Captured by Moonlight

by Nancy Gideon

  “I won’t be scared if you won’t be.”

  “Okay.” And he was smiling faintly as he slipped quietly away, letting the fever gobble him up. He closed his eyes and could almost hear Charlotte’s voice, a cool caress across his burning mind.

  I’m here, baby. Don’t be afraid. You’re not alone. Show me where you are.

  He let himself fill up with her, with her warmth, her scent, the feel of her touch whispering over his lips.

  Charlotte. Find me. Help me. I love you.

  HE WOKE WITH a jerk, the creeping chill of danger all over him. Oscar lay heavily across his knees, asleep. He fit his hand gently over the boy’s mouth, then gave him a slight shake.

  “Shhhh.”

  Oscar nodded that he understood and sat up slowly once Max released him.

  It was minutes to dawn. A cold mist shimmered over the bayou like sheer curtains, cloaking the surroundings in a surreal gauziness. Max closed his eyes and reached out just the softest of whispers, letting it glide on the fog, until he bumped up against a recognizable signature. He eased back before they were aware of him. Seven of them.

  So many.

  “Ozzy, we have to move. This isn’t a good place for what I have in mind.”

  “Are they coming?”

  “Yes.”

  Nothing could be worse than the momentary terror that leapt in the boy’s eyes before quickly becoming sober trust. Nothing until Max tried to move, and discovered he couldn’t.

  He hoped it was just numbness from the cold, then he looked under his jacket, dropping it quickly to conceal the sight from Oscar. No sense in scaring the boy.

  “Here’s as good a place as any.” Talking hurt. There was so much pressure in his chest, he could only breathe in tiny snatches. Time was up. “Ozzy, I want you to listen to me, to do what I tell you.”

  The boy’s big eyes fixed upon his. “Okay, Max.”

  “You need to go, quickly and quietly as you can.”

  “I can’t leave you here by yourself. I can help you. There’s things I can do, things nobody knows about.”

  “I know, Oz.” Dear God, like he’d want the same knowledge of killing and death hanging over the boy’s head that had his own when he was too young to deal with it. “But don’t show anyone except Charlotte what you can do. You can trust her with anything. I need you to go, now, and find Charlotte. Don’t look back, and don’t come back or you’ll spoil the surprise. Okay? Promise me, Ozzy. Promise me.”

  The boy’s chin quivered but his voice was strong. “I promise, Max.” His thin arms whipped about Max’s neck and he buried his face there.

  The effort it took just to bring his hand up to rest between the quaking shoulder blades was monumental. Max turned into the boy’s hair and breathed his scent in as deeply as he could. His family’s scent. His brother. Then he pushed him away.

  “Go now.” But he found himself hanging on just a few seconds longer. “Tell Charlotte…tell Charlotte my thoughts were of her. She’ll understand. Go.”

  Oscar jumped up and ran. The mists quickly swallowed him, but as Max closed his eyes, he followed the boy’s progress. Just a bit farther. A bit farther. Go on, Oscar. Don’t look back.

  The waiting was harder than he expected. He kept drifting, and his fear for Oscar gnawed even more fiercely than his wounds. He had to be ready. He couldn’t let them kill him too quickly. He had to give Oscar time to reach safety. Then it wouldn’t matter if he no longer had the strength to shift into something that could make a decent fight of things.

  He let his barriers drop. He couldn’t have held them in place much longer anyway. He immediately was aware of them, just as they were of him. Close. So much closer than he’d thought.

  He tried to maintain his edge, but he was cold, so cold.

  Charlotte.

  Hang on, baby. I’m almost there.

  Take care of him, sha. Take care of him for me.

  He could feel her. The touch of her hands on his face. The warmth of her body against him, through him, filling him up with a sweet embrace of heat.

  And he was smiling slightly when they came upon him.

  SHE’D BEEN RACING blindly through the trees, refusing to wait for daylight because urgency thrummed in great surging pulses, pushing her forward. She wasn’t sure where she was going until awareness of Max suddenly surfaced as if he were right in front of her. She redirected her course, heading for where she knew she’d find him. But would she be in time?

