The devil Moondancer

The Alpha’s will

*Olivia*

The devil has come to call. Sitting beside him in my library, I don’t know whether to be appalled or fascinated. He is an interesting creature, and while I have heard many of the sordid tales regarding him, I have never actually set eyes on him before this night.

His dark, unruly hair, curling teasingly across his broad shoulders, speaks of a desire to rebel against societal constraints. The harsh lines of his face have been carved by a life of decadence, misbehavior, and excess. Yet, he is beautiful in a rugged sort of way, like the manner in which a jagged coastline at dawn could steal one’s breath with its magnificence.

I lower my gaze from a profile that has held me enthralled from the moment I walked into my library and met the deliciously wicked Jack Moondancer.

His gambling den provides entertainment for many men of the high packs. Sisters, mates, mothers hear slurred references to the debauchery that occurs within Jack Moondancer’s domain when their brothers, husbands, and sons return home in the early hours, three sheets in the wind. The she-wolves, of course, discreetly exchange stories over tea, and so Moondancer’s reputation, as well as that of his establishment, has grown among proper she-wolves who aren’t supposed to know about such improper things. She-wolves detest his existence and the opportunity he provides for the men in their lives to stray from all that is good and respectable, yet none can deny their ceaseless fascination with a man so devoted to sin.

Sitting near him, I become increasingly aware of the raw sexuality emanating from him. I imagine she-wolves follow him into his bedchamber without a single word being uttered. I can smell the tobacco and whiskey fragrance that permeates him and, to my everlasting shame, I find myself relishing the darkly masculine scent. Everything about him speaks of forbidden indulgences.

He is truly the work of the devil.

He even carries the devil’s mark. The brand is clearly visible on the inside of his right thumb, because he doesn’t possess the good manners to wear gloves and his long fingers are splayed across the arm of the chair. While marking criminals is no longer a practice, I know what the T burned into his flesh signifies: he’s spent time in prison for thievery. I have little tolerance for those who take what does not rightfully belong to them.

In spite of his questionable past and occupation, I cannot fault the quality of his attire. It has obviously been sewn by the finest tailor in Blackrock city, but the red brocade waistcoat beneath his black jacket is entirely inappropriate for this somber occasion: the reading of my late mate’s will.

Why Silverpine insisted the notorious Jack Moondancer be in attendance is beyond the pale. How did he even know the blackguard? As far as I know, he has never visited Moondancer’s club. However, my brother, the late Alpha of Riverdale, frequented it quite often, providing me with the enviable opportunity to add greatly to the repertoire of scandalous tales circulated amongst the she-wolves.

But Silverpine had been as pious as they come. The man hadn’t even kept liquor in the house, and to my knowledge, wine had never touched his lips. I know the same cannot be said of Jack Moondancer’s. He has the fullest set of lips I have ever seen on a man, a dark, dark red, as though they have been soaked in fine wine, and I have little doubt they are accustomed to tasting all pleasures. His mouth is designed to lure the most virtuous of she-wolves toward forbidden passion. Why else would I find myself inappropriately wondering what it might be like to have him kiss me? I have long ago stopped pondering the delight of kisses… perhaps because Silverpine had been so dead-set against them. Yet here I am, imagining those lips playing over mine, enticing me in ways that Silverpine never had.

Again, I wonder why he wanted Jack Moondancer at the reading of his will. Yet Mr. Beck, the Alpha’s solicitor, positioning his papers at the desk across from me, insists it is not only so, but that I am to be in attendance as well.

So here I am, as always, honoring my responsibilities, no matter how distasteful they might be. From the moment I was born, a devotion to duty has governed my life. It is the reason that, at nineteen, I married a man more than twenty-five years my senior… because my father arranged the marriage, and a respectful daughter does not go against her father’s wishes, regardless of her own passionate yearnings.

Silverpine has been honest from the beginning. Getting up in years, he was in dire need of an heir, and while marriage to him has not been all I had hoped for, it was not as bad as it might have been. I had earned his respect and had supreme reign over his household. And he has given me a precious son, even if he had been unable to give me his heart.

I am quite confident that Hunter, as the legitimate heir, will inherit everything of importance. I have hopes the will will stipulate that the Blackrock city residence is to become the dower house, because I love it so. But it is rather grand, and usually the dower house is a smaller residence. Silverpine, however, has never purchased any other Blackrock city homes. If this residence is not left to me, then the decision regarding where I will reside in later years will rest with my son… when he is old enough to care about such things. But at present, he is five and cares only that I read him a story before he goes to sleep.

The solicitor finally folds his hands on top of the papers and lifts his gaze to his audience of two. His dark hair is peppered with silver. His blue eyes seem larger because of his spectacles, and he gives the impression they allow him to see a great deal more than the average man.

“Mr. Moondancer, I want to thank you for finding time in your busy schedule to be with us this evening,” he says solemnly, as befits the occasion.

“Let’s get on with it, shall we? I have a business to get back to.” Jack Moondancer’s voice is rough, as though he spends a good deal of his time screaming until his throat is raw. Yet, it also reverberates with a pleasing quality I can’t quite explain. I can imagine him whispering near a she-wolf’s ear, tempting her toward disgraceful behavior.

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Beck says. He picks up a long sheaf of parchment. “The will contains quite a bit of legal terminology which, with your permission, I shall not bother to read.”

“Just tell me why the bloody hell I’m here, so I can go.”

I gasp. Jack Moondancer gives me a disdainful look, the first time he has bothered to give me any attention at all since we had been introduced and taken our seats.

“Good Goddess, don’t look so appalled.” He says.

Considering the manner in which he is suddenly studying me, I have a strange desire to check my buttons and make certain they are all properly done up. “I must insist that vulgar language is not used in my home. I can’t remain if you’re going to be blasphemous.”

“I don’t give a damn if you remain or not.” He tells me.

“Mr. Moondancer,” Mr. Beck interrupts emphatically, an edge to his voice indicating he, too, might have reservations about the present company, “the Alpha insisted you both be in attendance. I shall get to the matter at hand, posthaste, before your patience deteriorates any further.” He clears his throat and begins to read: “I, Sidney Augustus Pinewood, Alpha of Silverpine, being of sound mind and body, do bequeath to my legitimate son and heir to my titles, Hunter Zachary Pinewood, all my entailed properties, as well as the assets and income derived from them.”

I nod with satisfaction. I had expected as much. It is only a bit of formality to state so in the will.

“To my devoted Luna, Olivia Grace, Luna of Silverpine, mother of my heir…”

Blinking back the tears stinging my eyes, I wish Jack Moondancer wasn’t present to witness this portion of the reading. My husband’s last words regarding me are private and personal.

“… I bequeath a trust that if properly managed should provide her with two thousand pounds per annum as long as she lives. To Mr. Jack Moondancer…”

I barely have time to acknowledge the disappointment that he hasn’t left me the residence before my attention is snagged by the fact that, at long last, the reason for the ridiculous summons of Jack Moondancer will come to light.

“… I bequeath the remainder of my worldly assets, save one item, on the condition he serve as guardian and protector of my heir until the child reaches his majority or my widow marries and her husband assumes the role. When either of the stated conditions are met, Mr. Moondancer will receive the final item… its value immeasurable.”