Bound by Moonlight

by Nancy Gideon

  “You mess with Charlotte, you’re history. You mess with me, you’re lunch. Now go away.” When Hammond was slow to react, Max roared, “Go!”

  He ran, slipping on the wet bricks as he pushed through the thick press of Savoie’s preternatural pack. He held back screams as he felt their teeth snapping at his neck, their claws ripping at his clothes. Once free of them he sprinted to his car, jumping in and racing away as if the hounds of hell were after him.

  Because he feared if he even glanced over his shoulder, they would be.

  “IF YOU’RE LOOKING for Detective Hammond, he’s gone.”

  Joey Boucher jumped at the quiet words spoken from the dark alley. “Gone, as in dead?” he ventured, swallowing hard at the sight of Max Savoie separating from the mists.

  “Gone, as in ran for his life. He forgot this.”

  Boucher took the service pistol, feeling comforted by its solid weight in his palm, even though its bullets couldn’t harm the figure before him. He tucked it in his coat. “He’s an asshole. I would have enjoyed watching him scramble.”

  Max chuckled softly. “You’re a good policeman, Boucher. Are you a smart one?”

  “Yes, sir. I like to think so. You put it on the line to rescue Babineau’s little boy. I won’t forget that. Detective Caissie has always been fair to me, and gave me a hand up when she didn’t have to. I won’t forget that, either.”

  Max smiled. “Watch her back for me, Joey. Can I trust you to do that?”

  “Yes, sir. What shall I tell her about Hammond?”

  A wide show of teeth. “Tell her he had an unexpected accident and had to run home to change his trousers.”

  Boucher laughed out loud and glanced toward the end of the alley. Hammond’s car was gone. “Damn, I would like to have seen that.”

  When he turned back, Savoie was gone.

  Six

  MAX WAS SITTING on the front porch glider when Charlotte came wearily up the steps. She made a bee-line for him, straddled him with her knees, and buried her face against his shoulder. Her arms curled about his neck, almost desperately tight. “I’ve had a monumentally crappy day.”

  “I’m sorry. Want to tell me about it?”

  “I will. Not just yet.”

  He nuzzled her hair, his lips swiping her brow. “Then tell me what I can do for you to improve the hours left in it.”

  She didn’t have to consider. “I need you naked under me.”

  “Right here on the porch?”

  His amused but willing tone made her smile. “As quickly as you can get us behind a closed door would be fine.”

  “I can do that for you.”

  He rose, carrying her easily with her arms and legs wrapped around him into the darkened house and up the wide stairs. She slid down when he shut the door to his bedroom behind them, but she didn’t step away. He simply held her, waiting for her to set the pace and the mood.

  She started down the buttons to his shirt, touching, caressing, kissing his chest as she bared it, moving him back toward the bed. She palmed the hard swell of his shoulders and arms, exploring the familiar, tough terrain. She knew him intimately: all the intriguing strengths, the rough burr of his evening whiskers, the springy dark hair on his pectorals, thinning to a tease down his taut abdomen and thickening again where his zipper parted to release his already engorged sex. She stroked him there, her own arousal building at his eagerness for her.

  She pushed him down onto the mattress, his pants tangled about his ankles. She nipped at his chin, his shoulder, his chest, sharp little bites that had his breath quickening. When his hands came up for her, she pressed them back to the sheets. He kept them there, letting her have control while he watched her, glittering eyes heavy-lidded.

  She continued to taste him with her mouth, her teeth, her tongue, moving down over the quiver of his flat belly, skimming the jut of his hip bone, tormenting the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. And all the while he waited, stiff as a two-stage rocket anticipating liftoff, rumbling when she started down his legs instead of triggering a countdown.

  She untied his shoes, slipping them off with his socks and trousers. He had large, surprisingly elegant feet. She could feel his pulse in the curve of the arch, the way it jumped when she tugged at his toes with her teeth.

  “Let me know if there’s anything you’d like me to do,” he offered.

  “Just lie there,” she purred. “I’m using you for sex. Relax and enjoy it.”

