Seducing the Moon
Page 14
“But—”
“I mean it. I can’t be watching for an intruder and looking out for you, too.” He eased away from the window and put an arm around her waist, urging her into the foyer. “Please.” His voice was low and urgent. “Go upstairs.”
She huffed a sigh and started up the steps. “Fine, but I’m sending Declan down.”
“Do that.” Sully stayed in the foyer until she reached the top of the stairs. As she walked toward her room, she heard his footsteps heading down the hall to the kitchen. Probably going to check again to make sure the back door was secure.
She shoved open her bedroom door. “Declan, we might have…” He wasn’t there. She poked her head around the bathroom door. “Declan…”
Not there either.
She turned and walked smack-dab into him. “Bloody hell. Don’t do that!”
He finished rolling up the cuff on the right sleeve of the deep red shirt he wore. “Do what, darlin’?”
“Sneak up on me or I’ll make you wear a bell.” She ignored the flare of heat in his eyes and focused on his clothing. The crimson shirt looked good on him—too good for her peace of mind—and black slacks replaced his torn and bloodied jeans. “Where’d you get those?”
He glanced down at himself.
“Never mind,” she said before he could reply. “You need to get downstairs. Sully thinks something’s up.”
From below them came a shout then a gunshot. Loud thuds and another shot sounded before Declan made it to the bedroom door, Pelicia on his heels. She heard what sounded like the snarling and growling of a dog.
Declan glanced over his shoulder at her. Her heart stuttered at the feral look in his eyes. “There’s a wolf down there. You stay here.” He ran down the hallway. He was halfway down the stairs before she was even a third of the way down the hall.
God, he was fast. She didn’t remember him being that fast before. Pausing at the top of the stairs, she realized it was due to the changes his body had gone through. The werewolf virus or infection, whatever it was, made him faster and stronger than before.
From where she was she could see the front door was wide open. She heard him cursing from outside and took one step down. “Declan?”
“It’s clear,” he called back, coming through the front door. “The bastard got away, damn it.” He headed into the drawing room. “I would’ve gone after him, but Sully’s hurt. Call for help.”
Pelicia hurried down the stairs and picked up the receiver on the telephone in the foyer. Once again she punched in the number for emergency services and, keeping one eye on Declan as he knelt beside Sully lying prone on the floor, she hastily explained to the operator that there had been a break-in. “One of my guests has been injured. I don’t know how badly—”
“Tell them to hurry,” Declan said, his voice harsh.
“Hurry,” she obediently told the man on the other end of the phone and hung up. She ran into the drawing room. “What do you need me to do?”
“Gather some towels—we need to get this bleeding stopped.” Declan had opened Sully’s shirt, baring his torso. Hands slick with blood, he applied pressure to Sully’s right side and his right forearm.
Pelicia rushed up the stairs to the linen closet and grabbed an armload of towels. Once she was back downstairs, she dumped the load beside Declan and knelt at Sully’s other side. Looking down, she saw the injured man still held the gun in a lax grip. She gently unfolded his fingers and eased the gun away from him, setting it on the floor out of reach.
He was conscious, but barely. “What the hell…” He tried to raise his head.
She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, urging him to stay down. “Be still, Sully. You’re hurt.”
A set of four long, angry-looking gashes striped across his chest. Another set gouged his abdomen. As he relaxed onto the pillow, Pelicia stroked sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead. She looked at Declan, worry tightening her insides. “This isn’t good,” she murmured with a glance at the gashes.
“Tell me about it,” he muttered back. He lifted his hand from Sully’s shoulder. Two curved slashes, looking like quarter moons about two inches apart, carved his skin. “Knife wounds to cover up the bite.”
Chapter 15
Declan watched Sully being driven away by the medics. He rotated his shoulders, trying to ease the tight muscles. Blinked to relieve his dry, burning eyes.
They would transport his friend to the airport on the other side of the island, and from there he’d be flown to a trauma center in Penzance, Cornwall. The local hospital here on the island just wasn’t equipped to handle the type of injuries Sully had sustained.
Hell. He didn’t think the larger hospital in Penzance was ready to deal with someone who’d been bitten by a werewolf, either. Not that they’d realize that. But Sully’s injuries had been such that he was in need of an infusion of blood. While the werewolf virus was hard at work and would repair his wounds—most likely by morning—he could still die from blood loss.
If he died, it would be Declan’s fault. If he lived, he would live as a werewolf.
And that would be Declan’s fault, too.
The outcome was horrendous either way. He just wished it was him on his way to the hospital and not Sully.
He could hear Pelicia talking with the police from inside the house. The unit who’d been out to look over the scene after Brenna’s death was still in town, so it had taken them only a few minutes to get to the Nola. He’d already given them his statement, careful to leave any reference to a bite mark out of things. He knew she would do the same, though any observant doctor would more than likely see through the camouflage.
Footsteps sounded behind him. Declan half-turned in the doorway to see Police Constable Tremwith and Pelicia walking toward him.
