Seducing the Moon

by Sherrill Quinn

  Declan took one look at her face and hauled her into his arms, one broad hand pressed to the back of her head, holding her close to his chest. “God, Pel. Are you all right?” Without waiting for a response, he murmured, “Of course you’re not all right. I’m so sorry, darlin’. I didn’t know about Brenna. I’m so sorry,” he repeated softly, his voice hoarse and full of regret.

  She leaned into him, grateful for his strength, needing the heat of his big body against her cold soul. “You tried to warn me,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

  He gripped her shoulders and pushed her back. When she wouldn’t look at him, he put one hand beneath her chin and tilted her head up. “Look at me. Look at me,” he repeated. Once her gaze met his, he said, “None of this was your fault, darlin’. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

  Pelicia frowned. How could any of this be his…“You mean because of Miles.” The mention of Ryder’s cousin reminded her she was mad at Declan for not telling her he was a werewolf. Renewed anger at him shoved back her grief. She pushed away from him. “If it was Miles, wouldn’t he have killed her by biting her or…” Her gaze bounced off of Ryder. “Or by tearing her throat out with his teeth or claws? Her throat was cut by a knife, Declan.”

  “Aye. That’s what Sully said.”

  And, speaking of werewolves…

  “You tell me this. Just when were you going to let me know you’d been bitten?” His mouth opened. She forestalled whatever excuse he might be about to spit out. “And don’t tell me you didn’t think I’d believe you. I grew up here, you know.”

  “Aye, I know.” He sighed. “I thought it would…complicate things between us.” His gaze met hers, pleading in their dark depths. “I would have told you eventually.”

  “Like when? On our fiftieth anniversary?” He perked up at that, and she gave herself a mental kick in the rear. No need to get his hopes up by implying they’d ever get married. “Never mind.” She held up one hand. “Let me just say that I’m less concerned about the fact that you’re a werewolf than I am that you, once again, weren’t truthful with me.”

  He glanced around the room, obviously uncomfortable with discussing this in front of witnesses. “Can we go someplace else and talk about this?”

  Pelicia stifled a sigh. If she went somewhere more private, they’d end up having sex. She knew it as surely as she breathed. Already the emotional upheaval she felt was making itself known in a more primal way—and because of Brenna’s death, Pelicia was feeling the need to affirm she was still alive.

  And there was no better way to prove life than by merging your body with someone else’s, to have them steal your breath and give it back, to feel the slide of skin against skin.

  “I don’t think so.” She looked around, too, taking in the faces of their avid audience. Taite stood in the circle of Ryder’s arm and both of them wore expressions of concern. Sully, leaning one shoulder indolently against the door frame, seemed amused. Or perhaps bemused. She turned her attention back to Declan. “Besides, there’s not much else to say, is there? Same song, second verse. You don’t trust me enough to share the truth with me. End of story.”

  “You’re gettin’ your metaphors mixed up, darlin’. And it’s not about trust—or a lack thereof.” He talked loudly over her sputtered indignation. “It was about you needin’ to know—I didn’t think it was the right time.”

  “And there’s the crux of it.” Pelicia walked over to him. “It’s always about what you think is the right thing to do. You don’t bother to put yourself in the other person’s shoes or question your course of action. And I hate to be the one to break it to you, O’Connell, but you’re not always right.”

  “I know I’m not always right.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But I’m not always wrong, either. And I will do what I believe is necessary to protect the ones I love.”

  Her heart thrilled at his words even as her head pounded. He was so adept at making her crazy with very little effort, and he probably wasn’t even aware of it. “Oh, just forget it. I’m going home.”

  “You need to stay here.” Declan grabbed her by the shoulders. “It’s safer.”

  “I need to talk to Brenna’s parents,” she responded, shrugging away from his hold. “They’ll want to know what happened.” She blinked back ready tears, determined to hold herself together to get done what needed to be done. “Besides, I’ll have the big, bad cop with me. Won’t I, Sully?”

