Bad Moon Rising (The Crown's Wolves)

by Zoe Forward

  She concentrated on all involved in the fight to sort out motivations and intents. Some of this she’d seen in the vision of cheap-cologne guy. Oh my God, she knew what the man in front of her was going to do. She needed to make her move…

  Now.

  Thighs pumping, she sprinted into the action. As expected, a lithe man turned with his serrated knife, intent on her. As his knife entered its striking arc, she went into a slide, bracing for a nasty impact as her side landed on something sharp, probably broken glass. She took out his legs with her momentum. Up in a second, she stomped his wrist with the heel of her boot, hitting the nerves so his hand involuntarily opened. She relieved him of the knife and jabbed it deep into his chest.

  Roman was still on his feet, fighting to get closer to Skull Throat. Blood coated his knuckles—unknown if it was his or others’ blood—but he was pissed off and fully engaged with a dagger in each fist while sporting a scary beast expression. He seemed bigger, stronger and somehow more intimidating than he had seconds ago.

  Her eye caught on a shooter aiming for him. As things went into slow-motion, the shooter pulled his trigger.

  Nova jumped in front to take the bullet’s impact, to protect Roman.

  He threw both of his blades at the shooter and screamed something as she went down.

  The gunshot had hit her mid-bicep. Indirect. Not too bad. Her arm didn’t hurt yet, at least not as much as the cut on her side. She must’ve been in this type of situation before to be so freaking chill about all of it. With a detached ease, she refocused on Skull Throat.

  The vial. Skull Throat was about to open it. She found Roman’s gaze. He was closer but wouldn’t make it in time.

  “Catch it,” she said. Although quiet, she knew he heard her.

  She threw the knife still in her fist, hitting Skull Throat mid-neck. He dropped the vial and grabbed his throat.

  Roman caught the small glass tube before it hit the floor. In a smooth turn, he scooped her up and carried her through the frenzied crowd, running for the stairs. Not a shoulder toss, but in his arms against his chest. “He’s going to explode. Hold on—”

  Crack. Boom!

  Everything blanked as her ears rang.

  Roman still had her, but they weren’t standing. Her back ached where it supported all her weight and his at an odd angle, her spine pressed into a step.

  “Didn’t you hear me say no?” With a groan, he stood, picking her up. “Never assassinate a wannabe warlock who’s holding an alchemist stone.”

  “A what?” Must’ve been her imagination. He meant warlord. And she hadn’t seen the man holding anything else. “I got the vial for you.”

  “That guy held the stone in his other hand.” Jostling through the crowd, he muttered, “I’ll never hear the end of this. Amateur move to blow him up with this many witnesses.”

  “He was going to open the vial.” She clung to his neck as he carried her through panicked people, her face mere inches from his. If she leaned forward just a bit, she could brush her lips across his jawline, which was roughened by scruff. His skin radiated an almost impossible heat.

  “If you’d have given me half a minute, I’d have mesmerized him. You know, voice coercion? He was a human dabbling in magic, not full warlock.”

  “What?” She pushed off his chest to crane away and see his face. “That’s not possible unless you’re a Jedi.”

  He pulled her back into him to avoid a collision with two screaming women, still threading his way toward the exit. “Jedis are impossible…no, I’ll change that to improbable. The past few decades have proven to me the things you’d think impossible can actually exist. Did you forget how to use your voice to coerce humans into compliance?”

  “That’s…magic? You believe magic exists?”

  “Of course magic exists. Our kind distrusts it, though. In fact, the Council forbids its use. But I need it from time to time.”

  She didn’t really follow what he just said.

  Moments later, they were outside with throngs of people. Sirens screeched around them. Flashing emergency vehicle lights sent red pulses into the dark night and added to the chaos. He didn’t put her down when they reached the street but kept moving fast.

  She didn’t fight. Wounds aside, she wanted more from him—to find out all he knew about her. And magic.

