Read Samantha Moon: First Eight Novels, Plus One Novella for Free Online

shots to the head.
    “Well,” I said, “I would have been in trouble had it been too much over two hundred pounds.”
    He pounced. “You only work nights, Mrs. Moon. You wear an exorbitant amount of sunscreen. Your windows, I noticed, were all completely covered. You lift two hundred pounds without a moment’s hesitation. Your skin is icy to the touch. And you have the complexion of an avalanche victim.”
    “Okay, that last one was just mean,” I said.
    “ Sorry, but true.”
    “ So what are you getting at?”
    He leaned back and folded his hands over his flat stomach. “You’re a vampire, Mrs. Moon.”
    I laughed. So did he. Mine was a nervous laugh; his not so much. As I gathered my thoughts for a firm rebuttal, I found myself taking a second glance around his office. Behind his desk on the wall, was a beautiful picture of the full moon taken by a high-powered telescopic lens. There was a silver moon globe next to his monitor. Half moon bookends, which, if placed together, would form a full moon. On his desk was a picture of a woman, a very beautiful woman, with a full moon rising over her shoulder.
    “ You’re obsessed with moons,” I said.
    “ Which is why I picked you out of the phone book,” he said, grinning. “Couldn’t help myself, Mrs. Moon.”
    We were both silent. I watched him carefully. His mouth was open slightly. He was breathing heavily, his wet tongue pushed up against his incisors. His face looked healthy, vigorous and...feral.
    “You’re a werewolf,” I said finally.
    He grinned, wolf-like.
     
     
     
    12.
     
     
    Kingsley moved over to the window, pulled aside the blinds, and peered out into the night. With his back to me, I could appreciate the breadth and width of his shoulders.
    “ Could you imagine in your wildest dream,” he said finally, “of ever having this conversation?”
    “ Never.”
    “ And yet neither one of us has denied the other’s accusations.”
    “ Nor have we admitted to them,” I added.
    We were silent again, and I listened to the faint hum of traffic outside the window. I spied some of the reassuring darkness through the open slats. I was in uncharted territory here, and so I decided to roll with the situation.
    “For simplicity’s sake,” he said, his back still to me, “let’s assume we are vampires and werewolves. Where does that leave us?”
    “ Obviously I must kill you,” I said.
    “ I hope you’re kidding.”
    “ I am.”
    “ Good, because I don’t die easily,” he said. “And certainly not without a fight.”
    “ I just love a good fight,” I said.
    He ignored me. “So,” he said, turning away from the window and crossing his arms across his massive chest. “How do you want to handle this?”
    “Handle what?”
    He threw back his head and laughed. It was a very animalistic gesture. He could have just as easily been a coyote—or a wolf—howling at the moon. “This new wrinkle in our working relationship,” he said.
    “As far as I’m concerned you are still my client and I’m still your detective. Nothing has changed.”
    “ Nothing?”
    “ Other than the fact that you claim to be a werewolf.”
    “ You don’t believe me?”
    “ Mr. Fulcrum, werewolves are fairytales.”
    “ And vampires aren’t?”
    I laughed. Or tried to. “I’m not a vampire. I just have a condition .”
    “ A condition that requires you to stay out of the sun,” he said, incredulously. “A condition that requires you to drink blood. A condition that has turned you whiter than a ghost. A condition that has given you superhuman strength.”
    “ I never said it was a common condition. I’m still looking into it.”
    He grinned. “It’s called vampirism, my dear, and it’s time for you to own it.”
    “Own it?”
    “ Isn’t that what the kids say these days?” he said.
    “ Just how old are you, Mr. Fulcrum?”
    “ Never mind that,” he said. “The question on the table is a simple one: do you believe I’m a werewolf?”
    “