Crescent Moon (Nightcreature Series #4)

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Overview

An ancient evil hunts by the crescent moon—

New Orleans is known for sinful pleasures and strange magic, but for cryptozoologist Diana Malone it offers one irresistible attraction. For over a hundred years there have been whispers of wolves around the Crescent City, and the recent discovery of bodies in the nearby swamps hints at a creature even more dangerous…one that could make Diana's career and fortune, if...

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Overview

An ancient evil hunts by the crescent moon—

New Orleans is known for sinful pleasures and strange magic, but for cryptozoologist Diana Malone it offers one irresistible attraction. For over a hundred years there have been whispers of wolves around the Crescent City, and the recent discovery of bodies in the nearby swamps hints at a creature even more dangerous…one that could make Diana's career and fortune, if she lives to capture it.

And desire may be a fatal mistake…

Adam Ruelle is a reclusive former Special Forces officer, the last of a mysterious Cajun family rumored to be cursed, and the only person skilled enough to guide Diana in her search. Rugged and captivating, he fills her nights with desire…but by day, Diana is plagued with doubts. Adam clearly knows more than he's telling, but is his aim to protect her or distract her? Something is stalking its prey in the Louisiana bayous, and every step towards the horrifying truth brings Diana closer to a centuries-old enemy that lives for the smell of fear and the thrill of killing, again and again…

"Danger, excitement, and chills leap off the pages… no one delivers better thrills than Handeland.

Romantic Times (starred review) on Dark Moon

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"Snappily written...Handeland's most appealing heroine yet...tense, banter-filled tale." —Publishers Weekly on Dark Moon

"Danger, excitement and chills leap off the pages...multifaceted and dark, and no one delivers better thrills."—RT BOOKclub Top Pick on Dark Moon

"Riveting...a remarkable werewolf tale." —Fallen Angel Reviews on Dark Moon

"Smart and often amusing dialogue, brisk pacing, plenty of action and a generous helping of 'spookiness.'" —BookLoons on Dark Moon

"A wild ride through the hours of darkness with things that go bump in the night...an edgy, fast-paced paranormal thriller." —Romance Junkies on Dark Moon

"Chilling and sizzling by turns! Lori Handeland has the kind of talent that comes along only once in a blue moon. Her sophisticated, edgy voice sets her apart from the crowd, making her an author to watch, and Blue Moon is a novel not to be missed."—Maggie Shayne, author of Edge of Twilight on Blue Moon

"Hold on to your seats! Handeland delivers a kick-butt heroine ready to take on the world of the paranormal. BLUE MOON is an awesome launch to what promises to be a funny, sexy, and scary series."—RT BOOKclub Top Pick on Blue Moon

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780312938482
  • Publisher: St. Martin's Press
  • Publication date: 2/7/2006
  • Series: Nightcreature Series , #4
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Pages: 352
  • Product dimensions: 4.18 (w) x 6.70 (h) x 0.95 (d)

Meet the Author

Lori Handeland is the USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of the Nightcreature Novels, The Phoenix Chronicles and Shakespeare Undead. She is the recipient of many industry awards, including two RITA awards, a Romantic Times Award for Best Harlequin Superromance, and the Prism Award from Romance Writers of America. She lives in Wisconsin with her family and a yellow lab named Ellwood.

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Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

A life spent fulfilling a vow to a dead man is really no life at all, but I'd loved Simon Malone, and I'd promised.

I'm a zoologist by trade, a cryptozoologist by choice. If I'd followed my training, I'd be holed up in a zoo or worse, studying giraffes and pygmy goats.

Instead, I trace rumors of mythical animals and try to prove they exist. A frustrating exercise. There's a reason no one's captured a Bigfoot. They don't want to be found, and they're a lot better at hiding than anyone on earth is at seeking. Or at least that's my theory, and I'm sticking to it.

Most cryptozoologists attempt to find undiscovered species or evolutionary wonders—-real animals, nothing paranormal about them—-but not me. Nope. I'd made that vow.

Foolish, but when a woman loves a man the way that I loved Simon, she does foolish things, especially when he's dying in her arms.

So I follow every legend, every folk tale, every scrap of information, trying to uncover something mythical and prove it real. Though I've never believed in magic, my husband did, and the only thing I've ever believed in was him.