  “I’ll try.” She heard the smile in his voice.

  As she worked her way up, his body tensed, taut as a guy wire. She meant to put his self-control to the test, focusing on that to distract herself from her anxious mood. And Max Savoie, in all his naked splendor, was infinitely distracting.

  Her mate. Her love. Hers alone.

  He trembled as her mouth slid over him, a slow, tormenting stroke down one side and up the other. The swirl of her tongue had his hands twisting in the sheets.

  The taste of him, the heat of him, had her moaning softly and he answered with a groan of her name. “Charlotte. Charlotte, let me have you.”

  “The having is all mine, my king. Deal with it. No whining.”

  She sucked him in hard, covering the length of him she couldn’t take with one hand, simulating the movement of her mouth until his hips helplessly took up the rhythm.

  “If you’re going to take that ride, sha,” he grated, “climb aboard now. Right now.”

  She didn’t relent, rolling the taut weight of him in her other hand until the persuasive torture had his mind swirling. Pressure pounded hot and heavy, but still he hung on, fighting against the explosive pleasure.

  Finally she whispered, “Let me have you, Max. Let go, baby.” A coaxing squeeze, and he was gone.

  We have liftoff.

  He didn’t move as she settled beside him on the bed. Rubbing her palm over his chest, she felt his jack-hammering pulse slow down. The long slant of his eyes opened just enough to meet hers and his mouth stretched into a lazy curve.

  “I don’t know about your day, but mine just improved by about five hundred percent.” He caught her hand, nudging his cheek into it, holding it there as he continued to doze contentedly.

  Cee Cee rested her head on his shoulder, wishing she could enjoy this tender moment as completely as he did. She couldn’t.

  “Max . . .”

  He kissed her palm. “Tell me.”

  She took a breath and then exhaled. “I did something today I shouldn’t have. Something foolish and awful. I wish I could take it back, but I don’t know how.”

  “Why do I get the feeling this involves your partner?”

  She noticed how carefully neutral his voice was. “Don’t get all pissy on me, Savoie. Not now.”

  Max took a deep, controlled breath. “Go ahead.”

  “We had an argument in the car this morning. He said some things, so I said some things. And . . . oh, hell, I told him Tina was a Shifter, too.”

  Max went completely still. He stared at her, unblinking.

  “I didn’t mean to. He just got me so mad, going on about my poor judgment and his perfect life and . . . and I just said it.”

  “How could you do such a thing?”

  If he’d yelled at her she could have worked up a defensive temper. But the quiet disbelief in his tone had her quaking. He drew back, releasing her hand, his expression so shocked, so horribly injured.

  “It was mean and careless, but what he said hurt me— Max?”

  He’d rolled out of the bed away from her and went to the balcony doors that opened to the night. Silhouetted against the darkness with his hands laced over the top of his head, he stood motionless for long, anxious moments. Nothing could have surprised her more than his soft chuckle.

  “Max?”

  “Here I’ve been sweating the fact that our secrets are in the hands of strangers, and it’s your jealousy over your lover’s happy home life that destroys us all. Don’t you see the irony there?” Silence, the
n: “Was that what this was about? Softening me up before telling me how you betrayed us?”

  The starkness in his voice brought a swift, gutting fear. Betrayed was such a strong, ugly word. But the us brought his entire world into the consequences of her selfish act.

  “No.” Not intentionally. “You know better than that.” An impatient pride clawed its way up over the shame. “How much harm could it have done? Alain already knows what you are. He loves Tina and Oscar. He won’t do anything to harm his family.”

  “Unless that family becomes as much an abomination to him as I am.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. And now she could think of nothing else.

  “What have you done?” Max continued. “You have no idea how vulnerable we are, how fragile our existence is in your Upright world.”

  His words pushed a frightening gulf of difference between them.

  “I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry. I’ll make it right. I’ll talk to Babineau; you can talk to Tina. We can fix it. I didn’t mean to make trouble for them, Max, or for any of you. I didn’t.” Her voice choked off. There wasn’t any more she could say, because it wasn’t just about Alain and his wife. It was about what she’d done to Max. The one possibly unforgivable thing.

