Marked by Moonlight

by Sharie Kohler

  A steel-framed door.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Never underestimate a dog’s survival skills.

  —Man’s Best Friend:

  An Essential Guide to Dogs

  G ideon turned the doorknob and stepped onto a small landing overlooking a basement. The air was several degrees cooler than in the rest of the house. Darius stepped beside him.

  It didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust to the dimness and zero in on Cyril standing below, arms wrapped around Claire and a girl, the student she’d hugged at Woody’s. He had not counted on seeing the girl.

  His eyes sought Claire, drinking in the sight of her, checking to see she was unharmed. Apart from her wide, anxious gaze, she looked in one piece. He breathed easier.

  “Gideon!” she cried out, trying to step forward.

  Cyril pulled her back, one hand tightening around her neck. Gideon lurched forward, ready to go to her, but Darius flung out an arm to stop him. They exchanged looks, the message in Darius’s eyes clear, urging patience, caution. Gideon took a deep breath and collected himself. If they wanted to get out of this alive, he couldn’t let his emotions rule him. He needed to keep a cool head.

  “Darius!” Cyril called out in greeting, his voice ringing with false warmth. “What a pleasant surprise!”

  Darius’s gaze swept the basement and its three inhabitants. “Isn’t this a familiar scene?” he muttered dryly. “Guess some things never change. If a lycan doesn’t want to kill, you’ll find a way to make sure they do.”

  Chuckling, Cyril shook his head.

  Gideon fought to control the anger spiking through him at the sight of that bastard’s paws on her. The way his fingers dug into Claire’s skin—he had to force himself not to fly down the steps and wrench her from his arms.

  “Still miffed about that?” Cyril queried.

  Instead of answering the question, Darius’s voice rang out in quiet command. “Let them go.”

  “You’re not in charge anymore, remember?” Cyril taunted. “We voted you out unanimously. I rule this pack now.”

  Darius started down the steps. Gideon followed.

  “Still the good monk?” Cyril continued with a shake of his head. “Why can’t you just accept what you are, Brother Darius?”

  They were halfway down the steps, Gideon’s gaze glued to Claire, when two hands shot from between the steps to grab hold of Gideon’s and Darius’s ankles. A hard yank pitched them forward, sending them tumbling down the unforgiving steps and onto the concrete floor in a tangle of limbs.

  Two lycans flew from beneath the stairs. Crouched on his hands and knees, Gideon struggled to rise, battling his dizziness. Hard steel struck him in the back once, twice, forcing him to the floor with a jarring thud. Pain thrummed through every inch of his body. Groaning, he struggled to rise again.

  Claire screamed, the sound piercing his soul.

  He twisted around in time to see the pipe descending to his head. Rolling to the side, the pipe grazed his shoulder. His hand brushed cold metal. His gun. Grabbing it, he swung around and fired at the lycan swinging a pipe. Once. Twice. The lycan’s body hit the ground.

  Crouching, Gideon ignored his dizziness and spun around, searching through the murky air for the second lycan. He spotted him springing through the air toward him. Gideon fired again, jerking out of the way as the lycan collapsed to the ground beside him.

  His gaze sought Darius then, finding him restrained with a pipe through his chest, impaled to one of basement’s support beams.

  “One move and I snap her neck,” Cyril called out, recapturing his attention.

  Gideon swung his gun in the direction of Cyril.

  The alpha held Nina before him, two hands wrapped around her neck. “Toss the gun down.”

  Gideon’s gaze moved beyond Cyril to where Claire hunkered, clutching at her chest, breathing abnormally fast.

  “Claire?” he called, dread consuming him. No. Not yet.

  Her frightened gaze met his, mirroring the dread welling up inside him.

  Cyril glanced over his shoulder at her and an evil smile curved his lips. “You’re too late. It’s already begun. She’s mine now.”

  Claire struggled to steady her breathing as her gaze shot back and forth between Gideon, Darius, and Cyril. She straightened, trying to still the wild thumping of her heart with deep, calming breaths. It did no good. Her heart felt ready to explode from her chest.

  The gun in Gideon’s hand wavered and she knew he was going to do what Cyril said and toss down the gun.

