Night Falls on the Wicked

by Sharie Kohler

  Reviews adore

  SHARIE KOHLER

  and the novels in her exhilarating

  Moon Chasers series!

  “Do not miss this next exciting story in the thrilling Moon Chasers series.”

  —Fresh Fiction on My Soul to Keep

  “Readers are in for an incredible ride.”

  —Romantic Times on To Crave a Blood Moon

  “Sparks fly and the attraction sizzles … a delectable escape.”

  —Darque Reviews on Kiss of a Dark Moon

  “The interplay between these protagonists sets sparks off the page … dark, deadly, and sexy certainly sums up this hero.”

  —Romantic Times on Kiss of a Dark Moon

  “Adventurous, witty, and fabulously sexy—definitely a must-read.”

  —Fresh Fiction on Marked by Moonlight

  The Moon Chasers novels are also all available as eBooks.

  ALSO BY SHARIE KOHLER

  My Soul to Keep

  To Crave a Blood Moon

  Kiss of a Dark Moon

  Marked by Moonlight

  Haunted by Your Touch

  (with Jeaniene Frost and Shayla Black)

  Pocket Books

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Sharie Kohler

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  First Pocket Books paperback edition September 2011

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.

  Interior design by Jacquelynne Hudson

  Cover design by Min Choi

  Cover art by Craig White

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ISBN 978-1-4516-1141-0

  ISBN 978-1-4516-1143-4 (ebook)

  To Lark

  reader, writer, cheerleader, a woman

  of enviable style and grace.

  And above all, friend.

  … I found myself within a dark wood, for the clear path had been lost.

  —DANTE

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  PROLOGUE

  She stood in shadows at the foot of the bed, staring down at the sleeping figure. At sixteen, he was almost a man, but still a boy in so many ways. Always her boy, her son, her baby. A lump thickened her throat and she fought to swallow it down.

  He slept fitfully, tossing and turning, sweat glistening on his face, visible even in the room’s dull glow. The source of that glow could be seen through the window. It repelled her … made her slightly ill. She moved toward the window, her steps creaking over the wooden floor. She grasped the curtains in both hands and pulled the fabric tightly shut as if she could block out that waxing moon. Hide it from view. Forget what it meant, the power it now held over her son.

  Her hands lingered on the soft cotton, caressing the fabric for a moment until sliding away. She remembered selecting the curtains years ago. The puppies chasing red balls still made her smile. Of course, he had been complaining about them for some time now, arguing that a boy his age needed more manly curtains. Her response had been to laugh, ruffle his hair and tell him he would always be her baby. Nothing would ever change that. Her hands curled into fists, her nails cutting into her tender palms. Nothing. Now more than ever she had to be a good mother to him.

  It had been just the two of them for so long now. His father was gone. He’d passed in and out of her life so swiftly that memories of him were dim. A man with a rumbling laugh, wicked smile and broad hands that she could hold and stroke and stare at for hours. Niklas remembered nothing of him at all, which was just as well. She’d worked hard over the years to make sure he never felt the lack of a father in his life.

  Niklas was her world. And she was his. The realization created a deep gnawing pang in her chest. It was going to be hard for him, but he was young. He’d overcome. He’d grow into a strong man and move on. He’d be fine without her.

  She rounded the bed. Her hand shook as she lowered it to his head and brushed the silken hair—almost as though she had never touched him before. Except she had done so every day for the last sixteen years. As her fingers slid the hair back from his feverish skin, she confronted the harsh reality that this would be her last time to touch him. A sob caught in her throat but she held it back, determined not to wake him. Determined that he not know what she was about until it was too late. Until it was done.

  Bending, she pressed trembling lips to his cheek. The white bandage peeked out from the edge of his shirt, a painful reminder. Beneath that bandage lay torn flesh that she’d cleaned and cared for the best she could. Not that her efforts made any difference. Raw and ravaged tonight, it would probably be gone tomorrow, miraculously healed. All evidence of his attack would be gone.

  She stroked his cheek, trying to memorize the texture, everything about him—enough to make it last. His skin still felt smooth and soft as always, even dangerously warm as he was. The fever was the curse, working its way through him, killing him off bit by bit until only a ghost of him would remain. She wouldn’t have that. No matter the cost. It would not come to be.

  “Be safe, my love.”

  And he would, she vowed as she moved from the bed and slipped silently from the room. No matter the price to herself. She’d do what needed to be done. Her son would wake in the morning himself again. Whole and safe.

  She, however, would wake far, far from here. And she’d wake as something else. Something without a chance … without any hope.

