Marked by Moonlight

by Sharie Kohler

  She never saw it hit the asphalt.

  Claire struggled against the black, pushing past it, fighting the heavy twin weights of her eyelids. Gradually, she felt the cold stinging her cheek where it pressed into freezing concrete. Her eyelids parted to discover a tilting, shifting, careening world of gray. Jamming her eyes shut, she waited for the dizziness to pass. Moments later, she tried again. Blinking several times, she rubbed her eyes until her vision cleared.

  Claire pushed herself to a sitting position. Four dull gray walls surrounded her, one dirty window positioned high up, out of reach. A chalky concrete floor stretched out beneath her, disappearing into shadows. She wiped drool from her chin with the back of her hand and inhaled deeply, but there was only the stink of mildew and stale air. She looked up. The window allowed in a single beam of early morning light where tiny motes of dust shivered, trapped.

  Morning? She brushed her fingers against her aching head and forced herself to recall how she got here. She had been loading things into the backseat, talking to Nina, when someone struck her from behind. Claire closed her eyes tight, drawing in a hissing breath. Nina. Gideon had been right.

  Biting her lip, she looked up at that lone window. If she even managed to reach it and break the glass, she could squeeze maybe one leg through the space. Someone chose this jail cell deliberately, with great care. Most Texas homes didn’t have basements.

  A groan sounded nearby, startling her, alerting her that she wasn’t alone. Tensing, she squinted into the gloom. A crumpled form lay at the bottom of the wooden stairs, a dark stain against the floor. Claire inched closer, making out the black hair pooling on the floor in an inky puddle.

  “Nina?”

  Claire hesitated. She crawled toward the girl, the cold concrete hard and unforgiving on her knees. Her hand stretched out, finding her pulse. Erratic but strong.

  Lying in a haphazard fashion at the base of the stairs, one arm at her side, the other flung above her head, Nina didn’t appear much of a threat. She resembled a limp rag doll, forgotten and discarded where she had been tossed. Claire eyed the steep incline of stairs. A closed door loomed at the top, sealing her in from the rest of the world.

  Skirting Nina’s inert body, she clutched the rail and climbed the steps. At the top, she closed her hand around the doorknob. Locked.

  She jiggled the knob and beat on the steel-framed door with her palm, crying out until she grew hoarse and her hand stung.

  A small voice chirped from below. “Miss Morgan?”

  Claire spun around. Far below, at the base of the stairs, she noted a slight movement. Nina was awake. A single hand lifted, fingers outstretched as if searching for a lifeline. The movement must have cost her because she cried out in pain, her hand dropping.

  Claire hurried down the steps in a flurry of pounding feet. “Nina!” She dropped to her knees and gently rolled the girl onto her back. The arm stretched above her head plopped down on her chest lifelessly. Nina’s pretty face twisted in pain. Her mouth opened wide in a silent scream and her eyes glazed over, losing focus before fluttering shut.

  “Nina!” Claire tapped her cheeks. “Come on. Stay with me.”

  Her eyes remained shut as she rasped, “I think my arm’s broken.”

  Claire eyed the arm across her chest. It rested at an awkward angle, oddly limp. Scanning the rest of her slight body, Claire asked, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  Nina’s lips barely moved as she spoke. “My whole body hurts…from the stairs.”

  “Stairs?” Claire’s gaze traveled up the steep incline of steps. “You fell down the stairs?”

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Pushed.”

  “Pushed?”

  A push down those stairs could have killed her. If she only suffered a broken arm and a couple bruises, she was lucky.

  Claire hesitated to touch her in fear of aggravating her injuries, but she wasn’t exactly able to get to a phone and call for help. She might have no choice but to move her.

  She smoothed a palm over Nina’s forehead. Despite the basement’s chill, the skin felt clammy. “What happened, Nina? Who pushed you?”

  “Hit you. And stabbed you with a—”

  “Sshh, I know.” Claire leaned close to Nina’s mouth to better hear, asking, “Do you know who it was?”