The policeman put on his hat, adjusting the angle of the brim, and nodded to Declan. “If either of you think of anything else you’d like to add, please call me.” He pointed toward the small telephone stand in the foyer. “I’ve left my card.” He paused and then added, “I’ll leave a man posted out front, just in case the suspect decides to come back.”
He and the sundry police unit members filed out, carrying bags containing collected pieces of evidence—hair, blood, fingerprints—their expressions matter of fact as they exited the house. Declan leaned one shoulder against the door frame and watched them pile into official vehicles and drive away. One lone uniformed officer remained behind, standing at the edge of the front garden.
Declan scrubbed his hand over his face. God, he had to call Ryder—he needed to be prepared for another attack. Cursing under his breath, he yanked his mobile from its holder at his waist and punched in Ryder’s number.
Pelicia’s soft voice came from behind him. “Sully’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”
He turned his head and looked at her. “Aye. I hope so.” He wasn’t sure about anything, except that the attacker was either sent by Miles or was Miles himself. And that the overpowering scent of lemon and citronella had effectively blocked his nasal receptors from determining the attacker’s identity. Done on purpose, he knew.
Pelicia sidled up to him. He shifted his phone to his left hand. Lifting his right arm, he laid it across her shoulders, hauling her close to his side.
She wrapped her arm around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder while he spoke with Ryder.
“Unless the blood loss is too severe,” his friend said, “Sully will most likely be completely healed by morning. But he’ll need sleep—a lot of it.”
“Aye. Just like I did.” Declan remembered that from his own transition—sleeping half the day away for a week while his body went through changes on the molecular level. “He’s goin’ to have a hell of a time explainin’ his healed wounds to the medical staff.”
“He won’t have to explain anything,” Ryder said. “All he has to do is play dumb and let the doctors try to explain it.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard for
him to do. Play dumb, I mean.” Declan grinned. “He can be as obtuse as the moment requires.”
Ryder chuckled. “And you and Pel? You’re all right?”
“Aye, we’re fine.” Declan glanced down at Pelicia, noticing the drawn look on her face. “Listen, Ry, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
Ryder murmured, “Watch your back,” and ended the call.
Declan tucked his phone away and stood there, staring out at nothing, his gut churning with anger. And guilt. And remorse.
Christ, he’d made a right balls-up of things.
After several moments, Pelicia put her hand on his shoulder. “Come back inside, Declan.” When he didn’t move, she tugged on his shirt. “Come on.”
He let her draw him inside. He stopped in the hallway outside the drawing room and glanced inside at the bloodstained rug. Swallowing back the roiling emotions that crawled their way up his throat, he muttered, “I need to clean that up.”
“It can wait.” She slid one hand into his and squeezed his fingers gently. “Let’s go get a nice cuppa, okay?”
Needing the contact, he kept his hand in hers and followed her into the kitchen. While she filled the kettle and put it on the hot plate, he sat and stared down at his hands a moment, turning the events of the morning over in his head. He glanced at the clock hanging above the kitchen sink.
God above, it was only nine A.M. It felt like it should be much, much later. Which made him wonder aloud, “Where are your other two guests? Neal and Andrew?”
She sighed and turned, leaning against the counter. “I don’t know. And I’m worried, frankly. It’s not unusual for Andrew to stay out very late—doing whatever it is he does,” she said with a shrug. “But he’s usually back sometime during the night. I know, because his bed has always been slept in. Neal usually gets an early start, but not this early.” She glanced at the clock. “Neither one of them was here all night. I just don’t know what to think.” As she stared at him, her eyes widened. “Do you think…” She trailed off, an arrested expression on her face.
“You do realize, darlin’, that you didn’t finish that sentence out loud, right?”
She gave a slight start. “I was just thinking that Andrew could be the killer. I mean, I haven’t seen him since the day he checked in. What’s he been doing all this time? And do you suppose…No. It couldn’t be.”
He sat up a bit straighter in his chair. “What couldn’t be?”
“Could he be the one who attacked Sully?” She folded her arms over her chest. “Could he be the werewolf?”
Declan frowned. “I don’t think so. Hell, I don’t know. I didn’t smell werewolf here before this morning, but it’s hard to tell anyway, with the citrus and citronella that damned bastard used to disguise his scent.” He sighed, wondering how the hell it had all gone so wrong.
“You can’t blame yourself.” Pelicia pulled up a chair near him. Leaning forward, she placed her hands over his.
He twisted his wrists and linked their fingers together. “Why not?” He looked into her eyes. That there was no censure in those bright blue depths amazed him. “If it’s not my fault, whose is it?”
“Miles. Or whoever he put up to this.” Her fingers tightened on his. “It’s not your fault.”
Declan shook his head. “If I hadn’t called Sully here, he wouldn’t have been hurt. I knew Miles was out there, looking for ways to strike out at Ryder, and yet I brought another of Ryder’s friends here, putting him in harm’s way.”
“You did it to protect me.” She reached up and palmed his cheek. “Sully could have said no.”
“He didn’t have all the facts, you know that.” He swallowed, hard. He covered her hand with his. Turning his head, he placed a soft kiss in her palm and then stood up and walked toward the counter. He needed to move around, needed to do something.
