Bound to Moonlight

by Nina Croft

  “Hey, I didn’t say a word.”

  Sebastian ignored the comment. “She needs a doctor. Get Connor on the phone. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, just strode past the other man, carried his burden to his own room, and laid her gently in the center of the bed. He went to the cupboard and pulled out two blankets and laid them over her, then stood looking down.

  She was unconscious again. In the bright sunlight, her skin appeared even paler, tinged with the pallor of death. He swore. Pouring a glass of water from the jug on the bedside table, he sank down next to her. He pulled her up so she was leaning against the wall, then took the foil packet of pills from his pocket.

  He tore one free. The tablet was small, white and bore no markings to identify what it could be. Sebastian had no clue what they were, and if they did turn out to be suicide pills, then he’d be killing her. But he sensed she was running out of time, and he suspected the pills were the only thing that might save her life. He shrugged and put his hand to her lips. They were dry now, and he slipped a finger inside and pried open her mouth.

  As she started to struggle, he put his arm around her shoulders and held her tight against him. She bit down on his finger. He swore and pulled free. Her eyes were open now, dark with pain, and she twisted so she could look into his face.

  “Are you torturing me?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I hurt. Am I dying?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  She smiled then, a slight curve of her lips that didn’t banish the fear from her eyes. “I don’t think you can.”

  “Sweetheart, I can do anything I want to.”

  “I’m not your sweetheart. I’m not anyone’s sweetheart.” Her tone was sad and defeated. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

  He had an urge to take her in his arms, hold her, tell her everything would be all right. But how could he? He’d never been any good at lying. Instead, he said, “Open your mouth.”

  “What?”

  “Open your mouth.”

  This time she did as she was told, and Sebastian placed the pill on her tongue. He picked up the glass of water, put it to her lips, and she swallowed convulsively.

  For a minute, he held her close, her cheek resting on his chest. Then he slipped his arm from her shoulder and laid her back on the bed, tucking the blankets around her.

  Her eyes opened and captured him with her dark gaze. “Why are you being nice to me?”

  “I’m not. I’m saving your life so you can tell me what you’ve done with my people.”

  “Your people—are they wolves, like you?”

  He nodded.

  “What’s it like to be a wolf?”

  Sebastian was silent for a minute as he thought about the question. He’d not become a werewolf from choice, and for many years he’d bitterly regretted what had been done to him. That was far in the past now, and he’d long ago accepted, and come to love what he was. He leaned back against the wall and tried to put his feelings into words. He talked of how it felt to be wolf, of the magic that bound the pack together, of racing through the forest under a full moon. Finally, he fell silent and glanced down. Anya was sleeping.

  He rose to his feet and stared down at her, wondering what the hell he was doing? He’d never felt like this in his life before. All his instincts screamed at him to protect her.

  Unable to leave, he dragged a chair close to the bed and settled down to watch her sleep.

  A light tap sounded at the door. Sebastian glanced up, sensing the restless energy of the man waiting outside the room—it looked like the doctor had arrived.

  “Come in.”

  Connor hovered in the doorway. Six-foot-four of pent-up alpha werewolf in denial.

  Five years ago, Sebastian had saved the doctor’s life after an injured werewolf he’d been treating had shifted and savaged him. Connor had never seemed particularly grateful.

  Now, he came when his alpha called and he shifted at full moon when he had no choice, but otherwise he did his best to ignore the fact that he was a werewolf.

  Sebastian had been there himself, and he knew Connor was fighting a losing battle. His wolf was too strong, one of the strongest Sebastian had ever encountered.

  “I heard you captured an assassin,” Connor said.

  Sebastian nodded at the unconscious woman and Connor’s eyes widened. He crossed the room, put his bag on the floor, and sat on the bed beside her. He studied her for a moment then turned to Sebastian.

  “You want her to live?” he asked, his expression blank. “Or just well enough to talk?”

  “Both,” Sebastian replied. Then he took a deep breath. “Can you do it?”

  “I have no clue what’s wrong with her. If you just want her to talk, then I could give her a stimulant. It would get her lucid enough to make sense.”

  “Will it work?”

  Connor shrugged. “I can also give you something to increase her sensitivity to pain. That way, you might get her to talk before the stimulant kills her. Or you might not.”

  It sounded as though that option gave no guarantee they would get the information they needed, and relief flooded Sebastian. “And the alternative?”

  “We try and work out what’s wrong with her.”

  Sebastian handed him the two remaining pills. “She had these on her when we captured her. I’ve given her one and she seems to be resting easier.”

  “Maybe we should wait and see then. In the meantime, I’ll get these analyzed. If I can work out what the cure is, I can take a guess at the illness.” He tore off one pill and handed the other to Sebastian. “I’ll check her over and take a blood sample as well, but the tests will probably take too long, so these are our best bet. If it looks like they’re working, give her another when she wakes up.”

  Chapter Five

  She wasn’t dead.

  That much she knew, but no more. Not where she was or how she had come to be there. She shifted slightly, and a sharp pain ripped through her head. So she lay still, eyes closed, until the pain faded. Her brain felt fuzzy, her thoughts sticking like glue, but she had a faint memory of falling asleep with Sebastian’s deep, rich voice caressing her ears.

