Taken by Moonlight

by Violette Dubrinsky

  Moving to the front of the cage, he repeated his command to his betas.

  Sloan stepped forward and surveyed him. Conall’s piercing gaze unflinchingly met his, and a frown marred his lips. “Are you disobeying a direct order from your alpha?”

  His beta shook his head even as a slight scowl touched his lips. “No, I am protecting him and our pack from the repercussions of slaying a human. Has the madness passed?”

  Conall might have killed him for that statement, but Sloan and Raoul had been with him for the past century. They were the closest to litter-mates he currently had. After Gregory’s untimely death, after a cutting betrayal by one of their allies, Conall had fought his way to the head of the pack with both of them at his side. Although each was strong and powerful in his own right, Sloan and Raoul were content to let him lead, and never once in his years as alpha had they attempted to usurp his rule. It was for that reason that he overlooked most of the things they said, though not all.

  “Release me now or fight me at dusk.”

  A snort sounded, and Conall turned to Raoul, who’d emitted it, and now wore a grin. Of his betas, Raoul had always been the quicker to laugh. “That sounds like the old Conall. Ultimatums galore. Let him go, Sloan. If he wants to kill the human, let him. It’s only one human and no one will have to know. I certainly don’t want to face him at dusk. Do you?”

  Sloan had no reaction save for the tightening of his lips. Still, he retrieved the key that opened the large lock on the front of the cage.

  When Conall had agreed to have a cage put in one of the many rooms above the nightclub, he’d never anticipated being forced into it. He’d intended it for those who chose to create havoc in his establishment, the immortals he couldn’t kill without repercussion…and his own betas had locked him in.

  Both Raoul and Sloan backed away immediately, moving to block the door as they grew serious. From their identical stances, Conall knew they were bracing for an attack. They still did not fully believe his “madness” had passed.

  After pushing the cage door open, he swiftly jumped down, his big body slightly hunched over in a crouch. Straightening, he headed for them.

  Raoul’s eyes flickered yellow briefly, and Conall knew the other man’s wolf was just below the surface. Sloan’s demeanor, on the other hand, was calm and watchful. He didn’t resort to wolf form unless it was absolutely necessary.

  “Find Eli.” His nephew would have to make do with the few hours he’d had at the place. “We leave for Cedar Creek within the hour.”

  ***

  “I told you we should have taken her to the hospital,” Drew hissed as she stared at Vivienne, fully dressed and lying unconscious atop her duvet, and then to the man at whom her rage was directed.

  After Vivienne had fainted, the cab arrived and Max lifted her into it. Instead of telling the cabbie to head to the nearest hospital, Vivienne’s idiot friend had given him the address of their shared apartment. Ignoring Drew’s many protests, many of which included her telling the cabbie to head to the nearest hospital, Max had offered the driver a crisp hundred-dollar bill, and afterward, Drew’s pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

  “Vivienne hates hospitals,” was the only response she received from Max as he tilted Vivienne’s head and placed a cup containing some kind of liquid to her lips.

  “Vivienne hates hospitals? Seriously? This isn’t a game, Max. So what she doesn’t like hospitals? She could die!” Drew yelled, and then looked down to see if Vivienne had had any kind of response to her tone. Her friend hadn’t moved, not even to shift or blink. She’d moved in the cab, but as soon as they’d put her to bed, Vivienne had been still except for the easy rise and fall of her chest.

  Having reached her limit, Drew moved around Vivienne’s bed to where her cordless phone rested. Max might be dense and stupid when it came to things like these but she was not and she certainly was not going to let Vivienne die because Max was too stupid and stubborn to realize the seriousness of the situation.

  She’d picked it up, pushed the on button, and dialed “9” before Max reached her and tugged the phone from her hand.

  “Give me the damn phone, Max! I am not playing with you!”

  “She’s sleeping. Calm down. She’s—”

  “Look, last time I checked, you were not a doctor so you give me that phone right now or I’m going to kick your ass and take it from you!” She grabbed for the phone but Max lifted it above his head, making it impossible for her to reach it. “Max, this is Vivienne’s life we’re talking about!”

  “Just shut up and listen to me,” Max said, his voice rising as he looked down at her. “Her pulse is stable, her breathing even. She’s resting. And I’m not a doctor but I took an EMT class, didn’t I? Viv’s my friend, too. I wouldn’t sit here and let anything happen to her just because she doesn’t like hospitals. But I don’t see the point in freaking her out any more by taking her to one when it’s not necessary.”

  As Drew weighed his statements, she gradually calmed. He had taken an EMT class during college, but did that really qualify him to make such a decision on Vivienne’s behalf? She was just about to counter with that argument when a groan suddenly touched her ears.

  Max was already moving to Vivienne’s side. She did the same, taking the other side of the bed.

  Vivienne blinked rapidly, and she lifted her hand to cover her eyes.

  “Light too bright?” Max asked, his voice the gentlest Drew had ever heard him use.

  A nod later and the room slid into darkness before a dim lamp was turned on.

  “What happened?” Vivienne’s voice was hoarse and gravelly, the voice of someone waking for the first time after a long sleep.