  She wanted to run to him, to fling herself on him to beg for forgiveness. But begging wasn’t her style, and at the moment she didn’t think forgiving was his.

  “Maybe I should go. I’ll only make things worse if I stay.” Her tone of offhanded aggravation was fairly successful. “I’ll want to keep explaining, and it’ll just muck things up more.”

  She paused, waiting for him to tell her to stay. When he didn’t, the enormity of it hit her. What if he couldn’t forgive her? What if she’d shattered his trust and become an unacceptable risk herself?

  At one time, her insecurities would have had her slinking away rather than testing that awful truth. But no more. She walked over to him and wrapped him in a slow, binding embrace.

  “I’m sorry, Max,” she whispered, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. “It was careless, and it won’t happen again.”

  His hands covered hers, squeezing gently. “I know, sha, I know. And tomorrow we’ll fix things. Together.”

  She let him coax her back to bed, let him undress her. He held her fiercely, but she tucked her head when he went to kiss her because she could feel the distance mingling with the desire. The distance that came with a threat. A liability. He had to be thinking that. She was.

  Puppies.

  Oddly, it hadn’t hit her until that moment just how unnatural their relationship was. She lay awake for a long time, studying him in his uneasy slumber. Her lover. Her one and only. Who wasn’t human, no matter what appearances told her. She reached out to soothe her palm across his furrowed brow, whispering, “It’s all right, baby. I’m here.” And his fretful movements stilled.

  When finally she slept, she dreamed of screaming through the pangs of giving birth. But what she delivered wasn’t a normal child. It was a litter of Shifter pups with Max’s green eyes.

  DEEP IN THE balcony’s shadows, a figure watched the sleeping couple through impassive eyes.

  Rumors had depicted Max Savoie into mythic proportions: untouchable, indestructible, undefeatable. But that wasn’t really the case. A male protecting a vulnerable female became vulnerable himself. It made him dangerous, true, but also weak. Only the weak gave in to emotion.

  A few fierce slashes, and they’d both be dead with no drama or fuss. Not inventive or satisfying to the reputation, and also not what the employer had paid for. There were always rules to get in the way. And rules couldn’t be broken without consequences.

  Dispassionate eyes gleamed with impatience. Now that a way had been discovered, all that was left was for the right time to present itself.

  That time wasn’t now, but soon.

  And like a whisper, the assassin faded into the darkness.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Cee Cee was surprised to find a message on her phone from Junior Hammond apologizing for his behavior the night before, and even more stunned by his anxious assurance that he could be trusted to keep Max’s secret. His insistence that she share his pledge with Max made her suspicious, but she had more immediate concerns to deal with.

  She’d screwed up majorly, had damaged the things Max valued most: trust and family. And she’d done so out of no good reason but spite.

  Time to face the music.

  She made a conscious effort to appear harmless as she dressed for the Babineaus’. Instead of what he called her hookerwear, she slipped on a sleeveless shirtwaist dress of navy blue with white polka dots. The princess seams, fabric-covered belt, and soft pleats made her feel uncomfortably domestic. She’d bought it to wear during her trip to California when she’d laid her long-absent mother to rest. Navy slingbacks and a headband to keep her hair under control had her looking at a stranger in the mirror. If Max thought so too, he didn’t voice his opinion.

  He was silent as he pulled on slouchy cargo pants and a black polo shirt, along with his favored red high-tops. No snooty Armani for him, no racy cleavage for her. They looked the perfect sedate couple. For added support, she draped the pearls Max had given her around her neck, then scowled at her reflection.

  “I look like I belong in a fiftiesTV show.”

  Max, lacing his shoes, paused. He replied without intonation. “You look beautiful. And you belong to me.”

  Say that like you mean it. She smiled grimly. “Ken and Barbie off to visit the family.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.”