  They almost missed one another in the fog.

  She caught a quick flash of movement. But it was the scent, the scent of Max still on him, that snagged her attention.

  “Ozzy!”

  Cee Cee rocked back on her heels as the boy flung himself on her. She hugged him tight while her gaze swept the mist. “Are you okay? Ozzy, are you okay?” A brisk nod. “Max. Where’s Max? Is Max all right?” She knew he wasn’t and was scared to the marrow.

  “He told me to come find you. To not look back. To not come back. He made me promise.” Tears quivered in the boy’s voice. “He made me leave him there alone.”

  “You did the right thing, Ozzy. Max can take care of himself.”

  The dark head shook. “No, he can’t. He’s hurt. He’s hurt real bad. Worse than he’d let me see.” He leaned back to regard her steadily. “He told me to tell you his thoughts were of you.”

  The same last message Max had delivered to her from her best friend Mary Kate Malone, when she believed she was going to die.

  “No.” The sound moaned from her. Then fierce anger slammed into place. “Don’t you dare, Savoie. Don’t you dare think I’m going to let you leave me, too.”

  She gave the boy her cell phone. “Call your dad, Ozzy. He’s just minutes behind with backup. Stay right here until he finds you. Don’t make me have to worry about you.”

  “I won’t. I’ll stay here. Max loves you, you know.”

  She rumpled the boy’s filthy hair. “I know. But that’s not going to stop me from kicking his butt.”

  She ran, homing in on Max like a GPS signal, Feeling it fading even as she grew closer.

  Hang on, baby. I’m almost there.

  Though her heart hammered frantically her mind was cool, clear, and ready.

  As the fog thinned she finally saw Max, limp and bloodied as one of the sleek assassins dragged him into a seated position by the hair.

  “Where’s the boy?”

  “You’ll never take him.” Even weak and thready with pain, Max’s voice rippled with menacing certainty. “I’m not going to let you.”

  A laugh at that audacious claim. “Who’s going to stop us? You? You’re going to take all seven of us? All by yourself?”

  “No. Not by myself. Charlotte, take ’em.”

  Because it was ingrained in her, she shouted, “NOPD. Freeze or I’ll shoot.” Of course they didn’t listen; they didn’t think they had anything to fear from a human female. Her silver bullets took two of them down, blowing those misconceptions right out of their skulls.

  Max looked up at the one still gripping his hair, his eyes a cool green edged with golden fire. He’d taken this one’s scent before from Charlotte, when the Tracker had been foolish enough to put a mark on his girl’s face.

  Max smiled ferociously. “Surprise.”

  And Max’s fist was through his assailant’s chest before awareness of his mistake even registered in his eyes. The other Trackers stood stunned, as did the members of Cee Cee’s backup team, as Max consumed the gory object in his hand, then stood, eyes closed, shuddering slightly as if in some orgasmic trance.

  Alain Babineau had his son tucked behind him. He was flanked by Joey Boucher and Junior Hammond. All three stood with jaws hanging as Max Savoie became something out of a nightmare, his features altering into a monstrous bestial form. Only Charlotte and Oscar Babineau were unfazed.

  “Max,” she shouted, “behind you!”

  He spun about just as one of the elegant killers shifted into his own fea
rsome entity. They immediately locked into battle.

  Cee Cee heard her partner’s hushed conclusion. “Fangs and claws…fuck me.”

  After a brief, violent fight Max overpowered the other Shifter, flinging him to the ground. He straddled his opponent’s chest, his shaggy head bent over the other’s throat. His deep, rumbling snarl brought the hairs up on every man’s arms. He sat back with a savage jerk and, for a moment, didn’t move. When he turned to his petrified audience, they saw his own face covered with the other’s blood. His eyes dazzled with unnatural light.

  “Max, they’re getting away,” Oscar shouted, pointing after the two who’d disappeared quickly into the rising mists. Max was up and gone without a sound, without seeming to even move.