  “You were drugged,” Max said bluntly, and Drew watched as Vivienne’s eyebrows lifted in confusion. When Max mentioned that, Drew remembered why it had struck her so.

  How had she been drugged? She hadn’t had anything to drink.

  ***

  Drugged? Vivienne thought with a long shudder. On her birthday of all days, she’d been drugged. The irony. No one had attempted to drug her in high school or college, when she’d been her most reckless, but now that she was a grown woman of twenty-three, someone had dared.

  She whimpered at the pain in her head and tried to think back over the events of the night. She remembered briefly going to the Four Seasons, and then heading into a club. That was it. Everything from there on was either hazy or blank, an effect of the drug, she decided. After a pounding headache started when she pushed too hard, she gave up trying to remember for now. She was so tired anyway.

  “Did we have fun, apart from that?” she found herself asking, even as her lids closed.

  “Loads,” Max replied immediately.

  Drew’s voice came later, just before she fell into a dreamless sleep, “Yes, fun.”

  ***

  After changing Vivienne into more comfortable clothes, and with Max’s help, getting her under the duvet, Drew left Vivienne’s room with Max beside her. It was nearing four in the morning, and while she was tired, there was something on her mind.

  “‘Night,” Max said as he began walking in the direction of his room. He’d opened his door and was almost inside when Drew followed him, calling out, “Hey, I need to speak to you.”

  Max turned at the door and pulled it open wider, so as to give her space to enter. Drew lifted a brow. Why couldn’t they speak outside?

  “Because Vivienne’s sleeping.” Max answered her unspoken question easily, and Drew frowned, her lips curling slightly, at him. She really hated that he knew what she was thinking most times.

  Stepping into his room, Drew looked around, surprised to find it was extremely clean. She hadn’t been to his room—well, ever. She’d looked inside on passing a few times but she’d never actually stepped into the place. Everything was neatly organized, from the books that dominated his bookshelves, to the neatly organized rows of shoes in his open closet.

  Drew was so busy looking around t
he room she almost forgot about the man who resided there.

  “What do you want to talk about?” His voice came from somewhere behind her and Drew turned to face him.

  She was about to begin speaking when her eyes came in contact with his naked torso. Max had removed his shirt, and his hands were on the buttons of his pants. Her eyes lifted slowly, tracing the deep cuts of muscle against his abdominal area, the thin line of darker blond hair that started at his belly button and disappeared in the waistband of his pants, before she whipped her gaze up to land on flat, pink nipples.

  Swallowing, Drew quickly looked away. She thanked her lucky stars her complexion was so dark that the heat that rushed her face would not show through. Max was gorgeous. He was. It was fact, but Max was also an asshole. She had no business ogling him in his room, with that big, comfortable-looking bed right behind him.

  “Like what you see?” Low and deep, his voice taunted her.

  Clearing her throat, Drew shook her head. “It amuses me how often you seem to forget that I’m not one of your floozies. If you’d put some clothes on, this conversation would be over faster.”

  Moments later he stood before her, a plain white T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms covering his body.

  “Does this please you, my lady?” he asked sarcastically, turning to showcase his clothed body.

  Drew nodded, glared at him, and said, “Vivienne wasn’t drugged. I don’t think so, anyway.”

  “What?” Max asked, his brows crinkling in confusion. “What are you talking about? You saw her. She was obviously drugged.”

  She shook her head, and the braids swayed. “She couldn’t have been, Max. She didn’t even have anything to drink. I was with her the entire time, Max. I would know.”

  He drew in a breath and continued to stare at her. When he made no move to say anything, just continued to look at her, Drew grew self-conscious.

  “You’re positive this guy gave her nothing to drink?”

  Drew nodded once as she explained to Max, in detail, what had happened. She started with Vivienne approaching the man on her own, kissing him like a lost lover.

  Turning away, Max walked to his bed, and leaned against it, seemingly absorbed in thought.

  “So, she wasn’t drugged,” he said, almost to himself, his forehead crinkling.

  Drew walked over to him, until she was practically standing between his legs.

  “No, I don’t think she was.” Max lifted his head, and the two stared at each other for a long time.

  “Maybe he drugged her some other way…?”

  “I don’t think so.” Drew paused and inhaled deeply. “I think there’s something wrong with Viv.” Max lifted a brow at that and she continued. “Max, maybe Viv’s sick?”

  ***

  Vivienne glared at Max and Drew for what seemed like the hundredth time since she’d awoken that morning.

  After stretching and finding her body felt somewhat different—more sensitive—Vivienne had tossed the duvet and headed for the bathroom. Along the way, she’d been intercepted by the two people who were now subject to her glares. They’d asked her how she felt, if she wanted anything, all concerned questions of friends that she’d answered graciously before showering. She remembered being told she’d been drugged last night, but except for the sensitivity of her skin, Vivienne felt nothing that would indicate the remainder of a drug in her system.

  Her shower complete, she had gone to the kitchen to find breakfast laid out for her. Quaker Oats, milk, orange juice, egg whites, and a slice of toasted bread, all compliments of Drew. She’d thanked her friend and attempted to eat as much as she could. But after hours of watching them “volunteer” to do things for her or ask after her every five minutes, Vivienne started to grow frustrated. What was wrong with them? And why hadn’t Max and Drew argued once since she’d awoken? This had to be a new record.

