Kiss of a Dark Moon

by Sharie Kohler

  Before she could blink, Rafe was moving. His fists met the lycan with a loud crack of bone on bone.

  The lycan fell back against the car, one arm’s length from Kit. Her breath froze in her chest as those eerie silver eyes turned and locked on hers. Recognition lit his face as his icy gaze drilled into her. No doubt he had been given her photograph.

  He shot off the car and toward her.

  Her gaze darted to her bag, on the passenger seat. Even with the door open, she would never make it to her gun in time.

  He never touched her.

  Rafe jumped before her, blocking the creature from getting to her.

  The hushed zip of a silencer cut the air. She had not even seen Rafe pull out a gun.

  Kit peered around Rafe and at the lycan who would have mauled her. A dark hole marred his forehead. A moment passed before blood dribbled out in a thick stream, dark as molasses, running down his forehead and nose. He wobbled in place as the silver infiltrated his system, its poison slowly doing its work. The silvery pewter of his eyes faded to a very mortal hazel before he crumpled limply to the ground, nothing more than a corpse now. All evidence of the soulless fiend he had been was gone.

  Her gaze swung back up at the second muted hiss of Rafe’s gun. Another lycan fell a few yards before them, clawing his chest as the silver bullet penetrated muscle and flesh.

  She looked up, her gaze sweeping the yard. Her heart constricted. Shit.

  They were everywhere. Easily a dozen of them. Moving too quickly for her to get a precise count. Swarming around them like ants. Even in human form they moved like predators, animals homing in. The air rumbled with the sound of their growls.

  One knocked Davis to the ground, mauling the NODEAL agent with his fists in an animal-like frenzy, spittle flying from his lips. Kit knew the poor bastard would be dead in moments.

  Lockhart cursed and fumbled for his gun in the holster beneath his pant leg. “Hang on, Davis!”

  Was this it?

  Would she be killed in Gideon’s driveway by a pack of lycans?

  Rafe clamped a hand on her arm and pushed her behind him as he took aim and fired at the oncoming lycans.

  It crossed her mind to wonder why he was trying to protect her, but the thought escaped the instant her head was yanked from behind. Pain lanced her neck. She cried out, her back colliding with the car.

  Hard fingers dug into the tender skin of her throat, cutting off her airway. Fighting for breath, she scratched and tore wildly at the hand, her eyes straining for a glimpse behind her. A lycan lay sprawled over the roof of her car, his face inches from hers.

  She struggled, choking out a scream as he gave another vicious tug on her hair, lifting her off the ground. Before he could haul her onto the car’s roof with him and finish her off there, he collapsed abruptly. His face struck the car’s metal with a resounding smack.

  Free, she turned, and watched as Rafe whirled around and fired on another lycan coming at them. And another.

  Kit spun around and dove inside her car. Her blood pumped hard and fast as she stretched across to the passenger seat and fumbled for the gun in her bag, her hand shaking as it never had before. But hell, she had never faced odds like this.

  Her fingers closed around the gun’s textured grip, the cold steel reassuring in her hand. She tried to slide out of the car, but Rafe blocked her, stopping her from joining the fray.

  “Move!” she shouted, her fingers flexing around her gun, ready to unload some silver.

  Was he crazy? They needed all the help they could get if they were going to escape from this alive. He could worry about killing her or whatever later. Right now he needed her.

  Rafe flung back around to look at her, his face taut, his dark eyes wild and intense as they scoured her. “Go!”

  “Look out!” she screamed, her gaze jumping beyond him to the lycan lunging toward him.

  Rafe whipped around, fired a round, and dropped the creature before swinging that intent stare back on her. “Go! Get out of here, dammit!”

  Bewildered, she stared up at him. “W-what?”

  “Get the hell out of here!” He whirled back around to fire another round. “They’re not going to quit coming until you’re dead. Go!”

  “You’re letting me go?” she muttered, struggling to understand why he would do that when EFLA had sent the lycans after her.

  And crazy as it seemed, she felt cowardly leaving him to face an army of lycans. The other two agents were worthless. She was Rafe’s best hope for help.