  ONE

  A gust of late winter wind blew through the open door as another group of loggers tromped inside Sam’s Diner. Darby sucked in a breath and tensed against the bitter cold, breathing again when the door thudded shut. Air that cold was something she would never grow accustomed to—even after three years of living in subarctic temperatures.

  As the door chimed shut, she hurried with menus to the table—the same as any other night. Handing out menus, refilling glasses, hefting trays of burgers and fries as snow continued to fall in sheets of white outside.

  “Darby, girl,” a logger with raw, wind-chapped cheeks called to her good-naturedl
y. “When you gonna marry me?”

  Darby pasted a smile on her face and gestured widely with a hand that clutched a coffeepot. “And leave all this?”

  The logger snorted. “Who said anything about leaving this? I was hoping you’d support me. Always wanted to be a kept man.”

  Darby rolled her eyes. “I’m not keeping anyone on the tips you guys leave me.”

  His friends laughed. They were good men. Big, burly men who worked hard for a living. She knew many of their names, but nothing else about them. Just as they knew nothing of her. And they never would. She never let anyone close. It wasn’t safe to forge relationships.

  “Why don’t you cut out early? You been here since five,” Maggie offered when Darby returned to the counter with their orders.

  Darby scanned the narrow diner. At least five tables sat at full occupancy. “Trying to make off with all my tips?” she teased.

  Maggie scoffed. They both knew that no one in this town was a big tipper. Not when the majority of residents could barely afford their heating bills.

  Maggie waved a thick hand. “You go on. We don’t need three waitresses for this crowd.” She nodded to Corey at the other end of the diner. “Besides, the kids are at their dad’s. Might as well work late. Hate coming home to an empty place.”

  Darby’s smile slipped as she refilled a salt shaker and screwed the lid back on. She knew all about coming home to an empty place. It’s all she knew.

  “Well, all right then. If you’re sure. I don’t mind clocking out early.” She nodded to a just-vacated table. “I’ll just bus up that one and head out.”

  “Invitation for dinner tomorrow is still open. Do you good to do something on our day off besides sit around staring at the walls. And my nephew will be there—”

  “The taxidermist?”

  “Yep. Nicest guy you’ll—”

  Darby winced. Maggie always knew a nice guy. “No, thanks.”

  “What?” She sighed, scratching her head with a pencil. “Some reality show marathon on TV?”

  An old Alfred Hitchcock movie actually. She always loved the classics—had watched them a lot as a girl with her aunts. Rather than admit this, she shrugged. “Just thought I’d relax, read a book, get in a run—”

  “Ugh. Who runs for fun?”

  “Lots of people do. It’s good exercise.” And it helped. Helped keep her mind off things. Gave her a release.

  Maggie snorted. “If you had a man you’d be getting plenty of exercise.” She laughed at her crude joke.

  Darby rolled her eyes. “Trust me, Maggie. You don’t want to set your nephew up with me.”

  Maggie sniffed and swiped at her nose. “Why not?” She leaned close and dropped her voice, her eyes wide, hungry as a hound on the scent. “You hiding from the law or something? That would explain a lot about you, you know.”

  Darby smiled. Yes. She supposed that would explain a lot, and it would be more plausible than the truth. “No. Nothing like that.” She was running from something far worse than the law.

  “Well, a date wouldn’t hurt. Even Corey’s got a date this week.” Maggie jerked a thumb to the other waitress.

  Corey had a date? The single mom was about as uninterested in dating as Darby was. Well, uninterested wasn’t an accurate description exactly. Darby was interested. Achingly interested. Some nights she couldn’t sleep for all of her aching interest. Darby was simply unable to date. Big difference.

  She watched Corey as she bused a table, her ponytail bouncing as she worked. For some reason the notion of Corey dating made her lonelier than ever. Now Maggie had no one to nag but Darby.

  Corey must have seen something on her face. As she passed with a heavily laden tray of drinks, she shook her head at Darby. “Don’t let her start on you, Darby. It’s just a date. Don’t make a big deal out of it, Maggie.”

  “It is a big deal,” Maggie flung back. “What’s it been for you, Corey? Three years?”

  Darby stiffened. Three years. The same amount of time had passed since she’d felt free to go on a date. Since she left home, her family and friends. Three years that yawned on like forever. She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. God—what was the rest of her life going to be like?

  She shook her head. It was better than the alternative. She knew that. Was okay with that. Really.

  It wasn’t an issue of wanting or deserving love. She wanted love, romance. A family, children of her own. She deserved it as much as the next person, but it was never going to happen. It was a beautiful dream. A fantasy.

  Reality, sadly, didn’t offer any of those things for her. She contented herself with the past—with what little romance she’d had then. Bradley, her off-again, on-again boyfriend through high school. He’d been a good kisser. Had bought her a lovely watch she still owned. And there had been the occasional dates in college. That was all she would ever have.