  She was sitting in the living room, her laptop on the center table before her, when Vivienne noticed that instead of the television, which was playing some sappy Lifetime movie, Max and Drew were watching her.

  Sighing, she closed the laptop, causing them to look back to the television. “Okay. What is it? Why are you two acting so strange and don’t tell me that it’s nothing because it’s obviously something.”

  Max sighed, running a hand through his hair before rubbing at his brows. “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine, guys.” Vivienne laughed softly, and shook her head. She’d been drugged in the company of the right people, people who loved her and who’d taken care of her. It wasn’t so bad. “I am. I feel fine, and I look fine, don’t I?”

  After sharing quick glances with each other, they nodded very reluctantly.

  “Good, so stop worrying so much. I’m beginning to think that whatever I was slipped wasn’t really a hard drug, probably a few painkillers. I don’t feel like I’ve been drugged, although it’s not like I have the experience to tell.” She paused and looked between them. Max was on the loveseat, and Drew in the armchair on the other side of the living room. “My point is that I’m fine. I have the most amazing friends, and you guys took care of me last night, but you don’t have to keep hovering, though I love you even more for doing it.” When they both gave her genuine smiles, Vivienne added with mock seriousness, “Plus, I have to get this brief written for Hastings by tomorrow and I won’t be able to concentrate if you two keep hovering.”

  ***

  It was times like these, times when Arnold Hastings was staring down at her with that hard frown and those unflinchingly cold metallic-colored eyes, that Vivienne thought of handing in her resignation.

  Why was the man always so cold, anyway? He was one of the equity partners, meaning he had more money than he could spend, and he was the most sought-after attorney at the firm. Almost every case he took turned out favorable for the client, even if the client lost! To make matters even worse, he wasn’t the stereotypical attorney: fat, ugly, awkward or any other socially demeaning things. On a given day, Hastings looked like he’d stepped off the cover of GQ or Forbes. Tailored suits, square jaw, calculating gray eyes, thin lips. He also had a full head of silky white hair, which had to either be a good color done professionally in a salon, or a hereditary gene, because his face belied that hair. He couldn’t be more than thirty-five, if that old.

  He probably had a trophy wife, beautiful with Botox and implants, trophy children, all in private schools and geared for an Ivy League education, and a big house, but the man couldn’t manage to crack even one smile on a good day. And up until now, today had been a very good day. She’d been present when he’d closed the deal on behalf of one of his major clients, the Cedar Creek Companies, and had felt a great ounce of pride knowing that she’d drafted part of the now-signed contract.

  “Vivienne,” he began, in that coolly aristocratic, old-world voice of his. “I need you to take these documents over to Rachel Carson at CCC today.” He handed her a large envelope with the words “URGENT” in bold, red letters across it before withdrawing a business card and placing that on top of the envelope. Cedar Creek Companies, followed by the address, telephone, and fax numbers was what was on the card. She knew that a copy of the recently signed contract, in which CCC had purchased a dominant hotel chain though the tri-state area, was in the envelope. She’d been expecting him to ask this of her hours ago. Although it was the twenty-first century, Arnold did not trust fax machines, at all. Everything had to be mailed or personally delivered, and he consistently gave the job to Vivienne, despite having two other paralegals and an entire courier company at his disposal.

  “I’ve told her to expect you.”

  He paused to survey her, and Vivienne felt herself grow self conscious as his eyes took in her plain white blouse and wrinkled blazer. Her face was probably oily again, being so close to the heater, and her hair fuzzy. Why was he staring at her like that?

  “You did a good job with the contract.”

  With that, he turned and s
trode from her cubicle. Had he given her a compliment? In her year working for Arnold Hastings, she’d never received a compliment, had never seen him give anyone a compliment. Not even a thank you when she’d just come on to the job and he’d treated her like a personal assistant/body-woman instead of a legal assistant. Coffee, clothes, everything he needed outside of the office, she got it. She even worked around his odd hours, which included his coming in the late afternoon most days, and staying until he dismissed her. And she certainly had never received looks like those, unless they were disapproving looks as he took in her attire.

  What changed?

  She shook that thought off and slipped her heels back onto her feet. Standing, she looked at the clock on her computer. It was already five. Shaking her head, she picked up her leather bag and placed the envelope inside. She would deliver it, then head home. A small smile touched her lips. This would probably be the first time in months she arrived back at the apartment before six o’clock.

  ***

  It was wishful thinking, getting home before six. She arrived at the Cedar Creek Companies headquarters on Madison Avenue, to be told that Rachel Carson would be with her in a few minutes. Forty-five minutes later, Vivienne decided to live by the motto, “If it’s too good to be true, it probably is.”

  The secretary had asked twice if she wouldn’t just prefer to leave the envelope with her, but she knew better. Harvey Taylor, a bright Columbia graduate, had done that once before, leaving a confidential package with a secretary, and had been fired the next day. Hastings was thorough. If he gave you something to deliver to someone then you delivered it or you brought it back to him.