  Sully’s brows rose. He glanced at Declan and pursed his lips, but to her surprise gave a nod. “Yes, you will.”

  She ignored Declan’s glare. If he wanted to throw a hissy fit, that was fine by her. She wasn’t going to hide and shirk her responsibilities. Brenna’s parents would have questions that they’d want to ask, and she wanted to give them as much closure as she could.

  “Let’s go.” She held up a hand in warning as Declan started to speak. Looking at Taite and Ryder, she said, “Please tell my dad I said hi and that I’ll ring him later.”

  “We’ll do that.” Ryder glanced at Declan. His gaze, when he met Pelicia’s, was serious. “Are you sure you want to leave? You’re more than welcome to stay.”

  She shook her head. “I need to get back—I have a kitchen to clean up…” Her voice cracked and she paused, swallowing down tears. God. Brenna.

  “Let me come with you and help,” Taite said.

  “No, really. I’m fine.” She wasn’t. But she would be. Pelicia gave a small smile—the only kind she could muster—and hugged Taite.

  The spontaneity of the gesture seemed to startle the other woman, though she returned the embrace. “Take care of yourself, Pel.”

  Pelicia nodded. Drawing away, she refused to look back at Declan. “I’ll see you later.” She walked out of the room and headed toward the front door with Sully following behind. Once there she opened it, then paused. She turned and met Declan’s concerned gaze. “From now on, if we’re to have any sort of relationship at all, you have to be completely upfront with me. No withholding the truth because I don’t need to know. Okay?”

  There was a span of silence for a heartbeat or two, and then he nodded. “Okay, darlin’. I promise. No more secrets.”

  She wanted to believe him. She did. But right now that would take more hope than she had.

  Chapter 14

  Declan stood on the bluff and watched the small boat pull away from the dock. With his enhanced vision he could clearly make out Pelicia’s expression—a mixture of grief for Brenna and lingering anger at him.

  The last time he’d let her go when she’d been mad, she’d stayed mad. Two years later he was still trying to get back on her good side. Damned if he’d go through that again.

  And he needed to make sure she was all right. As soon as he’d heard that Brenna had been killed, his first thought was that the killer had meant to murder Pelicia. If Brenna hadn’t been in the house—and God only knew why she was there—the killer might have gone upstairs and found his intended target.

  Declan clenched his jaw against the rage boiling in his gut, a rage that tempted the beast out of hiding. His damned inner mutt had better stay leashed—he didn’t have time for dog training right now.

  He started toward the top of the cliff stairs, calling over his shoulder, “I’m taking your boat.”

  “You might want to give her some space.” Taite’s voice rang clear and concerned.

  He stopped and faced her and Ryder where they stood on the small portico in front of the house. “I did that once and look where it got me. No.” He started down the steps. “This time I’m doing what I should’ve done then.”

  The trip to St. Mary’s seemed interminable, though in reality it was less than twenty minutes, the way he piloted the boat. Rather than go through the bother of renting another car, he took off on foot from the dock to the Nola. He’d be better able to scope the place out if he could come up on it unseen.

  Several houses down fr
om the Nola, he paused, scanning the area, sniffing the air to discover any untoward scents. So far, so good. He eased around the corner of the house and cut through backyards until he reached Pelicia’s place. He could tell Pelicia or Sully had started to clean up because the stringent odor of bleach was beginning to cut through the coppery scent of blood that still lingered in the air.

  God, he hated that Brenna had gotten caught up in all of this, whatever this was. There was no reason for Miles to kill Brenna—Declan wasn’t close to her.

  Although Pelicia was, and when Pelicia hurt, Declan hurt.

  Was that it? Miles or a flunky he’d sent had killed Brenna to get at Declan through Pelicia?

  He closed his eyes. This was giving him a headache. He wished the bastard—whoever it was—would just come at him and get it over with. This running around making shadow plays was driving him crazy.

  The wind shifted and a familiar scent filtered through the smell of bleach and blood. Declan stiffened, opening his eyes. It was him, the sniper, the man who’d been in Pelicia’s house early this morning.