  Her back was blissfully warm, her front freezing where she’d kicked off the blankets. She rolled over, seeking the source of the warmth, and her nostrils filled with a musky, wild scent she didn’t recognize. Soft, silky fur brushed against her skin, and she remembered.

  Wolves.

  She shifted away and half opened her eyes. A huge, silver wolf lay on the bed beside her. Head resting on its paws, eyes open; it watched her closely. Some part of her mind told her she should panic, run. Instead, a dark blue gaze captured hers, and her fear receded.

  A shiver racked through her body. The wolf raised its head and inched closer on its belly, slowly, as though she was a wild creature it didn’t want to startle into flight.

  She was so cold and tired, and she could feel the heat emanating from the wolf. Reaching out, her fingers sank into the thick pelt. The wolf moved closer, until it lay against the length of her body, and she closed her eyes. As consciousness faded, she snuggled deeper into the warmth.

  When she woke the second time, she knew she was on the mend. She still didn’t want to move. The pillow was soft under her head, and as she breathed in, her nostrils filled with a warm masculine scent. Not what she usually woke up to. Her eyes flew open.

  The dim light revealed that she was out of the cage. Instead, she was in a large room, with high ceilings and pale walls. The meager light shone in through two tall windows, and beyond the glass she could see the moon, just past full.

  No longer cold—she was burning up.

  But the fire wasn’t inside her. She lay still and analyzed her immediate surroundings. A bed. A comfortable bed. Wrapped tight in blankets and spooned against something hard, and scalding hot.

  She’d never woken next to another person before. She had a faint flashback t
o waking earlier, and not alone, but her brain shied away from examining that memory.

  She lay tucked into the curve of a large, masculine body, the whole length of him imprinted along her back. She was still fully dressed, though her own clothes were gone. In their place, she wore grey sweats and a white T-shirt.

  The man was naked.

  His arm curled around her, his hand splayed against her belly. Without looking, she knew it was Sebastian Quinn, wrapped around her as if he didn’t want to let her go.

  For long minutes, she lay there unmoving. The pain in her body had dulled to a throbbing ache, her head felt clearer.

  Finally, she shifted slightly, and the hand on her stomach tightened, then slid up her body to rest on the curve of her breast. She held herself still as his palm rubbed across her tightening nipples, and a shiver of reaction ran through her. Shock…pleasure. The thought made her pull away. He didn’t attempt to hold her, and she twisted around to face him, wincing as the pain shot through her skull.

  His head lay on the white pillow, but his eyes were half-open, sleepy, gleaming dark blue through a thick veil of lashes. Wolf’s eyes. She swallowed and forced the question out.

  “Were you the wolf?” she asked.

  He nodded. “You were cold. It was the easiest way to warm you up.”

  “I’m not cold now.”

  “No. But I was tired.” He came up on one elbow and stared down at her, a lazy smile on his face. “And you are in my bed.”

  “I am?”

  He nodded. “How do you feel?”

  “Better. You gave me the pills?”

  “One. You can have another now.”

  He sat up, the sheet and blankets falling to his waist. She didn’t want to stare, but couldn’t help herself. His chest was smooth and golden, his shoulders broad, his arms sleek with muscle. He handed her a pill, and she looked down at it.

  “I’ll get you some water,” he said.

  He slipped out of the bed, seemingly unconcerned that he was naked. She wished she could be so nonchalant, but watching him walk away, seeing the powerful muscles ripple under his skin, her breath caught in her throat. He disappeared into the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind him, and she breathed again.

  She had to hold on to the thought that this man had been responsible for the death of her sister.

  Maybe.

  She hated the doubts that plagued her constantly. Before, things had been so easy. She’d not liked what she did, but at least she’d believed she was doing some good. Righting some wrong. Now, she could no longer deny the suspicions that clouded her mind.

  What could she do? She was trapped. Without the medicine the Agency gave her, she would be dead within days. Maybe that would be better. But she wanted to live. She wanted to experience life. Her eyes flicked to the bathroom door. She wanted to know what it felt like to have a man hold you in his arms, whisper words of love, tell you he—

  She cut off the thought. She’d always been a dreamer, but she had come to realize that there was no place for dreams in this world.

  The bathroom door opened, and the muscles clenched in her belly. If she’d thought the back view magnificent, the front was breathtaking. Her eyes slid down over the long length of his body. Golden skin, broad chest, lean abdomen. She glanced lower, and her eyes widened.

  He was aroused, huge, and hard. As she stared, his cock twitched, and her gaze shot to his face.

  He raised one eyebrow, then glanced down and grinned. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a natural reaction to my waking up with a beautiful woman.”

  Coming to a halt beside the bed, he handed her the water. Anya reached for the glass. Their hands touched, and she jumped as a shock ran through her fingertips. She kept her eyes glued to his face as she placed the pill on her tongue and swallowed it down.

  He thought her beautiful. Nobody had ever told her she was beautiful before.

