Page 16 of Black Moon

A second later, he was pulling the extra office chair in next to mine, and Zeke was slipping out the clinic door, with one last nod in my direction.

Friday. On the night of the black moon, Brook was coming home. Whatever it took from us.

8

Colt

Two days into my time in Grovetown, and I’d familiarized myself with all the downtown shops. There was a precious little coffee house where I got a danish and a latte for breakfast, and people were finally starting to look at me with something more like curiosity than abject mistrust.

Sometimes, the best thing you could do in a pack that closed off around outsiders was hang around, try and stay quiet and inoffensive, and wait for them to come to you.

Unfortunately, I’d never been an enormously patient guy, and while I’d shoved my phone away after a message from Chase asking me when I’d be back in DC, I’d decided I needed a real distraction.

It was time for me to check out Grove Apple Grove. Even if I couldn’t get the late alpha’s son to give me the time of day, and it felt shady to go snooping around a family in mourning, that was a public business. I had a better chance of finding out something there than just about anywhere else in Grovetown.

I was beginning to realize my Prius probably wasn’t up for all this uphill driving on dirt roads, but when I curved around the top of the hill—mountain? I was going with hill—that opened onto a single story, broad wooden building, I was shocked at how many cars were in the parking lot.

Clearly, they weren’t all from town, but tourists from all over the region swinging baskets on their arms, holding the hands of children as they walked toward the paths between trees short enough to pluck apples from.

We’d been apple picking when I was a kid—I didn’t think here—and I remembered being miserable, Chase with his firm hand on my shoulder while we were freezing our asses off for a photo shoot for Dad’s campaign. It’d never been like this: laid back, sweet, and charming.

I shut my door and looked up to the building, where a young man was passing baskets out to people waiting in line.

Beyond, the barn doors were thrown open, big barrels placed in front of the doors to keep them still. There were enormous crates of apples for those who didn’t want to make an experience of the whole thing, stacks of pies on rustic wooden tables, and goodlord—what was that smell?

I wandered closer to the building and got swept up in the warmth of cinnamon and a tart sweetness, letting it draw me in to a warm container full of the most luscious-looking donuts I’d ever seen.

“Cider donut?”

I spun around to see a blond woman smiling at me. She was young, about my height, but I was tall for an omega. And she was short—for an alpha. She had that sweet-as-sugar southern girl smile, and I knew that look. I also knew it often hid the sharpest fangs.

“Rowan made ’em this morning. Mind, if you’ll be around a while, I suspect he’ll make another batch soon. We’re running low.”

“I’d love one, thanks.”

She pulled it out for me with a pair of tongs and dropped it in a napkin. “You need a bag?”

“Not a chance.” I reached out and took it, and that first bite was world-shattering. “Holy shit,” I whispered. She cocked a brow at me, and I covered my mouth. “Sorry. Kids. Right. I mean, that’s really good though.”

She rolled her eyes and headed behind the counter to check me out. “Of course it is. Rowan’s practically magic. His pies keep real well if you’ve got a sweet tooth.”

I eyed them with a wilting smile. “All I’ve got in the motel is a microwave. I think microwaving one of those beauties might be a crime in this town.”

She chuckled. “We do like our apples.”

I paid her and glanced above the counter at a sign on the wall that said: Grove Apple Orchard.

That was a little less ridiculous of a name. A little.

“So, is it Grove, Apple Grove like Bond, James Bond, or Grove Apple Orchard?”

She stared at me blankly. “If you have to ask, you’ll never know.”

“Well, I could guess,” I admitted, shrugging, “but I was thinking I might write about this place in the article I’m doing for thePost, and I wouldn’t want to misrepresent your business. Do you have a website I could link for the online version?”

“Of course we have a website.” She didn’t offer it, though.

“I’m Colt, by the way.”

---