  Just then the door above opened and a beam of light shot down on them. A dark figure stood at the top of the stairs, outlined by the light.

  Finally, the figure stepped down, revealing his face.

  “I believe you’re asking about me.”

  Gideon splashed water on his exhausted face and lifted his gaze to his reflection. Bloodshot eyes stared back at him, the haggard lines of his face hardly recognizable.

  He had not slept during the last three days. He had returned to Woody’s countless times and scoured other clubs, all known hangouts of lycans. No sign of the bastard anywhere. Or Claire.

  He pulled the hand towel off the bar and rubbed it vigorously against his face. Tossing the towel on the counter, he headed downstairs. Opening his fridge, he went for a power drink, hoping the sugar and caffeine would revive him. After gulping down a bottle, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door. Ready for another day of searching. Even if the odds were against him, it kept him from going mad with thoughts of Claire…suffering at the hands of Darius.

  He blinked against the morning sunlight and slid his sunglasses in place. The dark sedan parked across the street immediately caught his notice. Lips tightening, he crossed the street in long strides. With a flick of his wrist, he tapped a knuckle against the driver’s side window.

  The window rolled down in response.

  “Tom,” Gideon acknowledged. “This is how it is now?”

  The agent shrugged one shoulder and grimaced. “Just following orders.”

  “Right,” Gideon grunted. Turning on his heels, he marched to his Jeep, more convinced than ever that his days at NODEAL were over. He wanted nothing to do with a group that discounted his years of loyalty and service, that trusted him so little, condemning him for trying to save a single innocent life.

  His throat constricted and an invisible hand squeezed around his heart. Pain like he had never known, not even when his parents drowned in their own blood, washed over him as he realized Claire probably wished he had followed NODEAL’s exacting codes.

  “Cyril?”

  His lips stretched into an oily smile. “Good morning, Claire. Sleep well?”

  Blood rushed to her head as she looked up the steps. His eyes glowed unnaturally, like highly polished silver. Instantly, she knew he was more than a lycan. He was the alpha she sought. What she had failed to see before became glaringly clear.

  The dropout rate had increased since Cyril’s arrival. And now she knew why. Those “at risk” kids were the perfect targets. No one blinked an eye when they went missing. They were the perfect food supply.

  “You infected Lenny.”

  He sighed heavily. “Yes. That was an accident, I’m afraid. I never meant for him to get away.”

  Fury and hate filled her. “He was my student,” she growled.

  Cyril walked down the rest of the steps, ignoring her words. “I’m quite selective, you know. I haven’t initiated a new member to the pack in years.” He said this with pride, like a father preening over his family. “But I’ve given you a lot of thought, Claire. You’re not the type I would normally choose to join our ranks—”

  “Then why did you ask me out?”

  He laughed lightly. “Not to recruit you. I wanted information. More than I could get in a file. Kids like Lenny adore you. You’re the mother they don’t have.” He smirked. “And you so love them. Don’t you remember that night we went out? What we talked about?”

  She searched her memory. They’d talked shop, of course. Work. Common ground. Claire thought he had shared her interest in reaching the more unfortunate students, but apparently he had just been pumping her for information. Regret washed over her
. She had talked about Lenny. About his situation at home, about his neglectful and disinterested foster parents. She had told him how special Lenny was to her—that she had managed to reach him.

  “You used me to get him to him, you bastard!”

  Smiling, he nodded. “Indeed. I used you to get to all of them.”

  She folded Nina’s trembling hand in her own, taking comfort as much as she gave it. “Why are we here?”

  “As I’ve said, I’ve given it a great deal of thought and what’s done is done. You’re one of us now. I’ve decided to keep you.” He nodded decisively. “It will amuse me to watch your development. You were so skittish before, such a mouse.” His gaze raked her appraisingly. “Already you’ve changed. For the better.”

  “I won’t join your pack.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” He motioned to Nina, who watched them with wide, haunted eyes. “That’s what this little pigeon is for.”

  She glanced to Nina, then back to him.