  “No,” she cried out, trying to step around Cyril, but he moved and blocked her.

  Claire watched Gideon lower the gun and acted fast. Her foot lashed out at the back of Cyril’s knees. He stumbled and she grabbed Nina’s wrist, yanking her free from Cyril’s hold. She flung Nina with more force than intended, forgetting her strength. Nina hit the wall with a cry, her injured arm taking the brunt of the impact. Cringing, Claire watched as Nina crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap.

  Damn. Claire started toward Nina but whirled around at a shout.

  One of the fallen lycans clutched Gideon’s ankle. She watched, horrified, as the lycan sank his teeth into Gideon’s calf, penetrating the denim and reaching skin. She heard Gideon’s flesh tear, heard the lycan’s teeth sink into muscle and sinew.

  Claire screamed, surging forward with her hand outstretched. Her fingers strained to reach Gideon even as she realized it was too late.

  Cyril recovered quickly, striking her across the face. She toppled back from the sudden blow, clutching her cheek.

  A shot rang out.

  Pushing herself up with one palm, she watched Gideon shoot the lycan clinging to his leg. Shaking the creature off, he lifted his gun. But it was too late. Cyril was on him. Knocking the gun from Gideon’s hand, he grabbed him by the throat, lifting him several inches off the floor.

  Cyril studied Gideon’s reddening face for several seconds before saying, “I’m not going to kill you right away. Killing is too good for you, too easy. I’ll keep you alive. Make you a slave to the pack, feed you the scraps.”

  Cyril’s voice sounded strange. Thick, almost strangled. A glance at his face revealed why. He was beginning to shift. His face altered, the bones elongating and stretching as the skin darkened to a deep gray. Fur sprouted over his entire head in a thick reddish brown mane.

  She raised a trembling hand to her own face and felt that she had started to shift, as well.

  “Oh God,” she whimpered, her voice strange and unnatural.

  A gnawing hunger flared to life in the pit of her belly. Her heart still hammered at a frantic tempo, the air rushing out of her mouth in spurts. Dipping her head, she moaned low in her throat. A scratchy, tingling sensation overwhelmed her body. Powerless to resist, she threw back her head and arched her spine, moaning louder.

  Clutching her cheeks, she felt her bones shift, stretch, grow. Fur sprouted from her pores and filled her palms where she clutched the sides of her face.

  The hunger grew, eclipsing all else. Claire struggled to hold on to herself, to what she knew, but it grew increasingly harder as her body twisted inside itself.

  She heard her name as if called from a great distance and vaguely recognized Gideon’s voice.

  “Claire! Claire, fight it! Get the gun,” he shouted.

  Staggering toward the gun, she lifted it in her hands and turned, her gaze finding Gideon. Clutched in Cyril’s giant paws, his eyes met hers. She watched Cyril’s nails grow, stretching into huge talons that dug into Gideon’s face, drawing blood.

  “Pull the trigger!”

  Cyril looked back and forth between her and Gideon, the slow turn of his head unhurried, unconcerned. He didn’t see her as a threat.

  She doubled over, clutching her belly at the sudden cramping.

  “Claire!” Gideon cried out. “Shoot him!”

  She shook her head savagely.

  Straightening, she willed herself to follo
w his command, but the hunger was staggering, washing over her in hot, undulating waves, increasing with every second. She wanted to fling the gun down, tear off her skin, and…

  Suddenly, she caught sight of Nina, stirring into consciousness. Every one of Claire’s heightened senses zeroed in on her, aware of every breath, of the rapid beating of her heart, of the sweet blood rushing just beneath the surface of her warm, caramel skin. She looked so…tempting, smelled so sweet.

  Claire no longer saw Nina. She saw food. And she knew the blood would taste delectable. She could almost imagine it flooding her mouth, rushing through her teeth and over her tongue, its warm nectar sliding down the back of her throat. Saliva pooled inside her mouth. Claire couldn’t resist. She took a step toward her.