  “Holy mother of God,” Joey Boucher whispered as he instinctively crossed himself.

  As she walked away from her team toward the edge of the clearing, Cee Cee surveyed the carnage and did a quick tally. Four down. Max was chasing two; that was six. Where was the seventh?

  Arms wrapped about her from behind, shutting off her startled cry with a sudden crushing pressure. Her feet left the ground and she struggled to breathe as her lungs were squeezed like a balloon in a fist. She could hear her own ribs snapping, the sound brittle, surreal. She twisted frantically, seeing her own death loom over her shoulder in the gleaming red eyes and sharp, dripping teeth. She centered her pistol between those horrific features and fired.

  MAX BROUGHT DOWN the first as easily as they had Tito Tibideaux, dropping him with an explosive mental surge that, until this very instant, he wasn’t sure he could do. The second decided to turn and make a stand, which was fine with Max. He wanted information from this one before he killed him.

  They circled each other, gauging strengths and possible weaknesses, finding plenty of the first and none of the latter.

  “Who are you?” the assassin asked, professional interest piqued.

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re not going to live to tell anyone.” Max smiled chillingly.

  “You’re the one, aren’t you? The one they talk about.”

  “Who talks about?”

  “It doesn’t matter, if I’m not going to live to get back to them.” And he smiled. “You’re Rollo’s boy, his first one with Marie Savorie.”

  Savorie. So that was his name. Not Savoie.

  “Knowing your genealogy isn’t going to help you.”

  “We weren’t sure you were here, too, or we would have come for you first.”

  “Too bad you won’t be able to share that information. Or have you already?”

  Max sprang and brought the other down to the soft ground, knees on the other’s forearms, one hand over his defiantly beating heart, the other covering his face so only his eyes glittered hotly between the spread of his fingers.

  “Who have you told? Who knows about me?”

  He leaned close, his stare burning into the other’s, piercing through the widening pupils to images held in recent memory. Prepared for the strangely altered perceptions this time, he didn’t let them distract him from what he was looking for. The imprint of the first one he’d killed back at the tree was trapped in the other’s conscious mind as he spoke on the phone in the jostling SUV.

  We have the boy. We’re bringing him to you. But there’s another here. Stronger than we’ve ever felt before, but he’s like a ghost. We can’t get a fix on him. He might be the one. He might be the key to everything.

  Max pulled back. Pain lanced through his temples, breaking a sweat on his brow.

  The Tracker beneath him paled and trembled. “I don’t believe it. It can’t be true. You can’t be a Reader. That’s impossible.”

  “I can’t be what? What does that mean? Tell me.”

  “I’ve told you too much already.” And he surged up, knowing it was suicide, to save whatever else was hidden in his mind.

  THE SILENT TRIO of cops stumbled back several steps, tightening their defensive huddle as Max appeared from the mists. They stared at him, eyes glassy, features slack with disbelief. They’d seen. They knew what he was now. A whispering dread urged him to run away while he could, but he ignored it to find Charlotte. The only thing he wanted was to grab her up in his arms and hold her.

  She sat at that base of the tree that had sheltered him through the night, half leaning against the body of her dead attacker. His gaze did an anxious scan. No sign of injury to her slumped figure.

  Her gaze met his, warming, softening, but then she caught the subtle shifts of movement at the edges of her vision. Reacting without thought, her palms outstretched in the direction of her peers.

  “No! Put ’em away! You’re not going to shoot him. You’re not going to touch him.”

  Startled by her vehement cry, Max glanced at the uneasy trio who’d begun to draw their weapons but now paused in uncertainty. Then Cee Cee reached for his hand, and their threat was forgotten as he went down onto his knees next to her. Small things reached him, not making sense at first. The chill in her fingertips as they brushed his gore-soaked features. The strange sound of her shallow breaths. The pallor of her skin.

  “Oh, Max, I was so worried. Did you kill both of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. That’s good.” Then her arm dropped limply to the ground. “I won’t let them take you. I won’t let them hurt you.”

  “Charlotte?”

  A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as he gathered her up in his arms. Her body was alarmingly lax in his embrace.

