Talbot Julia - Moonshine

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

Moon Shine

Torquere Press Publishers

PO Box 2545

Round Rock, TX 78680

Copyright 2012 by Julia Talbot and BA Tortuga

Cover illustration by BSClay

Published with permission

ISBN: 978-1- 61040-383-2

www.torquerepress.com

All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.

First Torquere Press Printing: October 2012

Printed in the USA

Moon Shine

by Julia Talbot and BA Tortuga

No one expected a werewolf to be running a moonshine still.

Hell, Jenson hadn't expected to ever be a werewolf, so he guessed it went both ways. Now, a ridgerunner ? He'd seen that career coming from birth. He'd inherited his still in the hills of east Tennessee from his daddy, and from his daddy's poppa before that.

What he hadn't inherited from his family was the lycanthropy bug he carried in his bloodstream. Nope. That he'd gotten on a one-night stand of stupid proportions on his short-lived stint in college. There had been so many things he loved about Knoxville, from the easy hook-ups to the tiny Krystals hamburgers.

Too bad that had all ended with just one bite. Now it was running shine from Knoxville to Asheville, or maybe down to Gatlinburg and living in a cage-cum-den built into the mountain on full moons. Those one-night stands were few and far between now, too, for fear he'd bite someone.

If he ever saw that beautiful, skinny, blond son-of-a-bitch who'd infected him again, Jenson was gonna kill him.

It was a happy fantasy, really. Take the pretty little fucker, turn the sick fuck inside out, and then choke him to death. Oh, yeah. Jenson checked the coils and the drip, making sure he didn't need to worry on anything for another day or so.

Good deal.

Time to head back to the cabin for that venison steak he'd been craving.

He smelled trouble about a half second before something landed on his back -- someone heavy and solid and hot. "Where is he?"

Jenson didn't stop to think. He just whirled, his arm pushing up under his attacker and sending the guy flying. Then he headed for his shotgun, which sat at the edge of the clearing. He was always careful not to mix gunpowder and sour mash.

His legs were taken out from under him, a lean, hawk-faced man with skin like leather staring down at him. "I don't want to hurt you. Where is he?"

"I don't want you to hurt me either." He kicked out with his right leg, sweeping the man off his feet.

The man landed with a hard thud, the solid little guy taking it well and rolling right up. It was impressive, and it told Jenson a lot. Like that the guy was not just a human.

"Please. You smell like him. Where can I find him? He did something to me."

"What do you mean I smell like him? Him who?" Jenson ducked to one side when the guy rushed him again.

"The man. The man that bit me!"

Fuck a doodle. It couldn't be. Could it? "Blond? Lean? Pretty?"

The dude nodded, heavy braid swinging. "I just need to find out what the fuck he did to me."

Huffing out a breath, Jenson caught up with the whole situation. Then he went to sniff the guy a bit, moving as close as he could. Damn it all. "Bit you, did he?"

"Yes! Where is he? What did he give me?" Those near-black eyes were snapping, the fading sun reflected in them.

"It's called lycanthropy, man. You're a werewolf."

"Nonsense." The man snorted. "I'm not hungry all the time. The Wendigo are starving, constantly. Everyone knows that."

Well, okay then. He guessed that showed him. "Cool. You're not an ethnically specific breed. Go you."

"What?" He got the look -- the Jesus, you're an insane hillbilly aren't you look. Which, okay, there was a still. Woods. Shotgun.

But he didn't have on overalls and he had all his teeth, goddamn it. He wasn't in Arkansas, either. His last name wasn't Hatfield or McCoy. He knew what the hell he was talking about. "You know, werewolf. Full moon. Grr ."

"No way. I can't be a hunting guide if I'm eating people. Where the fuck is he?"

"I. Don't. Know." That should be clear enough, right? Jenson turned on his heel. He was done with this shit.

"You smell like him! Why the fuck are you hiding him?"

Jenson ducked the next rush, whirling around and whacking the idiot in the chest. "I'm not! He bit me more than a year ago. I can't possibly smell like him."

"His trail led right here. Direct from Unicoi."

Huh. All the way up by the Cherokee forest. Bizarre. There was no way that asshole was here, not without Jenson scenting him on the wind. Right?

"You don't know where he is." The thin lips twisted. "Sorry for bothering you. My mistake." Then the man headed out, right back toward the trees.

Jenson was going to let him go. Was determined not to get involved. He had no wounded animal protective response. Which left him wondering why he turned around and went after the guy. "Wait. Maybe we can help each other."

"Do you know where he is? I have to see him. Stop this."

"I don't know, no. But if his trail led here, he's been hunting my happy ass. I can help you find him." He had no idea if it was true. Jenson just wasn't letting this guy get away so easy.

"I have to. Something's wrong with me." No shit on that. The guy's wolf was crawling under the surface, just waiting for the moon.

"I can help you with that, too." He could. He'd done his moons, and he'd done more when he changed unexpectedly the first time someone tried to take his still down after he'd been bit.

Those dark eyes pierced him. "How? I keep dreaming shit."

"I know. I been there. I've been like this longer."

"I'm going to kill him. He bit me."

Jenson wasn't sure it worked that way. What if, when and if you could kill the wolf who made you, you wiped out his whole progeny or whatever you called it? No way was Jenson ready to die.

He growled a little, surprised as hell when the man rumbled back. Oh, he didn't think so. Jenson swelled up like a big frog, knowing he could look damned huge when he let his wolf play a little. He advanced, hoping to hell the other guy backed down.

There was moment where he thought the guy would, then the dark eyes flashed gold and their chests slapped together.

Oh. Hello. Whatever he might smell like, the other guy's scent was all male, hot and musky and just his type. Down, boy. His wolf wasn't interested in backing down, though, not at all. His wolf wanted out. Hell, his wolf wanted in.

"You need me, man." Jenson didn't know what he meant by that, really.

"Don't growl at me. I just want to make this go away. I want my brain back."

"I know that one. Trust me."

"I don't know you. You smell like him."

God, he wanted to just roll this perfect body over and hump. He hadn't felt like that since-- Jenson backed off. Not since the asshole who made him. That was just buying trouble, getting involved. "I don't smell like him." That much Jenson knew.

"You do, too." The low growl filled the air. "What? Are you his bitch? Is that what it is? I didn't fuck him. It was a fucking dance. One dance."

"Well, I fucked him. Made him scream like a little girl." He bared his teeth. "I guess I got his stink on me." That would suck, though, not even getting a piece of ass out of the deal.