraid to change with the times. The Gift Shop’s online business more than supplemented the steady flow of the shop.

  “Done.” Maggie hit enter on her login, grinning at Vanessa. The human could be considered a friend. Not that she could get close to any.

  The whole I-could-turn-into-a-wolf detail created distance in any friendship with humans.

  “It’s gonna be a busy night. I’ll be home all night. The hubs is home, too, so call if you need help.” Vanessa rolled her eyes to the back room. “I doubt you’ll get any otherwise.”

  “Is she staying all night?” Maggie whispered.

  Vanessa shrugged. “Doubt it, but you know how she likes to hover. Anyway, I have to pick Tanner up from daycare. Later.”

  The girl loved working at the shop. Vanessa and her husband tested each toy, and she had become the go-to expert on all things erotic. Her first-hand knowledge and people skills earned her a nice wage from Mrs. Higgins.

  Maggie…not so much.

  She had only mild interest in sex toys, lubes, or restraints. The majority of her knowledge came from listening to Vanessa dispense advice. It wasn’t that she scorned them, but shifters weren’t known for their patience and many of the items she sold required more than a hormonal urge and a willing body. Very few shifters frequented the store.

  Maggie anticipated that would change. She predicted that once her kind experienced the pleasure sexual devices could bring and the dominance certain items promised, the store’s profit would double.

  “Maggie.” Mrs. Higgins strode in. How she managed to look down her nose at Maggie who stood a good six inches taller than her—before she put her heels on—was a skill the woman had mastered completely.

  “Hey, Mrs. Higgins.” Thank goodness her human boss couldn’t smell emotions because insincerity dripped off Maggie.

  Mrs. Higgins eyes narro
wed. Still, the woman possessed some weird sixth sense. She’d only hired Maggie because she was desperate. Maggie tolerated their less desirable clientele and didn’t scare off easily. She also didn’t complain about working nighttime weekend hours.

  Mrs. Higgins constantly ensured Maggie knew she’d been a last resort.

  As if Maggie cared. She didn’t need this job for monetary reasons. Preschool teachers didn’t rake in a sweet wage, but it paid rent, her car payment, and bought groceries.

  Her job at The Gift Shop was necessary for other reasons. It soothed her antsy soul.

  For the next twenty minutes, Maggie was put through “the quiz” where Mrs. Higgins grilled her about the novelties the store offered.

  Maggie threw Mrs. Higgins a curve ball. “The strawberries and cream edible panties taste like sugared plastic.” She grinned at the shock registering on her employer’s face.

  Much of Mrs. Higgins distain was Maggie’s perceived innocence. If only the boss lady knew. Maggie couldn’t rattle off how well anal plugs stayed in place, or the true effectiveness of Benwa beads, but she couldn’t claim purity.

  She was a shifter with all their urges—as much as her mother pushed her otherwise. Isolated from her species, she knew next to nothing about her kind, but she learned all about how different she was from the people surrounding her every day of her life.

  “Have you sampled the flavored lubes?” The woman’s eyes almost crossed with her superior expression.

  “I bought the sampler pack. The chocolate one’s nothing like a Lindor truffle, but I guess it’s better than cock flavor.”

  The corner of Mrs. Higgins mouth quirked. “Indeed.”

  Score. Maggie could win over the old maid yet.

  With a regal nod and a few more instructions, Maggie was finally alone.

  Customers filtered into the store. Ladies asked her questions, guys asked her opinion, and two dudes gave her their phone numbers.