Under a Darkened Moon

by Jane Hinchey

  Hands shaking, she tugged at the seatbelt, trapped upside down. It was stuck. Her head hurt, and when she raised a hand to her face, it came away sticky with blood.

  "Shit."

  Tugging at the seatbelt again, panic started to creep in. What if the Jeep caught fire? Didn't that happen in the movies all the time? She sniffed the air to determine if she could smell fuel, but the only scent she could pick up was her own blood. Fingers slippery with it, she jabbed at the buckle, but it was well and truly jammed.

  Sucking in a shuddering breath, she looked around, mind strangely blank. What do I do now? She'd always had a strong sense of self-preservation, yet at this moment, she was at a loss. She hung there from her seat, absently listening to the radio. It was Tim McGraw now, singing about his best friend. Eyes drifting closed, she succumbed to the darkness that had been dancing at the edge of her mind, sinking into black oblivion.

  Tires crunching on gravel, slowing and coming to a stop, woke her. Headlights illuminated the night. Car doors opened and footsteps ran toward her, male voices shouting. Metal tore as the driver’s side door was wrenched open, then she picked up a familiar scent. Her eyes fluttered. Firm fingers prodded at her throat, checking for a pulse.

  "I've got you." The deep voice was so familiar, making her think of home, but she knew that couldn't be the case. For she no longer had a home. She struggled to open her eyes again, but they were so heavy. She felt him move away and groaned a protest. Stay. Her wolf whimpered, recognizing his presence.

  "She's alive! Looks like the seatbelt has her pinned upside down. Go around the other side and cut it loose, I'll catch her." The passenger door wrenched open and the whole Jeep shuddered in protest, metal screeching.

  Hands held her and she could feel a tugging near her waist, then suddenly she was free and falling. She cried out.

  "It's okay. I've got you," he told her again, gently easing her down, not letting her fall.

  Someone held her legs, then she was out of the Jeep and laying on the ground. Hands examined her, pressing, prodding. And every contact with her bruised body hurt. She felt light-headed, dizzy, and sick. She struggled to rise, but her body wouldn't obey.

  "Shhhh," he soothed, scooping her up and cradling her against his broad chest. The feel of him, the smell of him, overwhelmed her. Turning her face into his chest, she buried herself against his comforting warmth, oblivion once again claiming her.

  She woke up to a strange man with blue eyes hovering over her.

  "Finished just in time."

  Who was he, and where was she, and what the hell was going on?

  "Don't move. I still need to clean you up and dress that wound." He stepped back, and she saw he was wearing latex gloves. He held a needle and scissors in his hands. He turned away for a few seconds, then came back, swabbing at her forehead with damp gauze.

  "You were lucky, you know," he told her, cleaning up the blood from her forehead. "A rollover like that could have killed you. Seatbelt saved you, although you're going to feel pretty sore for a few days."

  "You found me?"

  "Not me. Rhys and Levi. I'm the one they called to patch you up. Dr. Dwayne McKinney, at your service."

  "Thanks."

  He placed a dressing over the cut he'd just stitched, and she flinched, "Sorry. You were out, so I didn't bother with anesthetic." He began gathering up his medical supplies. "Rhys is pacing outside. I'll be on my way."

  Laying on the large bed, she watched as Dr. Dwayne McKinney opened the door and spoke to the man outside.

  "She's all yours."

  Her breath caught in her throat when Rhys strode into the room. It was really him. She'd thought she'd dreamed him, imagined that it was his chest she'd curled into when they pulled her from the wreck. She watched, dazed, as he crossed to her, sat on the edge of the bed, and clasped her hand in his, fingers warm, familiar.

  "You owe me a day." Memories crowded her mind—steamy nights, naked bodies, passion like she'd never imagined. It overwhelmed her. Closing her eyes, she tried to get her bearings. His scent surrounded her, and her wolf positively purred in pleasure. She'd thought about him daily since skipping out on him weeks ago. Her nights had been a mixture of nightmares about Todd and reliving the pleasure with Rhys.

  "Oh really?" She raised a brow, then winced in pain as her stitches pulled.

