Read Online Moon Child (Vampire for Hire #4) by J.R. Rain - Free Book Online
Authors: J.R. Rain
Tags: thriller, Suspense, Gothic, Mystery, vampire, supernatural, Vampires, Werewolves, charlaine harris, Contemporary Fantasy, Werewolf, vampire book, Stephen King, Dean Koontz, vampire and shapeshifter, amanda hocking, vampire adult fantasy, vampire and werewolf, vampire detective, vampire death blood undead blood lust murder killing feeding college student, vampire books, werewolf and vampire, werewolf paranormal romance, werewolf and shifter, stephenie meyer, jr rain, laurell k hamilton, john saul, john sandford, vampire cop detective killer vengeance blood, vampire mysteries
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own lives, if that was even possible.
There were a lot of unanswered questions. The
use of the medallion was so vague, so strange, and just so damn
weird. That I was pinning my son’s eternity on a golden coin
hanging from a leather strap was mind-boggling and disturbing, at
best.
And what was I working so hard for? To ensure
that my son would someday die? Where things stood, he would survive
and keep surviving forever. Wasn’t that a good thing? And how did I
know that he would stop growing? Maybe he would continue to grow.
Maybe he would reach adulthood. Maybe he would thank me every day
for the rest of his life, for all eternity, for sparing him from
death, and for giving him great physical gifts, too. Knowing my
son, in the least, he would thank me for getting him out of
school.
This line of thinking had me confused. Jesus,
maybe I should let him be. Maybe with proper guidance, I could walk
him through the eternal experience, help him, teach him, guide him.
Something no one had done for me. Maybe he would indeed grow into
his adult body.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
I didn’t know; I knew so little.
Shit.
A few minutes later, Kingsley’s office door
opened and out came a familiar client. The same client I had seen
just days earlier. The same client who had prompted a powerful
vision of him strangling his wife to death in her sleep. The same
coward. The same piece of shit. The same asshole I had threatened
to bring down.
It was no threat.
And here he was. Coming out of Kingsley’s
office.
Again.
We locked eyes and I think we both gasped. My
stomach heaved at the sight of the bastard. He made a small,
whimpering sound and took a step back...into Kingsley, who was
standing behind him. Kingsley looked surprised, too. He also looked
a little sheepish and embarrassed. I was too stunned to speak.
Kingsley quickly stepped between us, and
actually escorted the bastard out of his office. A moment later, my
werewolf friend returned, all six foot, six inches of him, and
gestured toward his office.
“Let’s talk,” he said.
Numb and sick, I silently stood and headed
through his open door.
He followed behind, shutting the door.
“Have a seat,” he said.
Chapter Twenty
I did as I was told, still too stunned to
speak.
Kingsley moved around his office with an ease
and speed uncommon for a man his size. He sat in his executive
chair and studied me for a long moment before speaking. I could not
look into his eyes.
“Well, I suppose I should thank you for not
playing Whack-A-Mole with my client’s head,” he finally said, and I
could hear the gentle humor in his voice. He was referring to an
inadvertent joke he’d made the other day.
I didn’t smile. Not now.
He took in a lot of air. Unlike me, Kingsley
seemed to need normal amounts of oxygen. I know this because I had
listened to him snore once or twice. Listened, of course, was
putting it mildly. Experienced, perhaps? His snoring was unlike
anything I had ever heard before. It sounded like the bombing of a
small village.
He filled his massive chest to capacity,
which put a lot of pressure on his nice dress shirt, especially the
buttons. I was prepared to duck should buttons start flying like so
many bullets from a Gatling gun.
He studied me like that for a moment, his
chest filled, button threads hanging on for dear life, and then
finally expelled. He leaned back and crossed his legs, adjusting
the drape of his hem.
“Don’t judge me, Sam,” he said. I noticed he
looked away when he spoke.
“Who’s judging?” I said. “I’m just admiring
the fine handiwork of your shirt.”
