Deep enough to sever the man’s vocal chords so he couldn’t cry out. Deep enough that he’d bleed to death in a matter of minutes.
He felt no remorse as he shoved the body onto the floor of the backseat and quietly closed the door.
He felt nothing. He was doing a job, nothing more, nothing less.
Stepping carefully, he crept around the side of the bed and breakfast and paused to peer around the corner into the back garden.
The constable on guard was at the opposite side of the small yard, too far away for him to sneak up on the man. So, he’d wait. Wait for the prey to come to him.
Then he’d strike out at O’Connell. Hit him where it would hurt the most.
And O’Connell would finally understand what it felt like to be filled by the same rage that consumed him.
Chapter 18
Declan eased down onto the mattress and exhaled heavily. “What a day.”
Pelicia rolled to her side and draped an arm across his stomach.
He brought one hand up and rubbed his palm gently over her forearm. God, it felt good to have her back in his bed. It felt good to think she might be back to stay.
She yawned, her breath blowing warmly against his skin. “So much has happened. Brenna, Sully, and now Andrew…And to think that Neal could have something to do with it all…” She shook her head. “It’s just too much.”
“I know, darlin’.” He shifted and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. “Neal may have had somethin’ to do with Brenna and Andrew, but he wasn’t involved in the attack on Sully. That was someone completely different.”
She rose up on her elbow and stared down at him. “What do you mean?”
“Whoever attacked Sully is a werewolf.” He tucked a heavy strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Neal’s not.” At her questioning look, he said, “I’d have smelled it.”
The skin between her fine brows crinkled. “Werewolves have a smell? I’ve not heard that before.” She shook her head. “Of course, I haven’t been around Ryder during the full moon—he forbade it.”
“Hmm.” Declan reached up and smoothed her frown lines with his thumb. “I suppose it’s kind of like…sage. But with somethin’ a bit darker underneath.”
She nodded. “I’ve always smelled sage over on Phelan’s Keep, but I just assumed there was sage growing.” A small smile curled her full lips. “I never realized it was Ryder.” She sobered, her eyes widening. “But if it wasn’t Neal who attacked Sully, who was it?”
“I don’t know.” And that bothered him. What bothered him more was that there seemed to be two bad guys at work here—the werewolf, no doubt sent by Miles, and whoever it was that had been taking pot shots at Pelicia.
Or at him. He still wasn’t sure about that.
Pelicia yawned again and lay down, resting her head on his shoulder once more. “I can’t believe how tired I am. We should be trying to figure this out, but I just can’t think straight.” Her yawn was wide enough to make her jaw crack.
Declan ran his fingers through her hair. He was exhausted as well, though determined to stay awake. Just in case. “There are two constables on duty outside,” he murmured, more to put her at ease than in any real belief they would provide safety. That sniper was skilled enough to take them out from a distance, though of course the sound of the bullets firing would alert Declan and Pelicia. And they should be safe enough until nightfall, at any rate.
But because it was the first night of a full moon, he’d turn into a wolf once the moon was up. He’d deal with that when the time came. For now, at least, he could provide some level of comfort to Pelicia. “Get some rest, darlin’. I’ll be right here.”
He glanced at the bedside table and noted the time readout on the digital alarm clock. Five P.M. Just a little over an hour before the sun set and the full moon called to the beast within him.
The even sound of Pelicia’s breathing told him she’d succumbed to slumber. He held her, thanking God and the Fates that she was back in his arms. He was determined to keep her there—he wanted to watch this woman grow old, wanted to grow old with her.
He stroked his hand down her back and curled it over her hip. She shifted, throwing one leg over his thigh, her knee nestling against the juncture of his thighs. Even as tired as he was, his flesh stirred at the innocent, unknowing touch. If she weren’t so exhausted he’d be tempted to roll over and ask her to help him take care of things.
But she needed her rest. He needed rest, too.
Later. Right now…no rest for the wicked.