  “Dammit, woman,” he swore, swinging back around to glare at her. “Do you have a problem comprehending?” He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “This is the problem with letting females hunt. You can’t listen worth a shit!”

  Air escaped her mouth in a burning gasp and she forgot about sticking around to help him out. The chump could take care of his own ass.

  “Go to hell!” Her hand moved to the door, ready to slam it shut in his face.

  His hand shot out to stop the door from closing. She stared at that hand, at the wide palm and long tapering fingers.

  Against her will, the wholly inappropriate image of that tan masculine hand on her—on her breast—flashed across her mind. Heat flushed her face, scalding. She blinked rapidly, as if she could chase the image away.

  He bent down suddenly. His hand slid around her neck, his warm fingers closing firmly around her nape, burning her flesh.

  She stopped breathing altogether, frozen like an animal caught in a predator’s sights. The soft zings of Lockhart’s gun faded to nothing.

  They said nothing. Not a word passed between them as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

  The air grew charged between them, electric. Sweat trickled between the valley of her breasts, pooling in the fabric of her bra.

  “We’ll meet again, Kit March. Sooner than you think.”

  She wet her lips. His brown eyes darkened, following the movement of her tongue.

  “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.” She had meant the words to be a self-assured “kiss my ass” farewell, but her voice came out a tremulous whisper.

  He grinned, the curve of his mouth wicked and full of sensual menace. Breaking eye contact, he looked over his shoulder and fired two more rounds, dropping lycans like gnats.

  Settling those demon dark eyes back on her, he assured her, “Oh, I never break a promise.”

  She barely pulled back in time before he slammed her door shut. Turning, he resumed shooting, not sparing her another glance.

  She stared at his broad back for a moment through the dirty specks on the car window.

  Shaking her head, she started the car. Even if he escaped alive, he would never find her. She would see to that.

  Looking in her rearview mirror, she nearly backed over several lycans advancing up the driveway, grinning as they dodged out of her way. The car took a quick swerve out onto the street in a dangerous spin.

  Slamming on the gas, she sped down the street, glancing in her rearview mirror again, her gaze seeking out the one form battling lycans on her brother’s lawn.

  Why in the hell would an agent from EFLA bother to help her?

  To get to Gideon. His assignment was to get rid of them both. He probably wanted to keep her alive only until he had both of them. Of course. She was soft in the head to think he had let her go because he gave a damn about her. He didn’t.

  Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel, resolve hardening her heart as she banished the hot, seductive pull of Rafe Santiago’s gaze from her mind forever.

  “Good job, Santiago. You let her get away. I thought you were supposed to be the best.” The NODEAL agent’s lip curled as he struggled to his feet, patting himself down and examining himself with feverish intensity, making certain he had not been scratched or bitten. Even though it wasn’t a full moon and the lycans had been in human form, one scratch or bite was all it took to become infected. Finding no marks, he dropped his hands to
his sides.

  “I am the best. Only, she’s tougher than she looks,” Rafe replied, looking over each agent with cool assessment, worse for wear, but still alive. Un-impressed, he let them see he deemed them lacking. If this was what NODEAL had to offer, no wonder the organization had been so easily absorbed by EFLA. No wonder the lycan threat in North America was growing at an alarming rate. “Besides. I didn’t see you getting the job done. And did you notice how quickly all those lycans disappeared once she left? They were after her, not us. I just saved your asses.” He held up a hand. “No thanks necessary.”

  Rafe turned his attention to the car turning onto the street, studying it closely as it eased to a stop before Gideon March’s house. His stomach sank a little as Charles Laurent emerged from the dark sedan.

  The two agents beside him immediately straightened in an attempt to look composed before their new boss. Rafe could have told them it was pointless. No one impressed Charles Laurent.

  The cold bastard had climbed to the upper ranks of EFLA by stepping on the backs of everyone above him and mercilessly establishing the policies that marked EFLA as nearly as ruthless as the monsters they hunted, policies such as the termination of rogue hunters.