“Every man deserves a fair trial, Sam.”
“And every defense attorney deserves a hefty
payday.”
“This has nothing to do with money, Sam.”
“Say that to your mansion in Yorba
Linda.”
“My home is the result of a lot of hard
work.”
“And a lot of freed killers.”
Perhaps in frustration, he closed both hands
into boulder-like fists, and
There were a lot of unanswered questions. The
use of the medallion was so vague, so strange, and just so damn
weird. That I was pinning my son’s eternity on a golden coin
hanging from a leather strap was mind-boggling and disturbing, at
best.
And what was I working so hard for? To ensure
that my son would someday die? Where things stood, he would survive
and keep surviving forever. Wasn’t that a good thing? And how did I
know that he would stop growing? Maybe he would continue to grow.
Maybe he would reach adulthood. Maybe he would thank me every day
for the rest of his life, for all eternity, for sparing him from
death, and for giving him great physical gifts, too. Knowing my
son, in the least, he would thank me for getting him out of
school.
This line of thinking had me confused. Jesus,
maybe I should let him be. Maybe with proper guidance, I could walk
him through the eternal experience, help him, teach him, guide him.
Something no one had done for me. Maybe he would indeed grow into
his adult body.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
I didn’t know; I knew so little.
Shit.
A few minutes later, Kingsley’s office door
opened and out came a familiar client. The same client I had seen
just days earlier. The same client who had prompted a powerful
vision of him strangling his wife to death in her sleep. The same
coward. The same piece of shit. The same asshole I had threatened
to bring down.
It was no threat.
And here he was. Coming out of Kingsley’s
office.
Again.
We locked eyes and I think we both gasped. My
stomach heaved at the sight of the bastard. He made a small,
whimpering sound and took a step back...into Kingsley, who was
standing behind him. Kingsley looked surprised, too. He also looked
a little sheepish and embarrassed. I was too stunned to speak.
Kingsley quickly stepped between us, and
actually escorted the bastard out of his office. A moment later, my
werewolf friend returned, all six foot, six inches of him, and
gestured toward his office.
“Let’s talk,” he said.
Numb and sick, I silently stood and headed
through his open door.
He followed behind, shutting the door.
“Have a seat,” he said.
Chapter Twenty
I did as I was told, still too stunned to
speak.
Kingsley moved around his office with an ease
and speed uncommon for a man his size. He sat in his executive
chair and studied me for a long moment before speaking. I could not
look into his eyes.
“Well, I suppose I should thank you for not
playing Whack-A-Mole with my client’s head,” he finally said, and I
could hear the gentle humor in his voice. He was referring to an
inadvertent joke he’d made the other day.
I didn’t smile. Not now.
He took in a lot of air. Unlike me, Kingsley
seemed to need normal amounts of oxygen. I know this because I had
listened to him snore once or twice. Listened, of course, was
putting it mildly. Experienced, perhaps? His snoring was unlike
anything I had ever heard before. It sounded like the bombing of a
small village.
He filled his massive chest to capacity,
which put a lot of pressure on his nice dress shirt, especially the
buttons. I was prepared to duck should buttons start flying like so
many bullets from a Gatling gun.
He studied me like that for a moment, his
chest filled, button threads hanging on for dear life, and then
finally expelled. He leaned back and crossed his legs, adjusting
the drape of his hem.
“Don’t judge me, Sam,” he said. I noticed he
looked away when he spoke.
“Who’s judging?” I said. “I’m just admiring
the fine handiwork of your shirt.”
“Every man deserves a fair trial, Sam.”
“And every defense attorney deserves a hefty
payday.”
“This has nothing to do with money, Sam.”
“Say that to your mansion in Yorba
Linda.”
“My home is the result of a lot of hard
work.”
“And a lot of freed killers.”
Perhaps in frustration, he closed both hands
into boulder-like fists, and
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