  "Three nights."

  "We had three nights, Rhys."

  "In my book, that includes the days as well. You gave me three nights, two days. You owe me a day."

  "That wasn't the deal."

  "Just so you know—" He leaned down, his lips hovering over hers. "—I plan to collect." He dropped a soft kiss on her mouth, then moved away. Her lips were warm from his touch. More, her wolf growled.

  "So...this is your place?" As much as she wanted to pull him down and ravage him, her aching body wasn't up to it.

  "It is." He softly stroked her hair, steering clear of her wound. "I'd always hoped to see you again, Kasie, but when I opened that car door and realized it was you..." His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes, but not before she caught a glimpse of anguish.

  "I'm too stubborn to let something like a car crash kill me."

  "I suspect that's the truth," he murmured.

  His stroking fingers lulled her, and she allowed herself to relax, her eyes drifting closed. Her breathing evened out, yet his fingers still caressed, and a warmth settled into her heart as she drifted off to sleep.

  "Wake up, honey."

  Groggy, she opened her tired eyes. "What?"

  "Sorry, but the doc thinks you have a concussion. Have to wake you every hour." Rhys was now stretched out next to her on the massive bed, head propped on one hand, watching her.

  "Tired," she grumbled, turning her head from him and closing her eyes again.

  "C'mon, sweetheart. Wake up for me."

  "Headache."

  "I've got something for that."

  "I’ll bet." She snorted, turning back to face him.

  He chuckled. "Pain meds. C'mon, sit up."

  He got off the bed and came around to her side, easing her into a sitting position. The room swam and a wave of nausea rolled through her. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and rested her head on her knees. Everything hurt. He let her sit for a moment, his big hand soothing on her back. Slowly, the nausea faded and she lifted her head, pushing her hair away from her face, frowning when she encountered dried, matted blood.

  "Gross."

  "Take your painkillers, and once they kick in, we'll see about getting you cleaned up."

  Obediently, she took the capsules from him and gulped them down with a mouthful of water. He took the glass from her and set it on the bedside table.

  "Got a last name yet, Kasie?" he asked.

  "Nope. Just Kasie." She couldn't risk it. She didn't think for a minute that Rhys would turn her in, but she didn't know his pack. It was safer for everyone if she remained anonymous.

  He sighed in frustration. "You can trust me."

  "Possibly. But I can't stay."

  "You don't have much of a choice, sweetheart. Your Jeep’s a write-off."

  Her face fell. No car. No money. A feeling of hopelessness swamped her. She'd made it this far, had managed to evade her pack for five months. The trick was to keep moving, not get complacent, and never settle.

  "We'll sort something out," Rhys reassured her, then deftly changed the subject. "How about a bath?"

  She shrugged. Sure. Why not?

  He left to get the bath started, then helped her into the bathroom to use the toilet. She turned, leaning against the door frame for support.

  "My stuff is in the Jeep."

  "Stuff?"

  "Yeah, a couple of bags with my clothes. I was on a road trip."

  "Right. Levi's arranging a tow. I'll get him to grab your gear. Don't try and get in that bath without me. You'll slip."

  "Gotcha."

  She closed the door and shuffl
ed to the toilet. Dropping her shorts and stepping out of them, she left them where they lay, then tugged her panties down to her knees and sat. Her head throbbed. Everything was just a little blurry. She was light-headed, too, not unlike when she used to play drinking games with Todd. Her lips twitched at the memory. She heaved herself back to her feet and flushed, shuffling over to the vanity to wash her hands, tugging her knickers back into place.

  In the mirror above the vanity, she looked at the girl in the reflection carefully. Dried blood matted her hair, painted her face, neck, and chest. The white dressing was stark against her pasty skin, and she could see bruises starting to form along the right side of her face. The seatbelt had left a nasty red welt across her collarbone and bruises were starting to appear where it had been strapped across her torso. She looked at the girl's eyes, gray and stormy and somehow vacant. Slowly, she grabbed the hem of her blood-stained tank and pulled it off. Another red mark across her abdomen from the seat belt. Faint bruising appeared over her ribs where she'd hit the steering wheel.

