Title: The Moon’s Pull
Author: Beverly Torres
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Quentin Blackstone, an old werewolf has come to Hanson, Wyoming to stop his childhood friend from killing the humans. What he didn't expect to find was the beautiful detective, Samantha Woodrow on the case. She stirs passions in him he thought long ago forgotten. But when he looks into her emerald green eyes, his insides sizzle.
Samantha Woodrow knows something beyond passion is happening when she touches Quentin. She can feel him whenever he is near, and the pull of him is so strong, she senses he might be her soul mate.
Can Quentin stop his friend from killing Hanson's inhabitants and find the love he has for hundreds of years denied himself? Will the secret Samantha's grandmother told her when she was little help or haunt her as her desire for Quentin mounts? Only time will tell, as the Moon pulls these two lovers to their destiny.
The tall man ignored the rising sun, which mottled the sky pink and purple. His golden eyes watched the scene of the murder unfold in the valley below him, his vision acute, even from this distance. His forefinger restlessly tapped his full lips, as strands of his honey-colored hair brushed across his masculine features in the cool, fall morning. Mist floated around him from his hilltop view, enveloping him with curling, gray fingers like a shy lover. His lightweight coat flapped in unison to the gentle breeze against his long, muscular legs. Quentin narrowed his gaze, following the pretty, blonde detective’s every move.
Samantha Woodrow was the first detective on the murder scene, so she phoned her report in to the precinct’s office as lead detective for her team. After seeing the state of the victim, though, she wished she had stayed in bed with her cat, Lucy.
The call came in around 6:00 am. Sam had enough time to brush her teeth and pull her blonde hair into a ponytail. She dressed in all-purpose navy pants suit, and white blouse, and stuck her feet into navy shoes. At 5’9”, she wore flats so she wouldn’t tower over her shorter partner, Hank Daniels. Her district was made of mainly older men who didn’t hesitate to rib Hank for not only being stuck with a young female partner, but a taller one as well. Sam worked hard to get this position, but she still had a long way to go to earn her peers’ acceptance.
The brisk morning made Sam hug her short jacket closer to her. She tilted her head as she eyed the male victim, noting the position of his body. He lay on his back; one leg bent under his other one. His greasy tan pants were torn in various places and had blood smudging one knee. She noticed his flannel shirt looked as if it hadn’t been washed in days, with the same being said for his stringy, gray hair. His throat had been ripped open, with his hands clutching his neck as if he tried to staunch the blood that flowed from his mortal wound. The horrendous sight caused Sam to grimace. She turned away a moment, but noticed the forensics team watching her as they waited to process the scene further, so she swallowed the lump in her throat and continued to study the crime scene, careful not to contaminate anything.
“What do we have, Sam?”
Sam turned to Hank and smiled at his disheveled appearance. Hank would never win any fashion awards, and apparently, today, he hadn’t had much time to dress either. She laughed to herself as she observed his rumpled, plaid jacket, dingy white shirt, and wrinkled blue slacks. His portly belly hung over his brown belt, and his matching, no-nonsense loafers, propelled his chunky, short legs toward her. What little hair he had left on his head, stood on end, with the few remaining wisps swaying in the cool breeze.
“A male victim, maybe forty, was found this morning by Mr. Kincaid over there,” Sam said as she pointed with her note pad. “He was walking his dog when he discovered the body.”
Hank glanced at the older man dressed in a pale blue sweat suit. The red leash in his thin hand led to his beagle sniffing the questioning officer’s shoes. He saw the old guy gesticulating with excitement with his other hand as he spoke to the officer. Hank looked back at Sam and nodded for her to continue.
“The victim’s throat was laid open by something jagged. From the lack of rigidity, I’d say he’s been dead for a few hours. But Bill can give us a better time when he’s finished.”
Hank lifted his bushy, eyebrows at her assessment. Sam noticed he repressed his usual sigh at her and strode over to the coroner. Sam followed.
Hank extended his square hand to the coroner as he greeted the doctor. “Can you give me an approximate time of death on this, Bill?”
The coroner shook Hank’s hand in response. “My guess is he died between 12:00 and 4:00 am. His throat wound, I would guess at this time, is the cause of death.”
Bill Martin smiled at Sam, and she returned it. She always thought with fondness of the tall, immaculately dressed man. Even at this early hour, his gray suit was pressed, and he wore a matching gray tie, perfectly knotted. He never seemed to have a problem with women in her field, and went out of his way to help her.
The hairs on Sam’s arms rose and she turned towards the foggy hillside. She scanned the area and could’ve sworn someone watched. Seeing nothing, Sam shrugged her shoulders and turned back to her coworkers. “What could cause that kind of damage, Bill?” Sam asked, as she rubbed her arms and took another quick glance around her.
“My unsubstantiated guess, at this point, would be an animal of some sort.”
Sam gasped as she watched the victim’s body loaded into the back of the ambulance. “What kind of animal?”
“I’ll let you know,” Bill replied, gathering up his equipment.
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I enjoy writing and have a novel and a short story published. I’m currently working on the sequel to “The Moon’s Pull” featuring Carrick and Tara. When I’m not writing, I enjoy spending time with family, friends and two rescue pets.
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