  And, truth be told, she didn’t want to stop touching him. Or being this close to the heavenly smell of him.

  A tall, elegant, but ripped man in a gray tailored suit over a black button-down shirt without a tie sauntered toward them, his clothing at odds with the leather-clad crowd. His thick brown hair had been secured at his nape against smooth, olive skin.

  Roman set her on her feet, wiped blood off his knuckles onto his dark pants, and moved in front of her, whispering, “Don’t speak. This is one of those things humans consider impossible that actually exist.”

  She was human, as was he, right?

  The new man leveled his dark hazel gaze on them. In a thick Spanish accent, he asked, “You got what you sought, I hope, and found an evening friend, perhaps, as a bonus?” He sniffed the air. “She’s a bit battle-damaged, though. And…” He crinkled his nose, and his eyebrows rose. “I smell the perfume of charcoaled warlock on both of you. Getting sloppy, aren’t you, Roman?”

  Warlock?

  Roman craned around to give her a silent told-you-so in regard to blowing up the man he’d called a warlock. Just when she’d thought her night couldn’t get more bizarre.

  “I didn’t know he’d explode.” She held up her hands.

  “Working with amateurs these days? Or is she just a hookup?” the man asked as he tried to peek around Roman.

  Roman stiffened but didn’t react. “What’s your game, Antonio?”

  From what she could see of Antonio, everything about the man was smooth, from his casual, sensual Latin charm to his skin, which didn’t have a single blemish or wrinkle. He had an allure to him that demanded she stare. Something about him didn’t seem human.

  Not human? Impossible. But Roman said this is one of those impossible things that exist. Antonio’s skin radiated the perfection of a youth in his late twenties. His expression, not so much. The eyes—ancient and hard—wandered to her neck and lingered.

  “My evening has certainly gotten a lot more interesting.” With a smile, Antonio reached around Roman as if to take her hand.

  Gut instinct urged her to flee.

  Roman mirrored Antonio’s sideways movement, his body preventing the tanned hand from getting close to her. “She’s not your concern.”

  “She smells like one of your people. Yours, perhaps?” Antonio put his hands behind his back. He tilted his head to better see around Roman and spoke to her in precise, almost careful English, although heavily accented. “He has a complete lack of social graces. You are too good for him.” He examined her as if she was an interesting animal he’d never seen before. “You are exquisite. It’s been a long time since I’ve met one like you, but…” He sighed dramatically and looked into the chaos of people. “I, too, have business to attend to tonight and can’t delay.”

  Something about his intonation of “one like you” sent her internal alarm to maximum danger alert.

  Roman said, “You should’ve died in Sudan. What you do is unethical.”

  “Have you proof of what you accuse me?” Antonio leered, flashing canines that were longer and somewhat sharper than a normal person’s. He addressed her, “See what I mean? Complete lack of graces.”

  “If I had evidence of you using other species to do your bidding for something illegal or evil, you’d have been dead decades ago,” Roman said. This whole conversation was flying right over her head.

  “You can’t kill unless the monarch commands it. You and I have more in common than you think.” He smirked and deliberately raised his dark eyebrows. “
Until next time.”

  “We have nothing in common, and we’re on opposite sides.”

  Antonio stepped past them and headed down the sidewalk into the commotion.

  “Are you okay to walk?” Roman asked her in that rumbly voice, once the Spaniard had melted into the crowd. “We’ve got a block and a half to my car. Then, we’re going to talk about the lighter.”

  The guy who could be the alpha male poster child was giving her respect by not tossing her over a shoulder and running? Damn, if she didn’t appreciate him for it.

  “I can make it.” Her side hurt like a motherfucker, and the bullet wound had started to throb, but she’d walk on her own or pass out trying.

  Wrinkles creased his forehead as if he sensed her pain. “We have to move fast.”

  He took her elbow, the one opposite the bullet wound, to propel her up the street. No sidewalk in this part of the city. Each step jarred her body. Less than a block later, she stumbled, dizzy.