  The chief proponent behind the merger, Laurent was not going to allow anyone to stop him from transferring EFLA policy onto NODEAL.

  Although they had both been assigned to the Houston division, Rafe and Laurent had different duties: Laurent to do what he did best—dish out policy; and Rafe to focus on his area of expertise—the elimination of special targets EFLA deemed in need of killing. Only, Rafe had not killed Cooper. Laurent had done that, on a whim, when he caught Cooper calling the March family to warn them of the hits taken out on their lives. Another casualty of Charles Laurent’s ruthless agenda.

  “Where is the female?” Laurent stopped before them, assessing each man coolly.

  “Bitch got away,” Davis grumbled.

  Dark anger churned in Rafe’s gut at this slur. He flicked his eyes over the agent, his gaze crawling over the beer belly pushing against Davis’s untucked shirt, wondering how he managed to track and destroy lycans in his out-of-shape condition. EFLA maintained strict physical requirements for all its hunters. The guy probably couldn’t even run a mile.

  “She got away?” Laurent echoed. “How is that possible? You’re trained agents.” His gaze slid over to Rafe. “Santiago. Were you here?” His voice indicated his doubt, his conviction that if Rafe had been there, Kit would not have gotten away. She would be dead.

  “I arrived late. Moments before a small army of lycans decided to make an appearance.”

  Laurent’s mouth turned down. “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do. Your decision to inform the lycan population of Kit March’s identity was ill-advised.”

  Laurent’s nostrils flared, the only sign of his displeasure at Rafe’s challenging him. “Our first priority is to see her dead.”

  “I know my job. I’ve never failed before. Don’t you trust me?”

  “We’ve never had a target like her before. She’s a huntress—among other things. I deemed additional insurance necessary.”

  “You’re aware they may not kill her.” Rafe shook his head in disgust.

  Laurent shrugged a narrow shoulder. “They may quite possibly have their fun first, true. I’m well aware of the habits that rule lycans. But afterward they will kill her. Their hatred for hunters will demand it.”

  “You’re counting on that. But you could be wrong. They could decide to keep her for a while. Torment her.”

  Lycans often abducted women, keeping them for years as slaves. His mother was proof of that. She hadn’t been kept for years, though. Only one afternoon.

  If such a fate befell Kit…well, then the very thing EFLA most feared would become a reality.

  Laurent must have had the same thought. Uncertainly flickered in his eyes. Still, he replied with his usual doggedness. “I stand by the decision. Kit March will be dead before the week’s out. Mark my words.”

  Those words sent a small quiver through Rafe.

  “So they keep her for a while. Serves the bitch right.” Lockhart shrugged. “They won’t turn her. Among their kind, that’s an honor reserved for a chosen few. Either way, she’s out of commission.”

  For a while. His mind reeled at what could happen in that time. His fingers curled, tightening into fists at his sides at the scenario described—a scenario that would lead the lycans to discover Kit’s dirty little secret. A secret even she did not know. Yet.

  But Laurent knew. He knew all about the Marshan Prophecy. That Kit descended from Christophe Marshan, giving her DNA compatible to all lycans and making her capable of procreation with the creatures. The result would be a hybrid species. A dovenatu, said to be more powerful than a full-breed lycan.

  That should have stopped Laurent from siccing the packs on her. Rafe dragged a hand through his hair, stopping himself from plowing his fist into Laurent’s face.

  Laurent flicked a piece of lint off his blazer. “If you’re so worried, then find her first. See that she dies.”

  “No problem. We’re on it,” Davis chimed in, wiping at his bloodied nose. “Consider it done.”

  Rafe laughed harshly. “You two fools couldn’t find your assess with both hands.”

  Davis’s face flushed, his jowls quivering in indignation.

  “Fuck you,” Lockhart snarled. “I’m getting tired of your attitude—”

  Laurent waved a slender hand. “Silence.” He leveled a cold stare at Rafe. “Just get it done. Both of them. Don’t forget the brother.”

  Rafe clenched his jaw and gave a hard nod.