Pelicia murmured in her sleep, and he tightened his arm around her. He would keep her safe. There was no other option.
A sound like the creaking of a stair or loose floorboard from out in the hallway caught his attention. He stiffened. Easing his arm from around Pelicia, he sat up. Still asleep, she grumbled under her breath but settled against the pillow.
Declan slowed his breathing and listened, hard. After several minutes of hearing nothing else, he relaxed. The Nola was an old house—a couple of centuries old—and doubtless made quite a few settling noises at night.
He leaned against the headboard and stared across the room at the bookshelf on the wall opposite the big bed. With his heightened vision he could make out the title of every book she had there. Fiction books—horror, mystery, science fiction, and romance—lined the shelves beneath a row of nonfiction books that ranged from biographies to self-help.
Another creak sounded from the hallway. He straightened, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress.
“Whazzit?” Pelicia’s sleepy voice came from behind him.
“I’m not sure. Maybe nothin’.” He kept his voice low. The faintest smell of gunpowder wafted to his nose. His eyes widened. “Goddamnit.”
At that moment the door cracked open and a small canister was fired into the room. Declan caught a glimpse of muzzle fire and surged to his feet. Pelicia yelled. He heard the rustle of bedclothes and gave a quick glance over his shoulder to see her on her knees on the mattress.
The door slammed shut as a hissing noise started from the canister. He couldn’t smell anything, and there was no visible sign of gas, but his throat started to burn and his vision blurred. He managed to stagger forward a few steps before crashing to the floor. Blackness crept over him, and he knew no more.
He came to consciousness to find someone kneeling beside him. Declan smelled the salt air of the ocean, heard waves crashing nearby, and realized that he’d been moved. His hands were bound behind his back with what felt like standard issue restraint cable.
A subtle floral perfume and the sound of soft breathing told him that Pelicia was nearby, and she was alive. He also smelled the acrid stench of hate emanating from the man next to him and the lingering odor of expended gunpowder.
It was the sniper. The bastard who’d fired at Pelicia. The one who’d been trying to take him out.
Well, boyo, not if I have anything to say about it.
Without warning, Declan kicked out, catching the man in the upper thigh and knocking him on his ass.
The intruder was back on his feet in a heartbeat and kicked Declan in the jaw. Declan’s head snapped back and stars swam in his blackening vision before he fought it off and managed to roll to the side to avoid another blow.
He wasn’t able to block the next kick, and it disoriented him long enough for the man to bind his ankles together with another length of flexible restraint. As Declan started to struggle, the man moved around behind him.
Declan heard the snick of a gun’s safety being flicked. He stilled. The tip of a gun barrel pressed against the back of his head.
“I’d think about your next move there, laddie.”
He knew that voice. But from where?
He glanced quickly at his surroundings, gauging the lay of the land and trying to find whatever advantages he could. From the position of the sun he could tell he’d been out at least an hour. Moon’s rise wouldn’t be far off now.
And then w
e’ll just see what’s what.
Mindful of the pistol pressed against his skull, he kept his head still while he quickly gazed around the area. He was at the entrance to a stone barrow—one of the many Stone Age burial chambers that dotted the islands. Pelicia, still unconscious, lay inside the chamber, her legs bent, wrists bound in front of her. He smelled no blood so he could only assume she was unhurt. With his enhanced hearing he could hear her breathing, slow and even.
For the moment, at least, she was all right.
“Now, you just stay put, O’Connell, while I see to Pelicia.”
The man stepped away from him, keeping his gaze on Declan while he walked around him toward the entrance of the barrow.
As he came into Declan’s line of sight, Declan’s breath caught in his throat. “Addison?” he asked with a confused frown. It was Fletcher Addison, a member of his special ops team back in his Royal Marine days. A man who’d always seemed to have something to prove—whether to Declan or himself he’d never been sure. But the younger man had been reckless, and in the end that recklessness had nearly killed them all. It had cost Addison more than anyone else.