  “Miss Morgan?” Nina whimpered, scuttling farther away along the wall. Claire stopped, squeezing her eyes shut, battling the urges that washed over her, threatening to consume and swallow her whole. She flexed her hands, startled to feel the dig of claws cutting into one palm…and the forgotten gun in the other.

  “Claire!” Gideon shouted, his voice reaching out to her from the fog. “Claire, don’t! Claire, I love you! God, please, don’t!”

  She lifted the gun, gazed at it in her hand. From somewhere deep inside her, she found the will to spin back around and level the gun on Cyril.

  Cyril dropped Gideon to his feet and faced her, his silver eyes gleaming, his claws contracting open and shut at his sides. Releasing a low growl, he circled her, clearly no longer confident of her intentions.

  He lunged.

  She squeezed the trigger, uncertain if the anguished howl splitting the air belonged to her or Cyril. Claire fell to her knees the same moment Cyril collapsed before her.

  Head bowed, chest heaving with great swallows of air, she dropped the gun and watched her hands gradually reduce to their normal size. The wiry hair receded back into her pores and her heart ceased to thump so violently in her chest.

  Suddenly, she was caught up in Gideon’s arms, crushed in a tight, suffocating hold. Closing her eyes, she reveled in it.

  “You did it,” he whispered against her hair. “God, I don’t know how…” His voice faded on a sigh.

  Tears slipped from her closed eyelids. She felt the warm wetness roll down her cheeks. Yes, she had done it. She had ignored the hunger, ignored the pull, and mastered the beast inside her.

  A low growl interrupted the moment and they both turned, suddenly remembering Darius pinned to the post. Only it wasn’t Darius any longer. It was a fully shifted lycan, larger and more frightening than Claire could ever have imagined. Whereas Cyril had been reddish brown, Darius was black. A huge black-furred monster even her nightmares couldn’t have summoned.

  “Oh. My. God.” Nina’s hushed voice floated from behind them where she pressed herself into the wall—knees tucked to her chest—and once again passed out.

  “That’s one big mother,” Gideon marveled beside her.

  “Big?” Claire echoed, head falling back to take in all of Darius. As a man he easily stood six feet tall, but now, fully shifted, he was closer to seven. With a howl of rage, he wrenched the pipe from his chest.

  Gideon dove for the gun Claire had dropped and swung around in one fluid motion. Frowning, he aimed and muttered, “Sorry, my friend.”

  Claire closed her eyes and looked away, sick at the prospect of Darius’s death. With a soft prayer on her lips that his soul would be granted a second chance—that he would receive some chance at redemption—she waited for the end.

  Gideon curled his finger around the trigger, heart heavy with the burden of his task.

  Darius had known the sacrifice in coming here, had known the odds, and had taken the risk for Claire’s sake. Still, it didn’t make it any easier.

  Suddenly, the muffled zing of a silencer cut through the air. Then another. And another. Gideon thrust Claire behind him.

  Cooper stood at the top of the stairs, face grim, gun aimed at Darius.

  Darius staggered several steps before dropping to his knees with a great thud. His face smacked the concrete floor in a loud crunch of bone.

  “What are you doing here?” Gideon demanded, anger bubbling inside him as Cooper started down the stairs. Cooper had made it perfectly clear he could expect no help. If he had changed his mind, he could have done it sooner, before he nearly lost Claire.

  “Thought you could use a little help.” Cooper shrugged.

  “Too little, too late.” Gideon waved his gun at Darius’s body. “I could have handled him.”

  Cooper assessed the bodies littering the basement with mild interest. “You’ve been busy.” His gaze cut to Claire peeking from behind Gideon. “Guess you found her alpha.”

  “No thanks to you,” Gideon snapped.

  “I did my part.” Cooper said, defending himself and motioning to where Darius lay fallen. “Not that I should have.”

  “Yeah, big help. You shot the lycan I already had in my sights.” Shaking his head in disgust, Gideon turned to Claire. He ran his hands over her arms, relishing the feel of her.

  “What about him?” Cooper’s voice broke in, ringing like a drill sergeant.

  Gideon looked over his shoulder. Cooper pointed at Darius. Irritated, he started to ask what he meant, then stopped, realizing that Darius hadn’t shifted back to his human form yet.