I was having very little luck with my quest until the night the phone rang at 3:00 a.m. Insomnia and a very empty checking account made me answer it despite the hour.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Malone?" The voice was male, a bit shaky, old or perhaps ill.

"Not yet."

I needed to find a cryptid—-translation: unknown animal—-prove its existence, write a thesis. Then I could attach those lovely letters—-Ph.D.—-at the end of my name. But since the whole vow incident, I'd been too busy chasing lake monsters and Sasquatch clones to spend time finding a new breed of anything.

"Is this Diana Malone?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Frank Tallient."

The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't figure out why. "Have we met?"

"No. I got your number from Rick Canfield."

Swell. The last guy who'd said those immortal words, "You're fired."

Rick was a lawyer who'd gone on a fishing trip with a bunch of other lawyers near Lake of the Woods, Minnesota. In the middle of the night he'd seen something in the lake. Something slick and black and very, very big.

Being a lawyer, he was smart enough to know he shouldn't tell the others he'd lost his mind. Not yet.

Instead, he'd gone home, searched the Internet, and made some phone calls, trying to find someone to help him discover if what he'd seen had been real or imagined. He'd found me.

"Rick thought you'd be free to help me," Tallient continued.

I was free all right. Unemployed. Again. A common occurrence in my life. I was very good at looking for things, not so good at actually finding them. However, I was one of the few cryptozoologists willing to travel on a whim for cash.

I wasn't associated with any university—-not anymore. Not since Simon had gone over the edge, tarnishing both his reputation and my own.

I depended on the kindness of strangers—-hell, let's be honest and just call them strange—-to fund my expeditions. Until tonight, I'd been fresh out of both.

"Since you didn't locate Nessie—-," Tallient began.

"Nessie's the Loch Ness Monster. I was searching for Woody."

Which was the name Rick had bestowed on the thing. People have no originality when naming lake beasts, always opting for some variation of the body of water they supposedly resided in.

Typically, the moment I'd arrived at Lake of the Woods with my cameras and recorders whatever Rick might have seen had gone poof. If it had ever been there in the first place.

In my expert opinion, an obscenely large muskie was responsible for the tales, not a supernatural lake monster, but I hadn't been able to prove that, either.

"I have a job for you," Tallient continued.

"I'm listening."

I had no choice. Though my parents were incredibly wealthy, they thought I was nuts and had stopped speaking to me the instant I married Simon.

After all, what could a handsome, brilliant, up-and-coming zoologist from Liverpool see in a not-very-pretty, far too sturdy grad student unless it was her parents' millions? He already had a green card. That Simon had told them exactly what they could do with their money had only made me love him more.

In truth, I fit into Simon's world better than I'd ever fit in my own. I stood five-foot-ten in my bare feet; on a good day I weighed a hundred and seventy. I liked the out-of-doors—-didn't mind dirt or sun, wind or rain. I'd joined the Girl Scouts just so I could camp. I'd done pretty much anything and everything I could think of to emphasize my differences from the never-too-rich, never-too-thin lifestyle of my mother.

"Can you access the Internet?" Tallient asked.

"Hold on." I tapped my laptop, which sprang from asleep to awake much quicker than I ever did. "OK."

Tallient recited a www-dot address. An instant later, a newspaper article spilled across my screen.

"'Man Found Dead in a Swamp,'" I read. "Not unusual."

Swamps were notorious dumping grounds for bodies. If the muck didn't take them, the alligators would.

"Keep going."

"Throat torn. Feral dogs. Huh." I accessed the next page. "Child missing. Coyotes. No body. Seems straightforward."

"Not really."

Tallient recited a second address, and I read some more. "Wolf sightings."

My heart increased in tempo. Wolves had been Simon's specialty; they'd turned into his obsession. Now they were mine.

"Where is this?" I demanded.

"New Orleans."

If possible, my heart beat even faster. Once red wolves had roamed the Southeast from the Atlantic to the Gulf and west to Texas. They'd been sighted as far north as Missouri and Pennsylvania. But in 1980 the red wolf had been declared extinct in the wild. In 1987 they'd been reintroduced, but only in North Carolina. So . . .