  “You’ll stay down here until tomorrow. Until moonrise.” He nodded at Nina. “And she’s going to keep you company.”

  Claire’s eyes shifted to Nina in horror. Nina blinked, bewildered, confused, evidently failing to grasp Cyril’s implication. But Claire understood perfectly.

  He pointed at two jugs of water near the foot of the stairs. “So you don’t dehydrate. Be sure to give the girl some. We don’t want her to perish before you get the chance for a fresh meal.” His lips curved in a mocking smile. “You should be starving by tomorrow night.”

  “Please, you can’t do this.” She looked over her shoulder at Nina, her face frighteningly pale beneath her caramel-toned skin. “Anyone else. Not her.”

  He looked amused. “Ah, you will be a delight to train. I’m anxious to see how long it takes you to lose this…sensitivity after you’ve had a taste.”

  Turning, he started back up the steps. Claire flew after him, her feet a blur beneath her. Snarling, she launched herself at him, legs wrapping around his waist, fingers clawing down the sides of his face.

  He plucked her from him as if she were weightless. Hard fingers closed around her face, lifting her off her feet. “Careful now, Claire. You’re no match for me.”

  “I’ll kill you,” she hissed.

  Laughing, he flung her down. She hit the concrete floor. Hard. He called down to Nina. “You don’t happen to be a virgin, do you?” He shook his head in mock disgust when Nina failed to answer. Clucking lightly, he addressed Claire again. “These girls today just don’t know how to hang on to their virtue. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I tasted a good virgin. The blood is always—” He pinched the air as if seeking the right words. “Sweeter.”

  The bile rose in the back of her throat.

  Still laughing, he ascended the stairs. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound magnifying in her ears.

  “Miss Morgan?”

  Claire looked down at her student, the silent plea clear as day in those espresso-colored eyes.

  Nina stumbled for words, her brow creased in worry. “You’re not really going to kill me, are you?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Don’t be fooled by appearances; sometimes the scrawniest dogs are the most dangerous.

  —Man’s Best Friend:

  An Essential Guide to Dogs

  G un ready, Gideon yanked open his door and took aim. “Where is she?” he asked with deadly calm, his barrel a mere inch from those silver eyes. He looked away for the briefest second to scan the street. Tom, who had diligently dogged Gideon’s trail, was nowhere in sight. Guess Cooper called off his watchdog. Or Tom got lazy and went on a food run.

  His gaze flicked back to Darius, the very bastard he had spent endless agonizing days hunting. The lycan didn’t appear the least bit ruffled to have a gun in his face. He lifted a dark brow and asked mildly, “She’s not with you, then, I presume?”

  Desperate for answers, Gideon flung his elbow against Darius’s throat and pinned him to a porch pillar. He pressed the gun to the center of his head. “If you touched her—”

  Darius’s lips curved in clear amusement. “I didn’t hurt her, if that’s what you’re worried about. Or didn’t she assure you of that herself?”

  “Why would she be with me? You took her.”

  “I let her go. Days ago.”

  “You let her go?” Gideon’s finger loosened on the trigger and he eased his arm from the lycan’s throat, shocked and a little skeptical at this unexpected news. “Why?”

  “Because that’s what she wanted.” Darius shrugged lightly, as if even he couldn’t make sense of it.

  “She didn’t want to go with you in the first place,” Gideon reminded him, finding it hard to believe that this lycan would take Claire’s wishes into consideration.

  “Yes,” he agreed, angling his head. “But I thought I could persuade her to stay with me. We lycans are social creatures, you know. We enjoy companionship. I thought Claire would come around.”

  “What about your pack?” Gideon sneered. “They’re not company enough?”

  “I don’t have a pack.”

  At this Gideon could only stare. Every lycan had a pack.

  “No pack. I had hoped Claire could be my pack,” he said in a soft voice. “She’s all I need.”

  Gideon aimed the gun again, beyond tempted to blow this lycan away. “Sorry, she’s not yours.”