  She watched as he picked up a pair of jeans from the floor and pulled them on. He sank into the chair next to the bed, long legs stretched out in front of him, and regarded her, his face expressionless. She looked away and studied the room instead. His room, he had said. Why had he brought her here? Why hadn’t he let her die?

  “You’re being nice,” she said.

  He gave her a wolfish smile. “Just until you’re better.”

  She bit her lip. “Then what?”

  “Then you tell me who you’re working for and what you’ve done with my people.”

  “Are you going to make me?”

  She searched his face, saw the smile slide away and his eyes turn to ice. She shivered.

  “I’ll do whatever I need to get my people back,” he said.

  The words filled her with a wild longing to be one of his people, to belong somewhere, be part of something she could believe in.

  “Why not now?” She forced herself to ask.

  He raised one shoulder in a casual shrug. “The doctor said it could kill you. We need you alive. You know, you could save us both a lot of bother and just tell me.”

  She wished she could, but while she had begun to doubt the Agency, she couldn’t yet bring herself to betray the only people she had ever known. First, she needed to find proof.

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  His eyes turned colder, his expression hardened with resolve, and a prickle of unease crawled down her spine. She turned her face from him, slid down in the bed, and curled into a ball.

  He sighed audibly, but rose to his feet and crossed the room. The door opened and, finally, the key clicked in the lock.

  The moment he was gone, the urge to call him back hovered on her tongue. She bit down hard on her lower lip and swallowed the words. She couldn’t allow herself to weaken.

  She had to find a way out of here.

  Chapter Six

  Despite the imminent threat of torture, Anya slept again.

  She woke to bright daylight. Blinking a couple of times, she realized she felt almost back to normal. She slipped out of bed. Her legs were steady as she crossed the room and tried the door. Locked.

  She went to the window and peered out. Below her, a man stood on the gravel driveway, a rifle held loosely in his hands, a pistol holstered at his hip.

  Anya reached out with her mind. This one wasn’t shielded, and although his brain had a strange flavor, she could read his thoughts with ease. He was worried about someone called Maria. He wished he could be out searching for her instead of guarding some woman who should be locked in the cage.

  She turned away and did a quick search of the room for anything she might use as a weapon. The room was sparsely furnished—a man’s room, the colors neutral, no unnecessary ornaments, but a heavy looking jug stood on the table by the bed that might come in useful.

  She headed into the bathroom, drank a glass of cold water, and then splashed some over her face. The shower looked tempting, but she didn’t want to waste the time. She was sure she could take out the guard before he could get a shot off, and she needed to get out of there. Once they realized she was better, they were sure to return her to a more secure place, and she’d find it much harder to break out of the cage.

  She went back into the bedroom and came to an abrupt halt.

  Sebastian leant against the wall beside the door, still dressed only in jeans, arms folded across his chest, a grim expression on his face. A ripple of fear ran through her. She swallowed and forced herself to step further into the room.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Want to talk?”

  “No.”

  “One of my men is dead.”

  She shook her head. What could she say?

  His expression became grimmer. “I have to take you back to the cage.” He pushed himself off from the wall, stepped toward her. “Don’t make me do this, Anya.”

  At his use of her name, she trembled. “I have no choice.”

  ***

  She appeared fragile in the brigh
t light of day, her skin pale, but she no longer looked sick, and Sebastian knew he couldn’t put this off any longer.

  Tasha had called. She and Jack expected to get back that night, but she said she was getting feelings from Maria. She was in pain and weakening. Sebastian had to find out what Anya knew or lose another member of his pack.

  Frustration tore at him. Why couldn’t she give in?

  “You know,” he said, “everyone breaks in the end. Why make this hard on yourself?”

  She studied him out of those golden eyes. “Would you break?” she asked and her tone held genuine curiosity.

  He opened his mouth, but found he couldn’t lie to her, and closed it again. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned from her to stare out of the window. “No.”

  When he turned back, she shrugged helplessly, and his anger mounted.

  She called to something deep inside him; something he hadn’t even known existed. Holding her in his arms through the long night had felt so right. How was he supposed to take her downstairs and hurt her? Cause her pain, and keep on causing her pain until she talked. Everything screamed at him that it was wrong.

  He had to find some other way to get through to her.

  He stalked towards her. She backed away but came up against the edge of the bed, and he reached out and clasped her upper arms. His fingers tightened to give her a brief feel of the inhuman strength in his grip.

  “You can’t fight me.”

  “I won’t. Do what you have to do.”

  She swallowed and licked her lips with her small pink tongue, and the heat that coiled in his belly was like a physical pain.

  Without conscious thought, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She didn’t fight him, and he gave in to the urge he’d been battling since the first moment he saw her. He kissed her savagely. His tongue thrust inside her mouth, and found her hot and wet and sweet. For a minute, he lost himself in the taste of her. Then her tongue fluttered tentatively against his, and the heat inside him burst into flames.

  Her body moved against him now, her hands gripping his shoulders, her hips pushing into his. She wanted him, and the knowledge sent a wave of relief washing through him.