  “I love you, baby.”

  The way she said it, like a farewell on a soft sigh, sent panic through him. Something was very, frighteningly wrong. He lurched to his feet, clutching her to his chest.

  “Babineau, where’s your car?”

  His fierce tone brought Cee Cee’s partner instantly alert. “What is it? Is she hurt?”

  “We have to go—now.”

  “He—whatever the hell he is—is not leaving here,” Hammond argued, his service revolver pulled and ready. “Not without my cuffs on him.” When he took an aggressive step forward, Babineau shoved him back.

  “Get out of the way, Junior, or I swear to God they’ll have to bring a body bag for you, too.”

  Max carried her out of the swamp, frustrated by having to slow his steps so the others could keep up. She was so very still. He shut every part of himself down except the essentials needed to get her help. He wouldn’t think about anything else.

  When he eased her into the rear seat of Babineau’s car, Oscar leaned over the back of the front seat, his eyes huge and anxious. “Is she going to be all right, Max?”

  “Ozzy, sit down and put your belt on,” Babineau snapped. Then, taking a breath to calm himself, he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Sit down, son, so we can get going.”

  Clicking the seat belt closed, Oscar strained to see into the back where Max was holding Cee Cee across his knees.

  “I want to see you,” she insisted as Max positioned her carefully so her feet were up on the worn, fabric-covered seat. “I want to see your face, Savoie.”

  “It’s not that much to look at, sha.” But he eased her down with an arm about her shoulders to cradle her.

  “It’s a magnificent face,” she argued with a dreamy little smile. “They both are.” She reached up to touch him. He took her wandering hand and fit it to his cheek. Her eyes closed briefly as the vehicle jerked into motion and bounced along the rutted two-track.

  “Careful,” Max growled at the driver.

  “Do you want careful or do you want speed?” Babineau’s combative tone was belied by his worried glance in the rearview mirror.

  “Hurry,” Max told him quietly. Then he turned his attention back to Cee Cee. “How you holding up, cher? Any pain?”

  “Just hold me, Max. Don’t let go.”

  “I won’t.”

  “My legs are cold. Could you cover them up for me?”

  He looked down at the heavy stadium blanket he�
��d tucked around her and asked without moving, “There. Is that better?”

  “Ummmm, much. Thank you.”

  Keeping his expression relaxed, he pushed the blanket aside and pinched the underside of her knee hard. She didn’t even twitch. With a shaking hand, he restored the blanket and absently rubbed her thigh. He tried not to see the way the color leached from her face, or hear the suspicious gurgle in her breaths, or note the frothy substance of the blood appearing again at her lips. He refused to believe what those signs told him.

  “We’ll be there soon,” he assured her.

  A snort. “Not with Babs behind the wheel. You scratched the paint on my car, Savoie.”

  He smiled. “I’ll get you another one. Anything you want.”

  “I want you.”

  “You have me, Charlotte.”

  “Then I have everything I need.” And her lips curved up as her eyes slid shut.

  SHE WAS STRIPPED from his arms the second he carried her into the ER. His bullet-riddled jacket and the blood he was bathed in forced him to stop for insistent questions regarding his own condition while he watched them wheel her swiftly away. Then there was nothing to do but wait.

  He stood motionless, his unblinking eyes fixed on the corridor, unaware of the whispers and attention, he drew. Hammond and Boucher arrived to confer with Babineau, watching him with wary indecision. The only thing that reached him was the feel of Oscar’s small hand squeezing his before Babineau called him away.

  More and more uniformed and plain-clothed officers filled the room once news spread that Charlotte Caissie was there. Even the vice team arrived, giving Max Savoie a wide berth. The mood was grave, her colleagues mostly silent in grim law-enforcement tradition. They waited.

  Tina Babineau rushed in, dropping to her knees to envelop her son and bathe him with her tears. She had a quick hug for her husband, then she turned to the stoic and solitary Max. Her arms went around him without hesitation, her hand guiding his head down to her shoulder in a timeless gesture of comfort.