Dark Moon

by Rebecca York

  As he shoved past her into the room, her voice followed him.

  “I’ve been worried sick.”

  She stopped as she took a good look at him, and he could only imagine what she was seeing, if he looked as bad as he felt.

  “Cole?”

  “Be right back.” He staggered across the room, made it to the bathroom, where he threw up the water he’d drunk. He stayed kneeling in front of the toilet longer than he needed to because he wasn’t viewing his immediate future with happy anticipation.

  After flushing the mess away, he grabbed a glass, filled it and cautiously rinsed out his mouth before taking a few cautious sips. He felt like hell and when he raised his face to look in the mirror, he was shocked by his appearance.

  His face was pale. His skin sweaty. His hair mussed. If he’d seen this man on the street, he’d think he was recovering from a bender. Which was impossible in this case. A werewolf couldn’t drink enough to get wasted.

  That couldn’t be what had precipitated this whole mess. But what?

  Behind him, Emma appeared in the doorway. Her expression had changed from anger to worry. “What happened?”

  He knew part of it. The part he couldn’t tell her. And the rest of it was locked somewhere inside his churning brain.

  oOo

  Karen sat hunched over on the bunk in the cell where she’d been moved, wondering if she was ever going to get off the Windward. And wondering if she’d view the world the same way when and if she did.

  As dark thoughts filled her mind, she shuddered and clasped her arms around her shoulders. She had dozed off when she sensed someone outside her cell.

  Fearing she’d see another burly guard—or Del Conte, she looked up and found herself staring at a tall brunette woman wearing a green cocktail dress.

  The woman gave her a sympathetic look. “How are you doing?”

  Was it a trick question? What should she answer?

  Finally, she shrugged.

  “I’m sure this must be hard for you.”

  “Yes.” She admitted, struggling to keep her voice from trembling.

  “It would be good if you could give me some help.”

  “Like what?”

  “Nothing difficult.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Stella. A woman who works on the ship.”

  Karen tipped her head to the side. “What do you do?”

  “I entertain guests.”

  Karen nodded, thinking that was probably a sucky job, no matter how polished and confident this woman looked.

  She was carrying a large envelope. From it she pulled a couple of photographs, which she turned toward Karen.

  “Do you know this man and woman?” she said.

  Karen studied the picture. The man was dark-haired and tough looking. The woman was a pretty blond with short hair.

  “Am I supposed to know them?”

  This time it was Stella who shrugged.

  Karen kept her gaze fixed on the pictures. If she said she knew these people, would it help her get out? And if she said she knew them, then what? As she stared at the pictures, she had a flash of memory.

  “I think I saw them,” she murmured.

  The woman’s shoulders straightened. “Where?”

  “I think they came running through that room with the waterfall where I was at first.”

  “Yes, they did come through there. But you hadn’t seen them before that?”

  “No.”

  “Think carefully. You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, wishing she could be more helpful.

  The woman’s voice hardened. “You will be punished if you are lying.”

  Fear twisted Karen’s stomach. “I’m not lying. I mean maybe she looks like somebody who was in my school.”

  Stella gave her a sharp look. “Your school?”

  Karen shrugged. “I mean, I guess she wouldn’t be here.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Emma something. I don’t remember.”

  The woman gave her a sharp look. “But it was Emma?”

  “I’m not absolutely sure. I mean, it probably wasn’t her.”

  “What school?”

  “The Carlton Academy.”

  The woman spun on her heel and marched away, leaving Karen sick and shaking. Had she done the right thing? Or not?

  On this ship of horrors, how could you know?

  oOo

  “What happened to you?”

  The question sent a wave of panic surging through Cole. When he looked away from Emma, she grabbed his arm.

  He dragged in a breath and let it out. He couldn’t tell her the part with the guard and the wolf. Not now, because that would be a death sentence for both of them.

  The rest of it was a blank. He’d pushed the bout of amnesia out of his mind during the crisis with the guard. Now it was back in the center of his mind.

  He watched Emma’s expression harden as she took in his reluctance to come clean with her. “You mean you won’t tell me.”

  Anger and fear tangled on his face.

  Punching out the words, he said, “I mean I don’t know!” At least that was partly true.

  He crossed the room, dropped onto the bed and lay down with his shoes on the spread, his arm over his face and his eyes closed. To his chagrin, he suddenly started to tremble, and he couldn’t stop.

  oOo

  Emma’s chest tightened. She had been so angry she’d been ready to slug Cole. Now she could see that something had shaken him to his core. Had he gotten dragged into some S and M scene that he couldn’t handle? She didn’t know, but all she wanted to do was help him. When she crossed the room and eased down beside him, he tensed.

  “Leave me alone.”

  She reached to cup her hand around his shoulder. Keeping her tone gentle, she said, “This is a . . . seductive place. Did you do something you don’t want to talk about?”

  “Do you think I’m lying?” he asked in a gritty voice. “What do you think—that I whipped some slave and fucked her—and I don’t want to tell you about it?”