  “You’re just sending him? Alone?” Lockhart demanded.

  “Santiago is one of our special agents.”

  Special. Laurent had no idea.

  Laurent continued. “No one can bring her to ground better.” He smiled coldly. “Certainly not you two.” Surveying them, he sighed. “The Houston division is a mess. I’ve got my work cut out for me here. Beginning with assessing all agents and deciding who is expendable and whom we’ll keep for retraining.”

  The two agents started, clearly disturbed to hear that their jobs were on the line.

  Rafe nodded in seeming agreement.

  “Report to me once it’s done.” Laurent unbuttoned his blazer, the restless gesture signifying that the conversation had reached its end. Pulling a linen handkerchief from inside his blazer, he mopped the beads of sweat from his brow. “I don’t need to remind you how important this assignment is.”

  Rafe forced a tight smile. No. He didn’t need reminding. “Got it.” He looked at the other two agents, warning, “You two assholes stay out of my way.”

  Rafe studied Laurent for a moment, from his blazer down to the cut of his well-tailored slacks and back up to the ruthless line of his lips, wondering if he had blinked an eye over killing Cooper, a man devoted to the same cause EFLA claimed to champion above all else: the extermination of lycans, the preservation of humanity. How could he justify that murder? When had the lines between right and wrong, good and evil, become so blurred?

  “It won’t take me long,” Rafe promised, meaning it.

  Laurent sent him a probing, thoughtful look, and Rafe schooled his features into his usual mask of impassivity.

  The quicker Rafe finished with Kit March and her brother, the better for everyone, and the sooner he could move on to his next assignment. There were others. Assignments waiting not half as difficult as Kit. Turning, he strode across the lawn.

  Perhaps he should quit. Join up with his brother. He missed Sebastian, hadn’t seen him in years. Too many years to count. Ironic, considering the times they had nearly killed each other growing up.

  Restlessness stirred in his heart. He dragged a hand over his bristly jaw. It was time to move on. To put this job behind him. To play it straight for once. No more pretending to be something he wasn’t. Rafe winced. He would always have to do that. To
a degree. He had no choice. There was nowhere and no one with whom he could ever be his true self.

  The idea of quitting EFLA had never sounded better. The sooner he did, the sooner he could forget a woman he had no business thinking about as anything more than an assignment.

  Especially considering he was also a descendant of Christophe Marshan. And the prophecy EFLA feared would come to pass with Kit March had already occurred—with him.

  CHAPTER 9

  Kit parked across the street from her grandmother’s house, her current residence and the only home she’d ever known. Or rather, the only home she remembered.

  Home. If it could be called that.

  Even at the age of eight, she’d felt more like a tenant, a temporary resident, unwanted and unwelcome.

  Even now her grandmother made sure of that, collecting rent and Kit’s share of the utilities at the first of every month, seeing to it that Kit purchased her own groceries and never ate a scrap of the food she’d bought and prepared.

  Kit did not mind pulling her own weight. She only wished her grandmother would see her as something other than an unwanted obligation thrust on her in the golden years of her life. See her as family. See her at all.

  Resting her hands on the steering wheel, she scanned the street, looking for anything unusual or out of place. Her grandmother bore the last name of Carlson. Kit doubted she could be traced through her.

  Still, coming here felt risky.

  Instinct urged her to hit the highway and not stop until she reached New Mexico. Rafe Santiago was not finished with her.

  And yet the thought of the weapons and ammo she kept locked in the chest at the foot of her bed stopped her. And then there was the cross. The gold cross her mother had worn around her neck every day of her life. Even though Kit could not bring herself to wear it, it was precious to her. She couldn’t leave it behind.

  Not to mention the extra cash she kept in her sock drawer. The three hundred odd dollars in last week’s tips would come in handy. She knew she could go to her bank. But she also knew that EFLA would be alerted once she made a withdrawal. Considering a lot of agents for NODEAL were cops—like Cooper—she wouldn’t make it out of the city before being arrested. They likely already had an APB out on her. She would need to ditch her car at the first opportunity.