  “So I learned.” Once again, Darius appeared unperturbed. “Appears she’s not so easily persuaded. Someone got to her before me.” His gaze cut to Gideon meaningfully, making it clear to whom he referred.

  Darius sidestepped Gideon and entered the house. “Despite my best efforts to convince her otherwise, she thinks you can save her.” He smiled that cold smile again. “But we both know differently. Don’t we?”

  Gideon was still grappling with the news that this lycan had freed Claire. Where was she? Why hadn’t she come to him?

  “You let her go?” Gideon demanded, rotating where he stood, his gun following the lycan strolling through his living room.

  “You sound suspicious. Bad experience with others of my kind, I presume.” Darius stopped, hands clasped behind his back, and rocked on his heels, saying, “Is that why you became an agent?”

  Gideon stiffened. He wasn’t about to share his personal history with this bastard. It made no difference that he was steadily breaking every preconceived notion he had about lycans—Gideon still didn’t trust him.

  “Ah, sore subject, I see. Would it do any good to tell you that I too share your dislike for my kind? My intentions toward Claire are honorable.”

  Gideon snorted. “Right. That’s why you flung her screaming over your shoulder and abducted her.”

  Darius’s silver eyes narrowed. “I offer her life. What do you offer her? A one-night stand and a silver bullet?” The criticism in his voice cut like a whip.

  “Shut the hell up.” The bitter taste of rage flooded his mouth. His finger curled around the trigger, so tempted. “I’m trying to help her.”

  “I’m sure you are.” Darius nodded his dark head, but his voice sounded less than convinced. “All you agents have the same solution for the world’s lycan problem. Destroy. Kill. It never crossed your mind that there may be a better way to help Claire?”

  Gideon pounded his fist on chest. “I’m trying to help her find—”

  “Yes, but you’re going to kill if you don’t. Correct?”

  Gideon opened his mouth several times, finding himself at a complete loss. In all honesty, he couldn’t answer that question any longer. He had vowed no one would end her life save him, but when it came down to it, could he even do it?

  Then it hit him that he didn’t owe an explanation to this lycan. “This is between me and Claire.”

  “I don’t think you want her to die,” Darius announced, his look thoughtful. “What if I told you there’s a way to protect her soul and let her live as a lycan?”

  Gideon stepped closer, Dariu
s’s words fanning the flame of hope sheltered deep in his heart. Then common sense prevailed and he muttered, “That’s impossible.”

  “Such a pessimist.” Darius clicked his tongue, looking disappointed as he headed for the door. “It seems Claire misplaced her faith in you, otherwise you’d at least hear me out. No matter. I’ll find her without you. I promised her my protection, told her I’d come for her today.”

  Anger unfurled low in Gideon’s belly. What exactly went on between Claire and this lycan to make her trust him? “Why would she trust you?” he demanded, refusing to believe that she would turn to a lycan for help over him.

  “We have an understanding.”

  Gideon had no reason to feel betrayed. He and Claire had exchanged no words of love, made no promises. He shouldn’t feel betrayed that she accepted the help of another, of a lycan—but he did.

  “What kind of understanding?” he growled.

  “Whether you believe it or not, I’m not your typical lycan.”

  Gideon had no trouble believing that. So far this lycan had displayed behavior far from customary. The fact that Gideon was talking to him and Darius had not tried to rip out his throat said a lot.

  Darius went on, “I lock myself up during every full moon so that I won’t feed.”

  “Right,” Gideon snorted. He didn’t know what was more unbelievable. That Darius claimed to lock himself in a room or that he didn’t want to feed. Once a lycan fed and tasted human blood he lost all conscience. The beast ruled him. “No room can hold a lycan in the throes of blood hunger.”

  “I’ve built one that can. A tank couldn’t crash through these walls. It’s impenetrable.”

  Gideon stared at him. It couldn’t be that easy to save Claire. Could it? True, he had never thought how one might save someone from shifting. Before Claire, he had never wanted to.

  “Don’t believe me.” Darius shrugged. “Claire does, and I promised to keep her safe.”