Declan remembered the man’s agonized cries, the stench of burning flesh, the coppery scent of blood—and that had been before he’d become a werewolf and better able to pick different smells from the air.
He’d lost track of Addison after he’d been released from hospital. If he were honest with himself, he hadn’t tried very hard to find him—the man was a loose cannon and one Declan had been relieved to get away from.
The former lieutenant grinned now as he put his fingers against Pelicia’s neck. “Aye. You didn’t have a clue, did you, Mr. Hotshot?” The vaguest hint of a Scottish burr came through his speech, though it was blunted. “Which just goes to show that I’m better than you. Even after what you did to me.” His grin was full of malicious glee. “And don’t be thinking anyone will be coming to your rescue. Those two coppers from Penzance didn’t stand a chance against someone like me. And, just to be sure I wouldn’t be interrupted, I’ve moved us all to a more…isolated spot.”
Declan shook his head. Two more people dead because of this madman.
Addison hunkered down and glanced inside the dim chamber. The huge capstones on the top of the structure meant the small enclosure—less than two meters high and perhaps three meters deep—had very little light. Once the sun went down it would be nearly pitch black inside.
“She’s still out,” Addison said, “as she should be. That gas should’ve kept both of you out for at least a couple of hours. That’s what the Russian I bought it from told me, though he might have been lying,” he mumbled. Looking back at Declan, his gaze glittered with the same hatred that caused a stink in Declan’s nostrils. “Because otherwise, why did you wake up so soon?”
‘Cause I’m a werewolf Declan wanted to snarl. One that’s gonna rip your soddin’ face off, you bastard. But that was his secret for now—and perhaps their only way out. Yet it was another positive aspect to this whole werewolf thing, one he wouldn’t change if it meant he could better protect Pelicia. He gave a careless shrug in response to Addison’s question and asked one of his own. “Just what is it you think I did to you?”
“What is it I think…” Addison cast him an incredulous glare. “Because of you I lost part of my right leg, I have continuous tremors in my right hand, and I’m damned lucky I didn’t lose the vision in my right eye. You bloody well cost me my livelihood, you bastard.”
Declan knew his former special ops teammate spoke of the explosion that ended his military career, an accident that could have cost the man his life.
An accident that would have been prevented if Addison had listened to him. “I told you that you had too much C-4, Lieutenant,” he said, keeping his voice low and calm. “You didn’t have anythin’ to prove to anyone. You still don’t.”
Keeping his gun trained on Declan, Addison reached out and picked up a backpack resting against the entrance to the burial chamber. Going onto his knees, he crawled into the chamber. He dropped the backpack next to Pelicia and, with one hand, reached inside the bag.
As Addison pulled his hand out of the backpack, Declan’s eyes widened at what the other man held. Three sticks of dynamite wrapped together with black tape. Declan called upon his wolf’s vision and focused more closely on the device—three separate wires connected the dynamite to a timer. There was also a smaller black box next to the timer that made Declan frown.
A timer and a remote control? Kind of overkill.
“I liked the look of dynamite better than C-4,” Addison murmured, running his index finger along the side of one of the red-papered sticks. “It’s somehow more…elegant, don’t you think?”
Not responding, Declan struggled against the strong nylon cord binding his wrists and, though he thought he felt a little give to them, they held firm, keeping him effectively hobbled. He briefly considered transforming to his wolf form, but even the three seconds or so that the change would take would leave Pelicia vulnerable.
He had to wait for a better opportunity, and he had to talk Addison out of whatever he was planning with that bomb. “What’re you thinkin’ there, boyo?”
Addison looked at him and without a word bent over Pelicia and held the homemade device against her chest. Pulling her upright and then forward, he braced her against his body as he threaded the straps beneath her arms and fastened them behind her back. Another strap went between her legs to fasten behind her back as well.