  The man who’d murdered Brenna.

  Declan whirled. A bullet that would have struck him in the heart instead grazed his upper arm, leaving a stinging trail in its wake. He ducked and rolled, coming up in a crouch a few feet away.

  Another bullet went through his left thigh, knocking his leg out from under him. From the muffled sound of the gunfire, Declan knew two things—the rifle had a silencer and the sniper was too far away for Declan to do anything.

  Except be a sitting duck. And everyone knew that the sitting kind of ducks were the worst ones to be.

  The back door swung open. He looked up to see Sully there, gun drawn. “Sniper. Nine o’clock,” Declan said through gritted teeth. Pain streaked up and down his leg, partly from the wound itself and partly from the rapid healing his new metabolism afforded him. “Get back.”

  Sully glanced in the direction Declan had indicated and gave a snort. “Like I’m going to leave you out here.” He tucked his weapon in the holster on his belt and came out into the yard doubled over, making himself as small a target as possible. He grabbed Declan by the hand and hoisted him up, the muscles in his arm bulging with effort. A bullet kicked up the grass near Declan’s foot.

  With a loud grunt, Sully shoved Declan toward the door. “Get in and get down,” he ordered. “Damn it.”

  A ricochet pinged only a foot or two away, making Sully duck. He barreled in behind Declan and slammed the door, sliding over to crouch behind the cupboards beside Declan. “That last one was close.”

  “You mean closer than the two that’ve already hit me?” Declan asked dryly.

  Pelicia came into the kitchen from the hallway and stared at the two men. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Get down!” Declan started to rise, but his injured leg gave a sharp protest. He fell back with a stifled groan.

  Her eyes widened but she dropped to the floor without any argument. “He’s back?”

  “Aye.” He watched as she scrambled across the floor on her hands and knees.

  She came around the table. Her gaze fixed on the spot where he knew Brenna’s body had lain—there was still a splotch of blood on the floor that Sully hadn’t had time to wipe away. Pelicia’s throat moved with her hard swallow. Tears filled her eyes but didn’t fall as she knelt beside Declan, her gaze tracking over the smear of blood on his arm and leg. “You’ve been shot.”

  “I’m all right.” When she reached for him, he shook his head. “Pel, I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound—the bullet grazed my arm and went clean through my thigh. Look, the bleeding’s already stopped.”

  “Humor me.” She carefully peeled the ripped edges of his shirt away from the wound on his arm and frowned. Reaching up, she grabbed a dish towel from the counter and gently swiped at the blood on his skin. “You’ve already healed.” She looked at him, wonder and a little dismay in her eyes.

  “Werewolf metabolism.” He sent a sidelong glance to Sully.

  The other man shook his head. “I don’t want to know.” He tilted his head to the side, his attitude one of listening. “I think he’s stopped shooting. For now.” He got slowly to his feet and peered through the window in the back door. “Why don’t you two go upstairs—Dec, you can get cleaned up and Pel…Well, you can keep an eye on him.” He glanced over, mischief in his eyes. “I’ll stay down here and keep watch. And,” he said as his levity faded, “get the police out here. Again.”

  “I’ll stay, too.” Declan got to his feet, keeping his weight off his left leg.

  “Get cleaned up first. I doubt the bastard will try a direct approach—he’s too much of a coward.” Sully glanced out the back window again. He flipped the lock and then turned. “Go on. Get cleaned up. Then you can help me.”

  Pelicia slipped one arm around his waist, supporting his weight. He scowled, angry at himself for getting in the way of not one bullet but two, and irritated that he was being weak in front of Pelicia. Bloody hell. He was supposed to be the strong one.

  They went slowly down the hallway. Pain flared through his thigh with each step, though it wasn’t as acute as before. He limped up the stairs and into Pelicia’s bedroom.

  She went straight through to the bathroom and pointed to the toilet. “Sit.”

  He put the lid down and sat.

  “Good boy.”

  Declan scowled. “I’m not a dog.”