  He caught her and lowered his voice to a soothing tone. “I’m going to pick you up, and you’re going to be okay with it.”

  “Did you just try your Jedi mind trick again? Because it failed.”

  “My master will be disappointed. As a padawan, I can’t even do basics.” A small smile tweaked the corners of his lips.

  Hello, sense of humor.

  “I’m still picking you up. We have to move faster.” He glanced behind them before he approached to lift her.

  She smashed her molars together and swallowed all noise when he touched her side.

  To his credit, he didn’t go Tarzan, but gently scooped her up and held her against his chest again. It was more intimate, protective. Not the move of a man who planned to drag her into a dark corner and murder her.

  Minutes later, inside a dilapidated parking garage, he deposited her into the passenger seat of a black sports car. “Are you going to pass out?”

  “The last thing I’m going to do is faint while in a car with a guy who kills for trinkets at techno clubs.”

  He knelt next to her, not touching. “Trinkets? You mean the vial? That’s cute. Nova, that’s your name, right?”

  She nodded. Then shrugged. “I don’t really know.”

  “Nova, can you make it fifteen more minutes until I get us away from here? Then we’ll deal with your gunshot wound and the others, if needed.”

  The legitimate concern in his face warmed her, knowing he meant it. She wasn’t alone, at least for now. But he wasn’t asking it as a question. It was more a command she wait.

  He stood and leaned into the car over her. His gaze landed on her chest, which at his angle gave him an eyeful. He swallowed hard before his dilated eyes snapped back to hers.

  “Good view?” she asked.

  His cheeks flushed. Gruffly, he said, “There’s a first aid kit in the black duffle on the back seat if you need it.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He hadn’t heard—or pretended not to—as he jogged around the car. Before she clicked her seat belt into place, which hurt—oh, Jesus, the movement to pull it across her shoulder almost made her black out—he had the car in reverse.

  “Is someone following?” she asked after several sharp turns that seemed unnecessary.

  “Doesn’t look like it.” He examined the rearview. “Antonio Dulanto and his people are tricky. We have to move fast.”

  She should get the duffle bag with the medical supplies for a quick patch up. A test turn…the miniscule motion caused the ribbing from the bustier to ground into the wound on her side. Nope. She’d rather bleed out than get a bandage.

  She asked, “What city is this?”

  He did a double take. “Berlin.”

  “Just confirming.” She massaged her forehead against the pain behind her eyes. “What’s the date?”

  “December 4th.”

  Once out of the city, he pulled the car onto a side road in a small neighborhood with barren trees and freshly plowed snow, and parked.

  He cocked his head, which threw a lock of dark brown hair across his arched brow, and stared at her, unmoving. Light blue eyes watched with an unnerving almost predatory absorption. In that moment, he changed. He’d already been big. So big everywhere, but now he ultra-filled the space, wild and raw. A warning flashed in her brain: danger.

  “You’re staring,” she rasped out in an effort distract him, and get him to take the threat down a notch. A part of her recognized she should be frightened, but his new aura kicked up her fascination with him. What did that say about her?

  “You’ve got to remember something about yourself,” he said. “Maybe a reason that you were told to find me and get me out of the club?”

  “Subbasement. I was ordered to get you out of the subbasement only, not the club. I don’t know who I am or where I’m from or anything about myself.” Her brain whirled, pushing and pushing, but came up with a blank. Remember…come on. Pain slashed through her skull. She gripped her head and swallowed hard. Her stomach threatened an explosion.

  “Easy, Nova.” His hand was on her back, rubbing circles, but the moment she turned to look his way, he moved away fast.

  She blinked and swallowed hard, finding her hands resting on the glove box. “Why were you… What happened?”

  “You almost passed out.”

  “My head…” She shielded her eyes against the streetlight above the car. “When I try to remember, it hurts.”

  His fingers reached for her.