But there wasn’t anything to do except acknowledge that he’d been wrong about a lot of things, not the least of which was his insistence on providing only the information he believed people needed to know.
“I’m sorry, Pel.” Declan turned and looked at her. “I should have told you about me, about what had happened, from the beginnin’. Not doin’ so put you in greater danger.” He shook his head. “You’re right—I’m a real tosser.”
She made a sound of disagreement and rose from her chair. Taking a few steps, she moved in front of him, stopping with only a few inches between them. Her sweet face tipped up toward his. “I was angry when I said that. I didn’t really mean it.”
He cupped her face between his palms. God, she was so lovely it hurt his heart to look at her. She was bright and beautiful and good. All the things he wasn’t. “You had every right to be angry.”
He looked down at his hands where they rested against her soft skin. They were hands that had molded explosives and fired a gun, hands that had caressed Pelicia into mindless passion.
They were hands that had been both hard and tender.
Hands that had loved. Hands that had killed.
Pelicia deserved better.
He bent his head and pressed a soft kiss against the corner of her mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said again. He moved away from her. “As soon as we get this thing handled, I’ll get out of your hair. For good.”
Pelicia’s breath hitched in her throat. What was he saying? That after all this—after the fighting and the loving, after the heartache and hope—he was just going to walk away?
“You deserve better than me, darlin’.” Declan’s voice was such a low rasp she had to strain to hear his words. That he didn’t face her didn’t help, but he seemed reluctant now to look at her. He went on, “Better than someone who gets people killed because he’s too determined to do things his way, damn the consequences.”
She inhaled, tried to ignore his spicy cologne and warm man scent, and chose her words carefully. Now that he was threatening to do what she’d been telling him to do all along—leave her alone—she realized she didn’t want him to. That he could admit he’d been wrong meant a lot. “Do you still feel that way, Declan? Determined to do things your way regardless of the outcome?”
He twisted around to look at her. “No! That’s what I’m sayin’. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
Having him say he was sorry three times in as many minutes was, she was finding, nearly as grating as having him not apologize at all. She didn’t want him this humble. “I’m glad you’re finally willing to admit it, though I’m sorry it…took what it did to get you to this point.” She went up to him and twined her fingers through Declan’s, holding their joined hands between their bodies. “You have no control over what Miles—or whoever it is—chooses to do. And if he’s so determined to strike at Ryder this way, he would have eventually gotten Sully. You have to know that.” She squeezed his hands.
He stared down at her, dark eyes glittering with so much emotion it brought tears to her eyes. He seemed to struggle for words and finally gave up, dropping his mouth to hers.
His tongue drove between her lips, stroking into her mouth in blatant possession. He brought his broad hands up to her face and tilted her head, angling her for his pleasure. There wasn’t a hint of seduction in his kiss—it was flat-out desperation.
After a moment he drew away and rested his forehead against hers. His breath came harsh from between parted lips. “You’re too good for me.”
God, she’d never seen him like this—shaken to his core, doubting himself so much that he was ready to walk away from her. While his normal arrogance and high-handed tactics drove her to distraction, this broke her heart.
“No, I’m not.” She’d held onto her unreasonable anger for over two years, blaming Declan for something that wasn’t his fault. Her biggest betrayer had been her grandfather, using her to ferry bogus documents to his “clients.” Declan had been doing his job.
That he’d fallen in love with her had complicated things, but she knew he hadn’t planned on using her that way. He had too much decency in him.
He groaned and yanked her closer, one hand at the back of her head holding her in place, the other hand pressing against the small of her back. Pelicia collapsed against him with a sigh, gripping his waist for support. Her nipples tightened to diamond-hard points, stabbing against the firm wall of his chest, and her clit began to pulse with carnal hunger.
He devoured her like a starving man, lips and tongue and teeth bruising in their force. His hands slid from her face, glided over her breasts, then moved around her to curl around her buttocks. He hauled her against him, against the rigid bulge of his erection straining against his jeans.
He took the kiss deeper. The pressure and tension gathered in her pelvis. When he fucked her mouth with his tongue, her pussy clenched in response. Her clit throbbed, her nipples tingled.
She wanted more. She wanted deeper. She wanted…
Naked skin sliding against naked skin.
Declan tilted her hips so that the hard ridge of his erection rubbed her clit through her slacks as he pumped slowly against her. Pelicia clutched the strong muscles of his back, fingers digging in, holding him closer. He kissed a path down her throat, lingering over her pulse, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest. His teeth scraped lightly against her skin then his tongue soothed the slight sting.
Her fingers tightened on his back. “Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered. “I need to feel alive. I need you.”
He pulled back and stared down at her. Need darkened his eyes but his expression was uncertain. “Are you sure?”
She curled one palm around his strong jaw and stroked her thumb across his full bottom lip. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.” She moved her hand down and curled her fingers around his hand. “Come on,” she urged, pulling him gently along behind her.
The short walk down the hallway and up the steps was punctuated with soft kisses. Once they reached the top of the stairs, Declan leaned down and swept her up into his arms. With a tenderness she’d rarely experienced from him, he carried her to her room. He kicked the door closed behind them and laid her gently on the bed.