  It took several moments before she answered, “I hope not.”

  “Jesus!” When he tried to wrench himself away, her grip on his shoulder tightened. Maybe he didn’t really want to get away because he flopped back onto the bed. Or maybe he didn’t have the strength to escape.

  That in itself was terrifying. She’d never seen Cole Marshall like this, and she was realizing how much she’d come to rely on his steady dependability.

  “You really don’t know?” she murmured, thinking that they were in a very bad situation. In the first place, somebody could be listening to this conversation. Probably they were listening. And she’d better keep that in mind.

  She thought back over their dialogue. Had they said anything that an ordinary man and woman wouldn’t say to each other?

  It seemed not. She hoped not.

  “But you’re still feeling sick?” she murmured.

  “It’s not so bad now.” He swallowed, his hands clenching and unclenching. “The worst part is not knowing how I got this way,” he said in a barely audible voice.

  She knew what it must have cost him to admit that. Lying down on the bed beside him, she clasped her arm across his chest, holding him tightly.

  He kept his eyes closed when he asked, “How long was I gone?”

  “Three hours.”

  “Jesus.”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  He hesitated, and she wondered if he was dredging up a lie. Yet when he spoke, his answer sounded sincere. “I remember walking down the hall, coming back here. Before that, I remember leaving. In between is a whole lot of unaccounted-for time.”

  “Where were you going when you left?”

  “I was trying to get—” He stopped abruptly and started again, “You know, find out about the ship.”

  Probably about Karen, but he’d managed not to say it.

  “Where did
you end up?”

  He shook his head. “No idea.”

  Again, she had the sense that he wasn’t being entirely truthful. “You have to try and remember. I mean, what if something happened that . . .”

  She let the question trail off. She’d wondered if his experiences had put them in danger, but she certainly couldn’t ask that. Instead, she reached down and laid her hand over his. “Maybe I can help you remember.”

  oOo

  Cole considered his options. He could not tell her about changing to wolf form, killing the guard, getting rid of the body. But could she really help him dredge up the rest of it—the part before?

  “How in the hell can you do that?” he demanded in his Cole Mason voice.

  “By asking you some questions.”

  He’d been hoping for some magic bullet. Now he made a snorting sound. “Don’t you understand. My memory for those hours is gone. Asking questions won’t do any good.”

  “Maybe it will. Just let me try.”

  “What are you, a therapist or something?”

  “Just someone who cares about you.”

  He waited several seconds before answering. “Okay.”

  She got up and dimmed the lights, then came back to the bed, sitting beside him in the semidarkness.

  “I’m going to ask you stuff fast. Don’t think too hard about it. Don’t try to second-guess yourself. Just say the first thing that comes into your mind.”

  “Where did you get that?”

  “From a TV show.”

  He snorted. Maybe it was really from a police manual.

  “I’m going to start. What color was the hallway?”

  “The walls are buff.”

  “What other color do you remember?”

  “Green,” he said, then stopped short as though the answer had been a revelation.

  “What was green?”

  “Her dress.”

  She kept the questions coming fast. “Whose dress?”

  “Stella’s.” He turned to Emma and blinked. “Stella,” he said again, remembering. “She was standing in the doorway to the bar. She invited me in. She was being friendly.”

  “You were talking to her?”

  “Yes. About . . .” He stopped and shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.”

  “Was that true, or was he censoring himself?”

  “Did you have a drink?”

  “I never drink anything stronger than soda water.” he snapped, then gasped as another memory flooded in. “The soda water.”

  “What?”

  “I drank it, and it tasted funny.” He sat up with a jerk, as another piece of the puzzle slipped into place. “The guy named Ben. He was there.”

  “In the bar?”

  “Not the bar. In a room. Asking me questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “My name. Your name. What I was doing here.” He stopped and stared at Emma. “Oh shit. I think the woman put something in the drink to make me tell the truth.”

  “They drugged you?”

  Recognizing the import of the question, he felt his heart start to pound.

  Emma kept her gaze on him. Punching out the words, she said, “And you obviously did tell the truth. Maybe they do that, you know, at random. Or maybe they went after you because they suspect you of something, but neither one of us had done anything wrong.”

  “Yeah. Right.” After the assertion, he moved his mouth to her ear. “But I put us in danger. Put you in danger.”

  She reversed their positions. “Not your fault. If you’d said something off, we’d already be in custody, don’t you think?”

  He answered with a grunt. Yeah, that was right, as far as it went. Or maybe the goon squad was waiting to see if he said anything interesting.

  Her voice turned hard. Aloud, she said, “I’m going to call up security now and complain about the way they treated you. You’re paying through the nose for this vacation. They can’t do that to you.”

  “You think they’re going to apologize?” he snapped.

  “Maybe.”

  “Forget it. I need to get some sleep. And you do too.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Alarm shot through Emma as she watched Cole get up and sway like a man who was three sheets to the wind. “What are you doing?”