  She ducked away.

  He held up his large hands, palms flat to her. “I swear I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth? A few minutes ago, you were somehow less threatening. Now you’re different. Supercharged?”

  “I dropped my glamour, which keeps people from jumping straight to peeing themselves in flight-mode terror. You put up one most of the time, too, or aren’t you aware?”

  “Glamour? Like something vampires do to compel people to do their bidding?” He didn’t seem as certifiably crazy as that sounded. “I think you’ve watched one too many episodes of True Blood.”

  He just smirked. “You want me to look at your head and see if you have an injury or not?”

  She nodded.

  This time when his broad fingers reached into her hair, she didn’t duck away. He probed around the sensitized skin of her skull, which didn’t hurt. He removed her hands away from shielding against the light to examine her eyes. “No obvious trauma, but your eyes are dilated, which is why the light bothers you. I think you were drugged.”

  “I thought so. Maybe when it wears off, I’ll remember?”

  “Maybe.” That didn’t sound reassuring.

  “When I woke up, I was given information on a drug called Blackout. You think it could be that?”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Word online says it’s some sort of new military-grade amnesia drug, and there might be an antidote.”

  “Who gave you that information?” With a single finger, he touched her jaw, tracing its edge with a fine tremor in his digit. “Was it the person who drugged you and sent you to the club?”

  She stopped breathing, hypnotized by the slow-moving touch. Lips parted and mouth parched, she barely managed a small nod in reply. No words came to her as she envisioned him easing the throbbing that pulsated between her legs for him.

  “The website is probably bogus.” His finger trekked down her neck toward— He fisted his hand and pulled it away. He tugged in a rough breath. “Where’d you get the lighter?”

  “I woke up with it.”

  “You flicked it twice. How did you know to do that?”

  She pressed her fingers against her eyelids, which did a bit to alleviate the renewed head pain when she thought of the lighter. “The message said if you tried to kill me to flic
k it twice.”

  “A message? It said twice?” His eyebrows rose. His face seemed to lose color.

  “Twice.” She patted the cell phone in her top. “It said to get you out of the subbasement before the timer hit zero, or I’d never remember anything. Maybe I didn’t get my memories back because I didn’t get you out in time. I suspect they wanted you to leave the club before all that chaos broke out, which means either someone saw into the future—impossible—or someone initiated the whole thing.”

  She pulled the phone out of her top and caught his gaze lingering on the bustier. Her eyebrows shot up.

  He looked away.

  Last text message from Unknown.

  You were too slow.

  Did that mean she was stuck with amnesia? Her stomach twisted, threatening a vomit. A few good swallows got it back under control.

  “Let me see the message.” He examined the texts and returned the phone. “Give me the lighter.”

  She handed it over.

  “You need to leave,” he said as he tucked the lighter into a pocket. “You got me out and returned the lighter. You did what you were told. You and me… Just go. You need to get far away from me.”

  “Seriously? You’re going to dump me in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of Berlin, without a coat in the snow, while I’m bleeding from a bullet would that I got saving your life?”

  “You’ll heal. Might already be healed.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Nova, you have to remember what you are, which is why you have to go. Please, we can’t…you can’t… You have to get out of the car and leave.” When she didn’t move, he said, “Get. Out.”

  He pointed out the window on her side and dramatically unlocked the doors.

  “No.” Nova crossed her arms. “I woke up a little over an hour ago remembering nothing. I was dressed in this awful leather outfit with a wedgie from hell that won’t let up. And these ridiculous heeled boots… Have you ever tried to walk on heels this high on ice? My feet are at a freaking forty-five degree angle to the floor. Then I’m told my only hope of remembering something…anything is to extract some unknown guy—you—but you might kill me if I don’t flick a lighter the right way.” She held up her arm and rotated to flash the tattoo of his name in front of his face. “I’m not getting out because your name is tattooed on my fucking arm. That means I stay with you.”