Page 1 of Howl Me to the Moon (Moonlight Siren Supernatural Cruises #2)
CHAPTER 1
PIPER
“W e need to have a tremendous week in sales, Piper,” my vampire boss Marcel insisted in his French accent as he stepped into the art auction storage room. His expensive leather shoes echoed across the floor. “The last two cruises were rather”—he frowned—”lackluster.”
“Yes, Marcel, noted.” I rose from being stooped over a painting in the art gallery. I loved working here, surrounded by stunning artwork. The scent of paint and canvas had such a soothing effect on me, which was complemented by the soft classical music I played in the background to help set the mood during our auctions.
I’d been playing with lighting to highlight the best attributes of a painting I’d obtained especially for this week. That was one of the things that made me good at my job.
“And this is key to making it happen.” I motioned at the newest piece, an abstract work with vibrant, shimmering gold and crimson colors. “All the guests will be clamoring to bring this one-of-a-kind beauty back home with them.”
Marcel rubbed his pointy chin as he moved closer and assessed the painting. “It truly is remarkable. The one from Naples, correct?”
“Yes. An estate sale of a reclusive dragon shifter's private collection. The artist was his mate, a human. She enhanced the paint with enchanted dragon fire.” I pointed at the canvas. “That’s why the colors appear so animated, like they’re flickering as if true flames.” I paused while he scrutinized the unique piece. “If you look long enough, I swear it looks like the flames are moving—alive—and you can see the shape of wings and scales within it.”
Marcel made a sound of acknowledgment and tipped his head. “Like a dragon.”
With a smile, I nodded. “Precisely.”
“Good, good.” He stood up straight, looming over me with his tall, thin frame. He was at least three hundred years old but looked no older than fifty with his jet-black hair and sharp features. “I trust you and Sloane are prepared for tomorrow?”
“We are indeed. He’s setting up the auction room now.” Sloane was a fox shifter who worked auctions with me.
“All right.” Marcel brought his hands together. “Let’s wow them with the preview show tomorrow.” Then he turned and sauntered out of the room with long strides.
I assessed the magical vibration around the Armando painting to ensure my protection spell was in place. My magic was the main source of security for our artwork since human technology could so easily be tampered with. I turned to the others that we were going to feature this week. We had a few other valuable pieces, but unfortunately, no one had been interested enough to fork over the significant funds needed to purchase them during the last few sailings. That was why Marcel was getting anxious, which in turn made work more stressful for me. Overall, he was a decent boss. He let Sloane and me have some flexibility with our selections in art and business—to some extent. I was in my early thirties, and Sloane was barely out of college, and we embraced more modern approaches to the art world. But Marcel was traditional and could sometimes be stuck in his ways.
I got so caught up in planning out the selections for tomorrow’s preview that I lost track of time. When I glanced at my watch, I groaned—I was running late to meet Kylie.
I dashed to my cabin and removed my sensible work shoes and stiff navy blue cruise staff uniform with my name tag reading Piper Thorne, witch. Whereas on human cruise lines, crew often wore tags noting their country, on this new cruise line designed for supernaturals—crew were encouraged to reveal their species. We were finishing out the summer season in Alaska before we repositioned to warmer waters this fall. I reached into my tiny closet—everything in my cabin was compact—and pulled out a vintage Bohemian dress that I loved. It was sky blue and light and flowed softly around my legs like clouds in the sky.
I checked my appearance in the tiny mirror over my desk, running my fingers to smooth out the wayward strands of rose-gold hair. I changed colors whenever I felt like I needed something new, so I had recently moved from bright pink to this softer hue. Then I added a fresh coat of pink gloss, smacked my lips together, and slipped on a pair of sandals. I headed upstairs to meet Kylie. She’d just finished her shift tending bar, and we planned to meet in the atrium before heading up to the Nocturnal Lounge.
I passed a line of supernaturals dressed up to have their photos professionally taken and found her sitting at a table near a porthole, gazing out to the sea. She also had changed out of her uniform to a more casual outfit of black jeans and a flowing black top that accentuated the bright sapphire of her hair. That was the first thing I’d noticed about her when she was a guest on this cruise last month. Since she was sitting alone and looking slightly uncomfortable, I introduced myself. We quickly became friends, especially after she joined the crew a few weeks ago.
“Kylie-Ky,” I greeted her.
She turned to me and smiled. “Looking good, Piper-Pi.” Then she tipped her head and teased, “You’re not too late.”
“Oof.” I motioned with a wave of my hand. “Artwork that’s centuries old doesn’t think a few minutes is worth mentioning.”
“I was thinking you got lost in the gallery,” she teased. “Ready?” She stood. “I want to get a good seat for their first show back.”
“You bet.”
Kylie’s mate was Damien, a vampire and lead guitarist for Blue Luna Shadows, the rock cover band on our ship, the Moonlight Siren. When their selkie shifter bassist started a brawl onstage last month, he quit, and the band needed to quickly find a replacement.
As we walked out of the lounge, I said, “Have you heard them play yet?”
“Just a bit at practice,” she said. “The new guy, Rex, is quite—um?—”
When she didn’t finish, I prodded, “Quite what?”
She grinned. “You’ll see.”
I blinked at her. “What does that mean? Is he some kind of circus freak?”
She laughed. “No, he’s a wolf shifter. Huge and looks intimidating as hell. But he’s actually quite nice. More golden retriever than werewolf.”
With a harrumph, I said, “That’s good. The last thing the band needs is an ego like Angus’s.”
All I wanted was a cold fruity beverage and some good music with my friends so I could unwind properly before a whirlwind week of auctions.
Absolutely zero drama.