  “Like I said. Getting some sleep,” he said in a rough voice. “I believe we have a party tomorrow. It’s supposed to be fun, and I’d like to be in shape to enjoy myself.”

  Enjoy himself. Oh sure she thought as he snatched up pillows and the bedspread. What the heck was he doing?

  “Come on,” he whispered.

  “Where?”

  Still not quite steady on his feet, he led her to the side of the room, and threw down the spread. As she helped him smooth it out, she understood his strategy. If someone did come barging in here, they’d go straight for the bed. But nobody would be there.

  But then what? Cole was obviously not in shape to fight off Del Conte’s security men or anyone else.

  As she watched him settle down against the wall, her chest tightened. How bad off was he? And how would he be in the morning? She’d told him that if he’d given anything away in the interrogation, the security men would already be after them. Praying it was true, she got up and walked to the bathroom where she got the knife disguised as a nail file out of her makeup kit.

  It was pitifully little protection if the security force attacked, but it was the best she could do. If she could have gotten Cole and herself off the ship right then, she would have done it. But that wasn’t an option, not until they’d rescued Karen.

  If they could do it.

  Hoping they weren’t living on borrowed time, she settled down beside Cole.

  “Sorry,” he murmured.

  “Not your fault,” she answered, reaching for his hand and linking her fingers with his. She’d been worried sick and angry while he’d been gone. She was still worried about him, and there was nothing she could do.

  One of them should stay awake to keep guard. Logically, it should be her, since he obviously needed to rest.

  But she was also exhausted. Although she tried to stay awake, she finally dozed off.

  Sometime in the small hours of the morning, she woke with a start.

  Struggling to get her bearings, she thought that security men had broken into the room. As she prepared to spring up, she realized that Cole was moaning and moving restlessly in his sleep.

  “Cole?”

  He didn’t answer, and she knew he must be dreaming, or reacting to the drugs that the woman had given him. He was saying something she didn’t understand. Strange words that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. Next to her, she felt his body jerk.

  “Taranis, Epona, Cerridwen,” he intoned, then repeated the same phrase and went on to another.

  “Ga. Feart. Cleas. Duais. Aithriocht. Go gcumhdai is dtreorai na deithe thu.”

  The words sounded incredibly ancient. And powerful. How did he know them?

  As she listened, they stirred a deep primal fear in the marrow of her bones. They were like nothing she had ever heard—a throwback to a time before written history when the world was a savage place.

  A chant or a prayer that might have been passed down through the ages without benefit of written language. They roared through her, almost choking off her breath.

  When she put her hand on Cole’s shoulder, it didn’t feel right. Instead of skin, was she feeling hair? Or fur, or something?

  They’d made love. She thought she knew his body, but she didn’t remember anything like that.

  When his frame jerked as though animated by forces outside his control, fear ripped through her. What in the name of God was going on?

  Uncertainty tore at her. She wanted to leap out of bed and turn on the light so she could see him. Maybe she would have done it, if she hadn’t been terrified of what she would discover.

  Touch was bad enough. Primal instinct made her want to get as far aw
ay from him as possible. Instead, she gripped his arm again, shaking him hard.

  “Cole?”

  He jumped. To her relief, the chant cut off abruptly as he sucked in a breath. But it was clear he was still dreaming. In the darkness, he reared up, coming down on top of her, his hands fastening on her shoulders as though they were antagonists locked in mortal combat.

  When he began to shake her hard enough to make her teeth rattle, she choked out, “Cole. It’s Emma. Cole. Stop.”

  It was clear she wasn’t getting through. He pinned her to the makeshift bed, his body pressing her down as though his life depended on immobilizing her.

  What should she do? Try to fight him off, or go limp?

  The first was probably a bad idea—given his superior strength. The latter was terrifying. What was he going to do next?

  If she could have clasped him to her and stroked her hands over his back and shoulders as she murmured soothing words, she would have done it. But she couldn’t move. Her only option was to keep speaking his name along with her reassurance that everything was all right, as she prayed that she would get through to him before he did her serious damage.

  In the darkness, she stared up at him, feeling his breath wheezing in and out. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew the moment when he realized who she was.

  With a curse, he flopped to his back and lay breathing hard.

  “Christ! I was doing it again.”

  “What?”

  “Sorry,” he whispered. After a moment, he added, “I must have been having a nightmare. I guess it’s the effects of that damn drug.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” she lied.

  “I think I did. I’m sorry.”

  “What was the nightmare about?”

  He gave a sharp laugh. “About that bastard security guard.”

  “What guard?”

  Again he hesitated as though he was trying to decide what to say. “The one named Ben. He was interrogating me, only this time I got the better of him.” He laughed again. “I wish.”

  She clenched her hand on his arm, as she realized suddenly that someone else might be listening in on the conversation.

  In the dark, she pressed her fingers against his lips. With her mouth near his ear, she murmured, “I shouldn’t have asked.”