"There aren't any wolves in Louisiana," I said.

"Precisely."

"There's a legend, though. . . ." I struggled to remember it. "Honey Island Swamp monster."

"I doubt that Bigfoot-like footprints found thirty years ago have any relationship to death, disappearance, and wolves where they aren't supposed to be."

He had a point.

"Could be an ABC," I ventured.

The anacronym stood for "Alien Big Cat"—-a cyptozoological label given to reports of out-of-place felines. Black panthers in Wisconsin. A jaguar in Maine. Happens a lot more than you'd think.

Most of the time ABCs were explained away as exotic animals released into the woods when they became too hard to handle or too big to fit in an apartment. Funny thing was, no one ever found them.

If they were pets, wouldn't they be easy to catch? Wouldn't their bones, or even their collars, turn up after a truly wild animal killed them? Wouldn't there be at least one record of an ABC being hit by a truck on the interstate?

But there wasn't.

"This is a wolf, not a cat," Tallient said.

I was impressed with his knowledge of cypto-terminology but too caught up in the mystery unfolding before my eyes to compliment him on it.

"Same principle," I murmured. "Could be someone dumped a wolf in the swamp. Nothing special about it."

Except wolves weren't vicious. They didn't attack people. Unless they were starving, wolf-dog hybrids, or rabid. None of which were a good thing.

"There've been whispers of wolves in and around New Orleans for years," he continued.

"How many years?"

"At least a hundred."

"What?"

Tallient chuckled. "I thought you'd enjoy that. The disturbances don't seem to occur in any particular month, or even a common season. But they always happen during the same lunar phase."

"Full moon," I guessed.

No matter what the skeptics say, full moons drive people and animals wacko. Ask anyone who's ever worked in an emergency room, psych ward, or county zoo.

"Not full," Tallient said. "Crescent."

I glanced at the thin, silver, smiling moon visible from my window. "What was the date on those articles?"

"May."

I frowned. Five months ago. "Since then?"

"Nothing."

"Could be because the bodies weren't found."

"Exactly. Things that hunt under a certain phase of the moon do so every month. They can't help themselves."

I wasn't sure about "things," but I was sure about animals. They were nothing if not creatures of habit.

"A body was found yesterday," Tallient continued. "Hasn't hit the papers yet."

I looked at the moon again. Guess I was right.

"What's your interest in this?" I asked.

"Cryptozoology fascinates me. I'd love to go on an expedition, but I'm . . . not well."

I stood. My feet literally itched. I bounced on my toes as excitement threatened to make me jump at this chance. I had to remember: What seemed too good to be true often was.

"You want to pay me to find a wolf where a wolf isn't supposed to be. Once I do, then what?"

"Trap it and call me."

Not an unusual request in my line of work. The people who hired me usually did so in the hopes that they would become famous by revealing some mythical creature to the world, and they wanted to be the ones to do the revealing. I had no problem with that as long as the disclosure took place. All I wanted was to prove Simon hadn't been crazy.

"I can do that," I agreed.

"You do realize this isn't just a wolf?"

I hoped not, but my hopes weren't often realized.

"They call it a loup-garou," Tallient continued. "That's French for—-"

"Werewolf."

The rush of adrenaline made me dizzy. Though I took jobs searching for any paranormal entity—-beggars couldn't be choosers—-the true focus of my quest should have been a lycanthrope. As Simon's had been.

The only problem was, I just couldn't believe. Even though my maiden name was O'Malley and my father's family hailed from the land of leprechauns and fairies, in Boston, where I grew up, the only fanciful thing was the city's rabid belief in a curse on the BoSox.

In my youth there'd been no nonsense allowed—-no Santa, no tooth fairy—-I had to fight to read fiction. Which might explain why I fell so in love with a man who dreamed of magic.

I glanced around our apartment near the campus of the University of Chicago. I hadn't moved a book, hadn't given away his clothes, hadn't realized until just this moment how pathetic that was.

"I find it strange," Tallient continued, "that odd things happen under a crescent moon in the Crescent City, don't you?"

I found it more than strange. I found it irresistible.

"Are you interested?"