  Curious, he left Claire’s side and stepped nearer. A thick pelt of black hair still covered Darius’s body. Lycans always returned to their human form in death. Darius’s chest rose and fell with deep, silent breaths. He wasn’t dead. Gideon’s bewildered gaze shot to Cooper.

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Turning the gun side to side, he said, “Don’t know how strong these tranquilizers are. Gave him enough to put out an elephant. Still, you might want to get him wherever he’s supposed to be.”

  Claire demanded, “He’s not dead?”

  “No.” The way Cooper’s mouth tightened, Gideon knew he didn’t exactly understand why he hadn’t killed Darius, but Gideon did. He’d done it for him. Trusted him enough to believe that Darius might be worth saving.

  “Yeah, and if this ever gets out my career’s over.”

  “My lips are sealed.” Gideon pretended to zip his lips.

  “Just get the hell out of here.” He nodded to Darius. “And take pretty boy with you.”

  “What about Nina?” Claire asked, motioning to the unconscious girl.

  “Oh yeah,” Gideon said, suddenly remembering. “And there are some kids upstairs in a pantry—”

  Cooper waved a hand and sighed deeply. “I’ll take care of the kids. Know just which cops to call.”

  Gideon had a good idea, too.

  Cooper shooed at them with his hands. “Leave it to me. You get out of here. I don’t want to explain your presence.”

  Gideon nodded, recalling the night of his own parents’ death. He and Kit hadn’t opened their mouths once. Cooper handled it all. Just as he would undoubtedly handle this. He was an expert at covering up the truth. Then and now. Gideon would probably read a story in the Chronicle tomorrow about a police raid on a cult in North Houston and the rescue of several abducted teenagers by law enforcement officers.

  Conceal and cover up. Keep the knowledge of lycans hidden from the rest of the world. It’s what Cooper did best.

  Suddenly weary from it all, desiring a little peace and normalcy in his life, Gideon would gladly leave him to it.

  Grabbing Claire’s hand, his eyes met hers, startled by the pools of brown staring back at him. The knowledge that she was safe, free of the curse, hit him hard then.

  It was too dark in the basement to study the exact color and nuance of those eyes. But he would. Later. A leisurely inspection. He had all the time in the world to study them. He had plenty of time to discover the real Claire Morgan, assuming she gave him the chance.

  The cold, hard truth revealed itself in the unearthing of her wide brown eyes, and Gideon couldn’t ignore it.

>   It was over. Claire no longer needed him. The question remaining was whether she wanted him.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The devotion between human and dog is often reciprocal; sometimes a dog is just as much master as pet.

  —Man’s Best Friend:

  An Essential Guide to Dogs

  A fter depositing the still unconscious Darius to a much-relieved staff, they headed home. Or to Gideon’s house, Claire silently amended. When had she started thinking of Gideon’s house as home?

  An uncomfortable silence filled the air during the drive. She twisted her fingers in her lap until they were white and bloodless. What now? What did one say when all reason for conversation vanished? When their whole purpose for meeting, for interacting, had ceased to be?

  Claire knew one thing for certain. She wasn’t sticking around to find out. She couldn’t bear facing him the day he realized she wasn’t who he thought, the day he discovered she wasn’t the woman he had so brashly claimed to love in that basement. Not even close.

  She entered the house ahead of him. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face him. Best to end it now. She preferred that to witnessing his regret later when he realized she was just a woman. A plain, unexciting woman who didn’t inspire feelings of love.

  “I’ll go upstairs and get my things. My parents must be really worried. They expected me to come back home after I got my things from school.” She tried to smile, but felt her lips wobble. “My mom’s probably called missing persons—”

  Frowning, he interrupted her. “Claire—”

  She threw up a hand to silence him. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I’m lucky you found me and not some other agent.”

  His eyes narrowed and he took a menacing step toward her. “Claire, don’t even say—”

  “I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. I won’t ever forget that.” She backed away, afraid of what he would say if she let him. “I hope NODEAL takes you back. I know how important—”

  He grabbed her by both arms and wrenched her against him. The anger in his eyes stopped her speech cold. “I don’t want your damned gratitude.”