  The room was steaming up, and the girl in the mirror started to disappear into the mist. Reaching out, Kasie placed her hand against the glass, not wanting her to go.

  "Everything okay?" Rhys asked from the doorway.

  She let her hand drop.

  "There was a girl."

  He stepped forward, frowning. "It was you. Your reflection. You really did bang your head, didn't you?"

  Confused, she looked back at the mirror. Yes, of course. It was herself she’d seen.

  Rhys turned the taps off and began undressing. She didn't react, simply watched as he tossed his clothes aside and stood naked before her. He was semi erect as he approached, yet his touch wasn't seductive. He simply eased her out of her clothes. He swept her up in his arms and settled them both into the large tub, placing her between his legs with her back against his chest. The warm water engulfed them and she sighed. It was bliss against her sore muscles. She didn't protest when he grabbed a sponge and lathered it up, carefully cleaning her, getting all the blood off.

  "Let's get this shit out of your hair. Scoot forward."

  She did, tilting her head back as he poured water over her hair, taking care not to get her dressing wet. She'd never had anyone wash her hair for her before. The intimacy of it brought tears to her eyes. She let them fall silently. Once he was satisfied she was as clean as he could get her, he pulled her back against his chest and settled her head on his shoulder. Her eyes drifted closed. Heaven.

  Sometime later he nudged her awake. "C'mon, sweetheart. I know you want to sleep, but you can't sleep here." He was right, her fingers were prunes.

  Lifting her out of the tub, he wrapped her in a towel, making sure she was steady on her feet before slinging a towel around his own hips. He dried her off carefully before leading her back into the bedroom, where he had her sit on the edge of the bed while he towel-dried her hair and brushed the knots out. Her head was drooping forward, exhaustion pulling her under.

  Sometime later: "Kasie. Wake up. Tell me what day it is."

  "Wednesday. Go away."

  "It's Thursday, but close enough, I suppose."

  More time passed.

  "Kasie. Wake up. Tell me your birthday."

  "Seventh of May. Leave me alone."

  Another hour.

  "Kasie. What's your address?"

  "Don't have one. For God’s sake, let me sleep."

  Nearing dawn.

  "Kasie. What's your last name?"

  "For fuck's sake. What does it take to get some peace around here?" she snarled.

  "Tell me your name and I'll let you sleep."

  "Smith! How does Kasie Smith sound?"

  "It sounds like a lie."

  "Too. Fucking. Bad."

  She rolled away from him, but he followed, tucking her back against his body under the covers. Finally, she slept.

  3

  She slept on and off for the next twenty-four hours. The doc had been back to check on her and was happy with her progress. Rhys no longer woke her every hour, but left her to sleep it off. Being a shifter, she healed pretty quickly, although the doc had warned her not to shift with her head injury.

  Waking now, she stretched. She had the big bed to herself, grateful that Rhys wasn't beside her. She still couldn't believe she'd crashed her Jeep and he'd found her, that she was in his home, in his bed. This was not good. But right now, her bladder was letting her know she'd been in bed way too long. Throwing back the covers, she hurried across the room, her movements no longer so painful. She glanced down at her naked body and saw that her bruises had come out in full.

  She took a quick shower, the hot water loosening her tight muscles, and gave her hair a proper wash, doing her best to keep her dressing dry. She spotted her bags at the foot of the bed and dug out underwear, jeans, and a gray tank. She left her feet bare and her wet hair loose as she headed out of the bedroom in search of food. She was starving.

  Rhys's house was beautiful. The walls were painted a soft dove gray with white trim, the floors laid with hardwood, and a series of black and white photographs of lightning over wheat fields were framed and hung along the hallway. She moved along silently, coming to a void where a staircase curved downward. Across from her, the hallway continued along, leading to another wing of the house. Obviously, he had a large house, she mused, taking the stairs down.

