Black Moon (Moon Trilogy Part I)

By C.L. Bevill

Donovan is a werejaguar sworn to fight against his enemies, the dreaded werewolf clan - the Whitelaws. Isabella is an uncommon librarian, a member of the Committee. When she faces down the Whitelaws to retrieve a very dangerous book, she encounters Donovan and their lives will never be the same. This is a novella. Warning: contains sexual content. Not for minors.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.L. Bevill
• Release date: Oct 25, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458152497

C.L. Bevill

C.L. Bevill is the author of several books including Bubba and the Dead Woman, Bubba and the 12 Deadly Days of Christmas, Bubba and the Missing Woman, Bayou Moon, The Flight of the Scarlet Tanager, Veiled Eyes, Disembodied Bones, and Shadow People. She is currently at work on her latest literary masterpiece.

Book preview

Black Moon

C.L. Bevill

Black Moon

Published by C.L. Bevill at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 by Caren L. Bevill

Chapter One

Black Moon on the rise, ghostly women full of sighs…

A Black Moon – The second new moon of a month, an infrequent event.

The Pacific Northwest –

The woman ran down the dirt track as if fleeing demons from Hell.

Donovan Lawton shifted slightly. Lean muscles rippled down his arms as he pressed his large hands against the ground. Not one of the branches that concealed him moved in response. His green eyes were fixed on the trek of road that lay below his position. If he had wanted he could reach his high powered binoculars, but it wasn’t necessary. A member of the Cat Clan, a werecat by birth, his vision was superior. On a dark night he could see a hundred times better than a human could. On a night that held a waning moon he could see as well as if it was full daylight. However, his enemies and the enemies of his clan, the werewolves of Whitelaw, had similar vision as well and the proximity of his position was dangerous. Staking out the road that led to their enclave required great discipline and greater patience.

The Whitelaw shifters were clannish by nature and generally unhappy with their lot. Even in the freedom of the United States, they greedily wanted more lands, more possessions, and more money. They desired to be the undeclared kings of many states and operated under the radars of the local authorities, often shifting the balance of power by recklessly changing humans into their own. The Whitelaws specifically most wanted the Colorado regions that the Cat Clan called home and were willing to do anything to gain their wishes. Thievery, murder, and terrorism were all their tools, and only recently had the Cat Clan declared war on the aberrant shifters. Donovan, one of the elite cat warriors and protectors, was a single instrument in the war. For weeks he had infiltrated the area the Whitelaws called home and spied on their highest leaders, Jonah and Geraud Whitelaw, and on their heavily guarded enclosure.

Donovan knew they were planning something appalling. There was more movement in and out of the area. Local politicians were looking in the other direction and authorities were either on the payroll or had been infected with the werewolf gene. Donovan had bribed two manual labor workers to bring him information and gotten little for his return. The Whitelaws had access to guns, armament, and explosives. All were present in the compound. More had been delivered in recent days. The werewolves appeared as though they were going to war, and perhaps they were.

On this day, several trucks had come and gone. As the sun had set and the sliver of a moon had risen, patrols had increased around the perimeter. Donovan was about to make a move into the inner sanctum, certain that he would find irrefutable evidence of the Whitelaws’ perfidy, when the lone woman came sprinting down the long road. Alone thus far, running with all her effort, her hair trailed straight out behind her. Her arms pumped in full force seeking to give her an inch more of freedom.

Donovan moved again, angling his head for the best view. His eyes went wide. His entire body went rigid with attention. For a moment the wind changed direction and he scented her. Perspiration, soap, and sandalwood all combined and captivated his nostrils. As well, there was a hint of…onions? She wasn’t a werewolf, and probably wasn’t a shifter. Something flared through his body as he watched her racing along the narrow road. A dark wind of something he couldn’t quite identify called to his