Declan fought back a howl of rage. The bastard was touching Pelicia with no sexual intent, but he had his hands on Declan’s mate just the same. He’d better pray that he killed Declan, because if Pelicia died and Declan somehow managed to live, he would hunt. The bastard. Down.
“It should be obvious what I’m thinking, O’Connell.” Addison gently settled her against the granite wall of the chamber and stroked hair away from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. Her head lolled forward, chin resting against her chest.
Declan saw a look of regret flicker across Addison’s face as he leaned away from her. He reached into the backpack and pulled out a large flashlight. Flicking it on, he set it on the ground, the light streaming upward toward the capstone ceiling. Then he crawled back to the entrance and placed another flashlight there. He straightened, staring at Declan. “You took something from me. Now I’m going to take something from you.”
Declan swallowed. He’d been here before, in this place where he could either allow emotion to overtake him or battle it. If it was something that could distract him, he’d clear his mind of it. But this…this was something that could fuel his anger. And that he could use.
But first he had to talk Addison down. “Pelicia has nothin’ to do with this. Whatever this is. It’s me you want—leave her out of it.”
“Oh, I had planned to. At first. I was just going to use her to get to you.” Addison sat down, leaning his back against the rough granite behind him, and rested his left hand—the hand holding the gun—on his knee, keeping the weapon trained on Declan. “But when I was here four months ago and saw how desperate you were to win her back, I realized she was the key.”
Declan ground his jaw. “The key to what?”
“To my plan. I kept you guessing by shooting at you, didn’t I?” Addison grinned, clearly impressed with his own cleverness. “You didn’t know which end was up. But now I’ll tell you.” He pointed toward Pelicia. “I’m going to watch your face as you come to realize there’s nothing you can do to keep her from dying. I’m going to savor it—enjoy every nuance of your anguish and guilt.”
Declan kept twisting his wrists, putting strain against the flexible binding, but even with his enhanced werewolf strength he couldn’t get the cable to give. He needed to keep the man talking so he had time to figure out what to do.
The one thing that could not—would not—happen was that harm would come to Pelicia. Declan would die protecting her from this man. This…
Enemy.
“What happened to you, Addison? The man I knew would never countenance the killin’ of an innocent.”
Addison surged to his feet, his face red with anger. “The man you knew is dead. You killed him.”
“I tried to stop you.” Declan wriggled his hands, testing the strength of the restraint around his wrists. The damned corded fiber continued to hold firm.
A muscle flexed in the other man’s jaw. “You were trying to make me feel stupid, like you always did.” When Declan started to argue, Addison slashed his hand through the air. “Just shut up. You’re making my head pound.” He glanced at Pelicia. “I wanted to do this from the moment I first came here two years ago.” His gaze locked on Declan’s. “But you were stubborn and didn’t come around to see her. I was beginning to think I’d have to rethink my plans.”
“Sorry to have spoiled things for you.”
“You didn’t spoil anything, O’Connell. As it turns out, my plans were merely…delayed.” He took a deep breath, visibly making himself relax. “Anyway, anticipation makes the wait worthwhile.” He holstered his gun and reached into a front pocket of his jacket. When he withdrew his hand, he held a black rectangular plastic box roughly the size of his palm.
It was the detonator to the bomb now strapped around Pelicia’s chest.
“Now,” Addison said, sitting down and resting his back against the rough granite of the barrow entrance, “we’ll just wait for Pelicia to wake up, and we can get the show on the road, as the Americans say.”
Declan’s heart pounded. Rage beat at him like a living, breathing thing, twisting his gut and setting fire to his blood. The wolf began to stir, called forth by his rage and the soon-to-rise full moon. A howl fought to be set free from a throat tight with fear.
Not for himself—anything Addison wanted to dish out Declan was more than ready to face. But Pelicia…She was an innocent in all of this. He had to make Addison see that.
And he had to make his move carefully. The maniac could set the bomb off at any moment.
Seducing the Moon Page 17