  “Good for Corey,” she murmured, fighting back the acrid taste of jealously rising up in her throat. To go out on an actual date. To feel a man’s hand on the small of her back as they walked through a crowded room. Darby couldn’t deny missing that. Among other things.

  Maggie tossed her hands up in the air. “I give up.”

  Darby grabbed a tub and moved to the table—the familiar need for distance surging back inside her again—and started collecting dishes. She worked quickly, ready to get off her feet and curl up on her couch. The solitude of her cozy room above the diner beckoned. Better that than this—surrounding herself with people that she had to forever and always keep at arm’s length. For her sake. For theirs.

  She walked back to the kitchen and deposited the heavy tub of dishes next to Sam with a grunt.

  “Headed out?” her boss asked around a mouthful of chew, maneuvering the hose in the sink and sending warm water splashing everywhere. Behind him food cooked on the grill, burgers that looked like they needed flipping.

  She nodded, slipping off her work shoes and squeezing her feet into her snow boots waiting at the back door. “Yep. Good night.”

  Sam muttered a response as she slipped on her parka and worked with the double zipper, preparing to leave out the back. “See you Wednesday.”

  At the sudden thought of her day off tomorrow, she stopped and looked back at her boss. “Hey, Sam, you mind if I come over tomorrow to use your computer for a little bit? I need to look up some stuff.”

  “Sure. Whenever you need to. We’ll be home all day.” Of course, he would. Tuesday was the only day of the week the diner was closed and Sam usually spent it relaxing at home with his family.

  “Thanks.” It was time she started investigating her next move. Maggie’s prodding and nosy ways had clued her in that something was off with Darby. It wouldn’t take long for others to start wondering about her, too, and the last thing Darby needed was people prying into her life.

  Spring was coming. She needed to start planning her next move anyway. She couldn’t stay here forever. It was already getting too comfortable. The people here were too nice. Which is why she couldn’t stay and put them in jeopardy.

  “I’ll come over in the afternoon.”

  “Might as well stay for dinner,” he suggested. “Vera’s going to make a pot roast.”

  Darby gave a single nod, not bothering to decline. She wouldn’t be staying for dinner. Even as much as she would like to, as much as she craved the company—craved being around a family again. It wasn’t to be. It couldn’t be.

  She knew everyone thought she was odd, antisocial even. And that was fine. Better that than the truth.

  Better that than dead.

  She shook her head as she stepped outside. The cold hit her like a fist. She burrowed into her hood and wrapped her scarf around her throat several times, tugging the fabric up to her chin.

  Dead. If it was only just that simple. Sadly, there were things worse than death. Her chest tightened. She knew firsthand about such things.

  DARBY FINISHED JOTTING DOWN the last of her notes
in her spiral, everything she needed to know about Lancaster, Alaska. Population seventeen hundred. A new town for her. One of the only habitable places in Alaska’s Arctic Circle. But it needed to be cold during the summer. As far as she was concerned, Lancaster would fit her needs perfectly.

  She never visited the same place twice. It was too easy to make friends, to build a life with people in it … people who could care about her. She’d discovered that people who cared about her weren’t easy to lie to. And lying was all she could do. Unfortunately, the truth wasn’t something she could give to anyone. Nor could she give any part of herself. Ever.

  She was no good. Tainted. It was in everyone’s best interest for her to keep to herself. It was a full-time job to do just that. She missed people, longed for company, a simple friend. It was difficult to stay on guard 24/7, but that’s what she had to do.

  As long as she lived, that’s what she would do.

  Either that or throw in the towel like her mother did, and Darby couldn’t do that. She shivered at the idea. She wasn’t a quitter. She’d keep on moving, running, hiding—and try to take what pleasures she could from life in the process.

  That was the only thing she could do. The only plan she had. The alternative to that …

  A chill skated down her spine as she recalled the alternative awaiting her. There was no alternative.

  She logged off the computer and gathered her bag, stuffing her spiral inside. She needed to go to the store, but she also wanted to squeeze in a run before it became too dark. The endorphins always helped. Always made everything brighter … less depressing now that her life had become this non-life. Not to mention she slept like the dead after a hard run. A deep, dreamless sleep. That was seriously important for her.

  Her boots thudded along the wood floor as she left Sam’s office and followed the delicious aroma of food into the kitchen.

  Vera was setting four plates at the table. Rory, their fourteen-year-old son, sat at the table working on his homework.

  She forced a smile.

  “Hey, Darby,” Rory said, looking up shyly from beneath his shaggy bangs.