Why did he bother to ask? He had to have heard how Simon had died. He had to know Dr. Malone's sterling reputation had wound up in tatters. Tallient might not be aware that I'd vowed to make everyone who'd scorned Simon eat their words, but he had to suspect it considering what I'd been doing in the four years since my husband had died.

My gaze fell on the only picture I had of Simon—-knee-deep in a Canadian lake, slim, scholarly, blond, and brilliant—-his grin still made me yearn. My stomach flopped as it did every time I remembered he was gone forever. But his hopes, his dreams, his work, lived on in me.

"I'll be on a plane in the morning."

Copyright © 2006 by Lori Handeland

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First Chapter

Chapter One

A life spent fulfilling a vow to a dead man is really no life at all, but I'd loved Simon Malone, and I'd promised.

I'm a zoologist by trade, a cryptozoologist by choice. If I'd followed my training, I'd be holed up in a zoo or worse, studying giraffes and pygmy goats.

Instead, I trace rumors of mythical animals and try to prove they exist. A frustrating exercise. There's a reason no one's captured a Bigfoot. They don't want to be found, and they're a lot better at hiding than anyone on earth is at seeking. Or at least that's my theory, and I'm sticking to it.

Most cryptozoologists attempt to find undiscovered species or evolutionary wonders--real animals, nothing paranormal about them--but not me. Nope. I'd made that vow.

Foolish, but when a woman loves a man the way that I loved Simon, she does foolish things, especially when he's dying in her arms.

So I follow every legend, every folk tale, every scrap of information, trying to uncover something mythical and prove it real. Though I've never believed in magic, my husband did, and the only thing I've ever believed in was him.

I was having very little luck with my quest until the night the phone rang at 3:00 a.m. Insomnia and a very empty checking account made me answer it despite the hour.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Malone?" The voice was male, a bit shaky, old or perhaps ill.

"Not yet."

I needed to find a cryptid--translation: unknown animal--prove its existence, write a thesis. Then I could attach those lovely letters--Ph.D.--at the end of my name. But since the whole vow incident, I'd been too busy chasing lake monsters and Sasquatch clones to spendtime finding a new breed of anything.

"Is this Diana Malone?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Frank Tallient."

The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't figure out why. "Have we met?"

"No. I got your number from Rick Canfield."

Swell. The last guy who'd said those immortal words, "You're fired."

Rick was a lawyer who'd gone on a fishing trip with a bunch of other lawyers near Lake of the Woods, Minnesota. In the middle of the night he'd seen something in the lake. Something slick and black and very, very big.

Being a lawyer, he was smart enough to know he shouldn't tell the others he'd lost his mind. Not yet.

Instead, he'd gone home, searched the Internet, and made some phone calls, trying to find someone to help him discover if what he'd seen had been real or imagined. He'd found me.

"Rick thought you'd be free to help me," Tallient continued.

I was free all right. Unemployed. Again. A common occurrence in my life. I was very good at looking for things, not so good at actually finding them. However, I was one of the few cryptozoologists willing to travel on a whim for cash.

I wasn't associated with any university--not anymore. Not since Simon had gone over the edge, tarnishing both his reputation and my own.

I depended on the kindness of strangers--hell, let's be honest and just call them strange--to fund my expeditions. Until tonight, I'd been fresh out of both.

"Since you didn't locate Nessie--," Tallient began.

"Nessie's the Loch Ness Monster. I was searching for Woody."

Which was the name Rick had bestowed on the thing. People have no originality when naming lake beasts, always opting for some variation of the body of water they supposedly resided in.

Typically, the moment I'd arrived at Lake of the Woods with my cameras and recorders whatever Rick might have seen had gone poof. If it had ever been there in the first place.

In my expert opinion, an obscenely large muskie was responsible for the tales, not a supernatural lake monster, but I hadn't been able to prove that, either.

"I have a job for you," Tallient continued.

"I'm listening."

I had no choice. Though my parents were incredibly wealthy, they thought I was nuts and had stopped speaking to me the instant I married Simon.

After all, what could a handsome, brilliant, up-and-coming zoologist from Liverpool see in a not-very-pretty, far too sturdy grad student unless it was her parents' millions? He already had a green card. That Simon had told them exactly what they could do with their money had only made me love him more.