  As she drove Legere’s conservative black Mercedes, Max remained closed off in his own thoughts, probably worrying over how to undo the harm she’d done. She wasn’t good at apologies; confrontation was her way of dealing with difficulties. But this was going to require some finesse, some ass-kissing.

  She shook off the image of Alain Babineau’s shock when he learned the truth. And she tried to convince herself that she hadn’t irreparably ruined his future just because his callous jibe had punctured her dream of leading a normal life with Max. Because Max was right: she did envy what she had never had. Stability, a front lawn, competency in the kitchen, a husband who only turned a bit grumpy if the channel was switched from the ball game, and mostly, the miracle of her own child.

  None of those things lessened what she felt for Max. They were old dreams, ghosts from a life she’d never been allowed to lead.

  She parked the posh car in front of the Babineaus’ cul-de-sac castle. It was modest in size, with shutters, a basketball hoop, and a carport, and Babineau regarded his home with pride. He constantly talked about things like trimming hedges, cutting grass, puttying windows, and fitting the toilet with a universal wax ring. Who in their right mind wanted to fuss with mundane tasks when there was takeout and the maintenance and lawn-care services of apartment living? Yet those conveniences never made her glow with satisfaction the way Alain did after defeating some garden pest.

  “Are we going to go in, or wait until they come out for us?”

  She glanced at Max in surprise, then sighed. “I suppose it’s too late to just sneak off.”

  His expression went flat. “Far too late.” And he was out the car door before she could comment.

  Soberly, she got out on the driver’s side and saw Oscar Babineau flying down the driveway.

  “Max! Hey, Max!”

  The skinny ten-year-old flung himself on Max, who hugged the boy up to him, spinning about with the whip of centrifugal force. The sunburst of pleasure on his face gave Cee Cee uncomfortable pause. It was the way she used to catch him looking at her.

  “Heya, Oz. You been behaving?”

  “Mama won’t let me do anything else.”

  Max grinned and set the boy down. “Your mama’s a smart woman. You listen to her.”

  “Hey, Detective Caissie. You fixin’ to go to church?”

  “Why?”

  “You’re all dressed up.”


  Cee Cee managed to smile. “It was this or my Kevlar.”

  Oscar laughed. “You look real pretty. Don’t you think she looks pretty, Max?”

  He stared at her with unnerving intensity. “Yes, I do.” He started for the house, making her hurry to catch up so that they’d reach the side door as a unified front. Where Tina and the explosive situation Cee Cee had created were waiting.

  “There you are. Come on in.”

  Though Tina’s smile was warm with welcome, Cee Cee tensed as the door opened.

  Max’s palm fit to the curve of her spine. His touch was light as his fingers spread wide and pushed her forward, announcing dryly, “Ken and Barbie are here for lunch.”

  Oscar grabbed Max’s hand the instant he cleared the threshold. “C’mon, I want to show you my room.”

  Max gave the two ladies an apologetic look and allowed himself to be towed away.

  Tina chuckled and shook her head. “Boys. Alain’s in his study. Why don’t you go tell him you’re here.”

  Nothing had cast a cloud over Tina’s sunny disposition. Maybe Alain hadn’t said anything to her. Could she be that lucky?

  Alain Babineau’s study was a tiny third bedroom where he housed a battered desk and a ratty sofa from his bachelor days. He kept his gun safe and his paperwork in it, and this morning she felt like she was intruding upon a badger in its lair. He leaned back in his creaky office chair to regard her through narrowed eyes.

  “Surprised you had the balls to show up here.”

  “Having balls has never been my problem. Having brains is.”

  “If you expect an argument from me, you won’t get one.” He turned back to his computer and clicked off a map of the warehouse district where they’d found their latest vic. “How’d things go with the mom?” His voice was very neutral.

  She leaned against the doorjamb. “Brutal. Good kid, good family. Dumbshit boyfriend convinced her to go on a road trip with him. Dumb because she was a minor, shit because he lost all their money about an hour after they got into town, and pushed her into working that club to support the both of them.”

  “Nice guy. Where is he now?”