  She looked at him with raised brows. A smirk curled her pretty mouth. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “Ha ha.” He watched while she pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and some gauze and tape. Then she turned toward him and hesitated.

  He bit back a grin. The only way she’d be able to get at his wounds was for him to undress.

  This was going to be fun.

  She pursed her lips and looked from his face to his thigh. Even through his pain his cock began to rise to the occasion. Or at least to the promise of an occasion.

  A blush stained her cheeks. She jerked her gaze back to his face and shoved the bottle of antiseptic at him. “Here. You can do it yourself. I’m going to see how Sully’s getting on.”

  She left the bathroom so fast he was surprised there weren’t burning tread marks left on the wooden floor. “Aye. I can do this myself.” He stood and unbuttoned his shirt, yanking it off and peering down at the stripe of reddened flesh along his upper arm. He twisted to look at it in the mirror.

  A superficial wound, the bleeding had stopped, the skin and muscle underneath knitted back together. He grabbed a washcloth and wet it, then wiped the drying blood off his arm.

  When he leaned over to rinse out the cloth, a twinge of discomfort shot through his left thigh. That wound, at least, hadn’t completely healed.

  Ryder had told him once that more serious wounds would heal faster if he shifted to wolf—or vice versa if he was wounded while in his wolf form. With a gunman on the loose, he didn’t have the time or luxury of being off his game with a leg wound.

  Declan reached out and flipped the lock on the bathroom door. With as much speed as possible, he took off his shoes and socks, and shucked his pants and underwear. Taking a breath, he braced himself for the pain a transformation always brought.

  With the next heartbeat his bones shifted, lengthening. Muscles and sinew moved with them, screaming a protest. Declan trapped a groan in his throat and dropped to his knees. His breath grew harsh, pain filling his every sense until all he could feel, see and smell was the residue of white-hot agony.

  Another heartbeat and his skin felt like it was splitting off his body. Fur erupted along his arms, his legs, his abdomen, almost quicker than his eye could follow. One more heartbeat and his transformation was complete.

  He stood on all fours, panting, reeling from the pain the shift to wolf always caused, not looking forward to going through it again so soon. But he needed to be in his human form in order to talk to Pelicia, to make sure she understood that he loved her.

>   That he’d always loved her.

  And so, with a deep sigh, he turned his thoughts inward and focused on reversing the metamorphosis.

  When it was done, he collapsed to the floor on his side, wheezing through the lingering pain. With shaking arms he pushed himself upright, then grasped the sink to pull himself to his feet. He looked down and saw the wound on his thigh was gone—only dried blood remained.

  He cleaned his leg and got dressed again, grimacing at putting his dirty clothes back on. A thought struck, and he quirked a brow. He’d borrow something of Sully’s. They were the same size, and he reckoned his friend wouldn’t mind.

  But just in case he would, Declan made sure he was extra quiet as he tiptoed down the hallway and eased into Sully’s room.

  Pelicia paced over to the doorway of the drawing room and glanced up the stairs. “Just how long does it take to slap a bandage on his leg?”

  “He’s probably playing on your sympathy,” Sully ventured.

  She looked at him and walked back into the room. “You don’t really think…He wouldn’t.”

  Sully shrugged. “No, he probably wouldn’t. It’s not his style.”

  “You’re right about that. More than likely he’ll come barreling in here and just try to bowl me over.”

  Sully grinned. As he looked through the front window, his smile faded. “But I’d feel better if he got his ass down here soon.”

  “Why? Do you see something?” Pelicia walked toward him, keeping to one side so she wouldn’t be directly in front of the window.

  “No. But my gut’s telling me that something’s about to happen, and it’s never been wrong.” His gaze flicked to her. “You’d be better off upstairs.”

  She frowned. “I’m not leaving you down here by yourself.” She nodded toward his gun. “You have an extra one of those?”

  “No.” He scowled. “The reason I’m here, Pel, whether you like it or not—whether you agree with it or not—is to protect you. So get your ass upstairs. Now.”