In truth, I fit into Simon's world better than I'd ever fit in my own. I stood five-foot-ten in my bare feet; on a good day I weighed a hundred and seventy. I liked the out-of-doors--didn't mind dirt or sun, wind or rain. I'd joined the Girl Scouts just so I could camp. I'd done pretty much anything and everything I could think of to emphasize my differences from the never-too-rich, never-too-thin lifestyle of my mother.

"Can you access the Internet?" Tallient asked.

"Hold on." I tapped my laptop, which sprang from asleep to awake much quicker than I ever did. "OK."

Tallient recited a www-dot address. An instant later, a newspaper article spilled across my screen.

"‘Man Found Dead in a Swamp,'" I read. "Not unusual."

Swamps were notorious dumping grounds for bodies. If the muck didn't take them, the alligators would.

"Keep going."

"Throat torn. Feral dogs. Huh." I accessed the next page. "Child missing. Coyotes. No body. Seems straightforward."

"Not really."

Tallient recited a second address, and I read some more. "Wolf sightings."

My heart increased in tempo. Wolves had been Simon's specialty; they'd turned into his obsession. Now they were mine.

"Where is this?" I demanded.

"New Orleans."

If possible, my heart beat even faster. Once red wolves had roamed the Southeast from the Atlantic to the Gulf and west to Texas. They'd been sighted as far north as Missouri and Pennsylvania. But in 1980 the red wolf had been declared extinct in the wild. In 1987 they'd been reintroduced, but only in North Carolina. So . . .

"There aren't any wolves in Louisiana," I said.

"Precisely."

"There's a legend, though. . . ." I struggled to remember it. "Honey Island Swamp monster."

"I doubt that Bigfoot-like footprints found thirty years ago have any relationship to death, disappearance, and wolves where they aren't supposed to be."

He had a point.

"Could be an ABC," I ventured.

The anacronym stood for "Alien Big Cat"--a cyptozoological label given to reports of out-of-place felines. Black panthers in Wisconsin. A jaguar in Maine. Happens a lot more than you'd think.

Most of the time ABCs were explained away as exotic animals released into the woods when they became too hard to handle or too big to fit in an apartment. Funny thing was, no one ever found them.

If they were pets, wouldn't they be easy to catch? Wouldn't their bones, or even their collars, turn up after a truly wild animal killed them? Wouldn't there be at least one record of an ABC being hit by a truck on the interstate?

But there wasn't.

"This is a wolf, not a cat," Tallient said.

I was impressed with his knowledge of cypto-terminology but too caught up in the mystery unfolding before my eyes to compliment him on it.

"Same principle," I murmured. "Could be someone dumped a wolf in the swamp. Nothing special about it."

Except wolves weren't vicious. They didn't attack people. Unless they were starving, wolf-dog hybrids, or rabid. None of which were a good thing.

"There've been whispers of wolves in and around New Orleans for years," he continued.

"How many years?"

"At least a hundred."

"What?"

Tallient chuckled. "I thought you'd enjoy that. The disturbances don't seem to occur in any particular month, or even a common season. But they always happen during the same lunar phase."

"Full moon," I guessed.

No matter what the skeptics say, full moons drive people and animals wacko. Ask anyone who's ever worked in an emergency room, psych ward, or county zoo.

"Not full," Tallient said. "Crescent."

I glanced at the thin, silver, smiling moon visible from my window. "What was the date on those articles?"

"May."

I frowned. Five months ago. "Since then?"

"Nothing."

"Could be because the bodies weren't found."

"Exactly. Things that hunt under a certain phase of the moon do so every month. They can't help themselves."

I wasn't sure about "things," but I was sure about animals. They were nothing if not creatures of habit.

"A body was found yesterday," Tallient continued. "Hasn't hit the papers yet."

I looked at the moon again. Guess I was right.

"What's your interest in this?" I asked.

"Cryptozoology fascinates me. I'd love to go on an expedition, but I'm . . . not well."

I stood. My feet literally itched. I bounced on my toes as excitement threatened to make me jump at this chance. I had to remember: What seemed too good to be true often was.

"You want to pay me to find a wolf where a wolf isn't supposed to be. Once I do, then what?"

"Trap it and call me."