  The lobby had a rustic, lived in appeal. Boots sat by the door, along with a coat rack and a small table that held some mail, a couple of sets of keys, and a newspaper. To the right of her was a square arch, and beyond that, a living room. She caught a glimpse of large sofas and a fireplace. To the left, there was a doorway with what looked like another hallway running off of it. And beyond the staircase, behind the living room, was a set of double doors leading to the back of the house. She headed toward those doors and pushed.

  The kitchen was magnificent. Country industrial, with lots of white and stainless steel. Rhys stood at the coffee pot. He turned when he heard her enter.

  "Hey." He smiled. "You're up."

  "I am." She smiled back.

  He indicated a bar stool at the kitchen bench. "Sit, I'll fix you something." He saw her sniffing the air. "Coffee first?"

  "Yes, please!"

  He handed her a cup, their fingers brushing.

  "I've lost track," she admitted, taking a sip. "What day is it?"

  "Friday, noon."

  "Oh my God! Seriously?"

  "Seriously. But you needed the rest. You're looking better. Bruised, but better." He began rummaging around in the fridge. "Ham and cheese sandwich okay?"

  "Perfect."

  She watched as he moved around his kitchen, preparing the food. The whole scene was absolutely domestic, reminding her of lazy Sundays with Todd. Tears pooled in her eyes at the memory, threatening to spill. Rhys noticed.

  "Hey," he chided, wiping away a tear with his thumb. "What's this?"

  "Nothing. I'm being stupid." She sniffed, hating her own weakness. She was not that girl; she was stronger than this.

  "You're safe here." He was watching her intently, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looking away. If Mack found her, she wouldn't be safe here. No one would. Todd's death weighed heavily on her and she couldn't—wouldn't—put anyone else in harm’s way. Never again. She'd be on her way as quickly as she could, continuing on to Stipton.

  "Where am I?"

  He frowned. "My home."

  "No, I mean, where is your home? What town?"

  "We're a few miles out of Redmeadows. I've got twenty acres here, plenty of space and no nosy neighbors."

  She sighed wistfully. A perfect setup, enough space and freedom to simply be, to live a life of peace. That was all she'd ever wanted. Her old pack lived on the outskirts of Athel Tree City, on a run-down farm where they'd hung tarps in the barn to divide into living quarters, had trucked in old shipping containers to convert into homes. It'd been cheap, nasty, dirty, and cramped, but it had
been home, and while Todd was alive, she'd felt safe. She didn't think she'd ever feel that way again.

  "I'm sorry to intrude like this. I must be keeping you from work and your pack. I hope your Alpha doesn't mind." God knew, if the situation had been reversed, Kasie's Alpha would probably have put Rhys down so he didn't have to deal with the hassle—or another mouth to feed.

  "Work is easy. I've got a team that manages my business while I’m off being a cop in Redmeadows."

  "You’re a cop?" Shit. That was unexpected.

  "Sure am. And I run a construction company. The pack inherited it from our previous Alpha. We're working on a new housing development at Redmeadows at the moment, actually. It's a new initiative that I'm trialing, providing affordable housing to those less fortunate, the homeless...those without a pack." He looked at her, his meaning clear.

  "Wow. That's...amazing." He set a sandwich in front of her and she dug in, stomach growling. "What does your Alpha think?"

  "He thinks I'm brilliant." Rhys laughed, and she frowned at him, not getting the joke. "I'm the Alpha, Kasie."

  She stopped chewing and stared at him. Oh, shit. She felt the blood leave her face. She put down her sandwich and pushed the plate away, appetite suddenly gone. This was bad. This was really, really bad. She'd guessed, from the power that emanated from him, that he was an important member of his pack, but it hadn't occurred to her that he could be the Alpha. She was so screwed.

  "Kasie? What's wrong?" He reached across the counter and grabbed her wrist, preventing her from rising. "You feeling okay? You've gone awfully pale. Maybe you should lay down for a bit...the doc did say head injuries could be tricky."

  "I'm...I just...fuck." She looked everywhere but at him, panic surging through her. She had to get out of here. No car. Fuck. Miles from town. Double fuck. She tugged at her wrist, but he held firm. She pulled harder, desperation washing over her, tears spilling unnoticed down her cheeks.