Not an unusual request in my line of work. The people who hired me usually did so in the hopes that they would become famous by revealing some mythical creature to the world, and they wanted to be the ones to do the revealing. I had no problem with that as long as the disclosure took place. All I wanted was to prove Simon hadn't been crazy.

"I can do that," I agreed.

"You do realize this isn't just a wolf?"

I hoped not, but my hopes weren't often realized.

"They call it a loup-garou," Tallient continued. "That's French for--"

"Werewolf."

The rush of adrenaline made me dizzy. Though I took jobs searching for any paranormal entity--beggars couldn't be choosers--the true focus of my quest should have been a lycanthrope. As Simon's had been.

The only problem was, I just couldn't believe. Even though my maiden name was O'Malley and my father's family hailed from the land of leprechauns and fairies, in Boston, where I grew up, the only fanciful thing was the city's rabid belief in a curse on the BoSox.

In my youth there'd been no nonsense allowed--no Santa, no tooth fairy--I had to fight to read fiction. Which might explain why I fell so in love with a man who dreamed of magic.

I glanced around our apartment near the campus of the University of Chicago. I hadn't moved a book, hadn't given away his clothes, hadn't realized until just this moment how pathetic that was.

"I find it strange," Tallient continued, "that odd things happen under a crescent moon in the Crescent City, don't you?"

I found it more than strange. I found it irresistible.

"Are you interested?"

Why did he bother to ask? He had to have heard how Simon had died. He had to know Dr. Malone's sterling reputation had wound up in tatters. Tallient might not be aware that I'd vowed to make everyone who'd scorned Simon eat their words, but he had to suspect it considering what I'd been doing in the four years since my husband had died.

My gaze fell on the only picture I had of Simon--knee-deep in a Canadian lake, slim, scholarly, blond, and brilliant--his grin still made me yearn. My stomach flopped as it did every time I remembered he was gone forever. But his hopes, his dreams, his work, lived on in me.

"I'll be on a plane in the morning."

Copyright © 2006 by Lori Handeland
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 26 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(13)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 26 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 20, 2006

    A good book to read!

    I enjoyed all the others in this series, too. Well written. Runs right along... I recommend it!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 15, 2006

    Her Best Yet!

    Crescent Moon carries the reader deep into the Louisiana bayous and introduces you to a world few have experienced. The story holds twists, turns and even an unusual Voudon Priestess. The heroine is likeable, self-depracating, sensible, and (thankfully) does not fit Hollywood's beauty standard's. (Can't we relate, ladies?) The hero is hot, flawed and full of secrets. (Gotta love an alpha male bad-boy). Handeland's sultry imagery and even hotter love scenes definitely will please any reader of paranormal romance.

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    Fabuous

    Frank Tallient hires Chicago based cryptozoologist Diana Malone to investigate strange killings in the swamps near New Orleans. Her new client wants Diana to capture whatever is murdering the local populace both expect a mundane serial killer is at work, but also understand the underlying reason he chose her is the possibility that a more esoteric murderer, an ABC (Alien Big Cat) like a wolf or even a werewolf is behind the slaughter.----- Former Special Forces soldier and native son Adam Ruelle is the best person to guide Diana through the bayou jungle, but if he is even alive, which is doubtful, he is the posterboy of recluses and probably will reject her request. Still she tries and he reluctantly agrees when he cannot persuade her that the only animals she wants to see is a cub at a baseball game in Chicago. At night in the eerie Louisiana swamps, Diana begins to fall in love with her strange guide an emotion she thought dead since her beloved Simon Malone passed away. Against all he understands about his heritage, Adam reciprocates though he believes the ¿curse¿ needs to end with him. In daylight she believes he hides the truth about himself and what he knows about their prey, who stalks the scientist and her escort.------- The fourth paranormal romantic suspense fantasy Moon tale is a terrific entry in what is one of the better running sub-genre series of the last few years. The lead couple is an exhilarating pairing as they fall in love, but both have monster doubts about any relationship that is if they survive being the hunted. Readers who appreciate a strong one sitting thriller will want to read CRESCENT MOON and the other Lori Handeland lunar tales (DARK MOON, HUNTER¿S MOON, and BLUE MOON).----- Harriet Klausner

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