Kiss of a Dark Moon

by Sharie Kohler

  His silver eyes drilled into her, steady and piercing. “Maybe,” he replied vaguely. “But that doesn’t change the fact that there’s a hit on your life. Get out of town. And make certain Gideon stays away, too.”

  Heat burned up her neck and to her face. She surged to her feet and faced him. “You don’t think we’re smart enough to outmaneuver these bastards? I’ve seen NODEAL’s agents at work before. I’m not impressed. Half of them couldn’t find their asses in the dark.”

  “It’s not NODEAL that concerns me.”

  “EFLA, then?” An image of Rafe Santiago flashed through her mind. True, he possessed an aura of menace, but she knew his weakness now. Her face burned at the memory, and her breasts grew heavy. She. She was his weakness.

  The skin near Darius’s left eye twitched, the only indication that he was about to tell her something out of the ordinary. “They’ve released your identities.”

  The skin at the back of her skull tightened, tingling as though pricked with a thousand needles, drawing forth a dull ache inside her head.

  “What?” she whispered, dropping back on to the bed, the well-worn springs squeaking beneath her. She ran a hand through her waves, massaging her scalp with her fingertips. “Released our identities? To whom?”

  “You understand my meaning,” he replied in that oddly formal fashion that hinted at an age lived and lost. “You’re lucky to have survived the night. Lucky I got here first.”

  She compressed her lips, deciding against telling him that he had not gotten to her first. Rafe had. Twice, the night before.

  She nodded slowly. “They’ve released our identities to the lycan population.” She was lucky, indeed. Lucky Rafe had been her only late-night visitor.

  “Do you know a better way to guarantee your death?”

  “Every lycan in town knows who we are?” Her gaze darted about the room, almost as though she feared the monsters would spring out from the walls.

  “If not yet, then soon enough. The packs have a network in place. Of sorts.” He smiled grimly. “As competitive as they are among themselves, they’ll ally themselves in an effort to destroy you and Gideon. They despise hunters. And a female hunter such as you…”

  His eerie silver gaze crawled over her. The air seemed to change, grow charged, electric. In that moment, she was reminded of just what he was. Danger. A predator ruled by hunger. Perhaps the most dangerous lycan of all, because he denied himself what he craved. She shivered, her gaze skimming the black strands of hair that reached his shoulders.

  “They’ll find you an irresistible challenge.” His chest lifted on a breath, and for a moment she thought he might approach her. Touch her.

  Holding her breath, she tensed, bracing herself.

  The moment passed, and he looked to the window, eyes narrowing as though he could see through the blinds. “I imagine they know where you live by now.” Moving to the window, he parted the blinds and peered out at the quiet morning. “Every moment you remain here you risk your life.”

  She rose from the bed and began tossing things into her duffel bag. “I’ll go,” she ground out, the bitterness filling her mouth, threatening to choke her.

  Darius leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. Shoulders of a linebacker. “I’ll escort you out.”

  She snorted and sent him a sharp look. He still talked as if he lived in another century, further reminding her of the gulf between them—of what he was: the very thing she loathed. A bad taste filled her mouth as she studied him. “No, thanks.”

  He dipped his head and looked down at her with those damnable silver eyes, his voice clipped and reproving, “Kit—”

  “No.” She flung her last shirt into her bag and fought with the stubborn zipper, careful to keep her gaze away from him, knowing the full power of those lycan eyes, their ability to enthrall, if she let him get the better of her. No lycan had before. She’d be damned if one succeeded now—even if he was an ally of sorts. “I don’t need your help.”

  “No?” His voice was mocking, sharp with skepticism, and she knew what he was thinking. That if it weren’t for him, she might very well have gone blithely about her business this morning. And found herself dead.

  The zipper finally sang closed. Nostrils flaring, she slung the duffel over her shoulder, ready to move into the bathroom to gather her few things there.

  “Thanks for warning me.” Even those words stuck in her throat. “Now go. I can handle myself.”

  One of his dark brows lifted.

  She motioned to the door, needing him gone, too flustered when he was around. “I don’t need your help.”

  “You mean you don’t want it?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t want it.”

  After a long moment he pushed his large frame off the wall, the house’s old wooded floor creaking beneath his weight. “Very well.” At the doorway, he stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. “I only hope your stubbornness won’t get you killed. Your brother won’t thank me for that.”

  “I’ll survive.” It was the principle of the matter. She didn’t want to accept his help. Regardless of how he lived his life now, he was a monster. He had killed and fed on the innocent. Nothing could change that. Not his friendship with her brother. Not his helping her. He lacked a soul. For good reason.

  The heavy tread of his steps receded on the stairs as she hurried into the bathroom to collect her things. Back in her room again, she quickly changed into jeans and a T-shirt. Snatching her cell phone, she stared at it for a long moment, biting her lip until the coppery taste of blood ran over her teeth.

  She needed to talk to Gideon, but she couldn’t risk it. She was a sitting duck with her phone turned on. NODEAL—and now EFLA—had reach. Most NODEAL agents worked for HPD, with Cooper. It had been the perfect cover…and it provided them with access to technologies limited to them otherwise. They could track her phone’s GPS in seconds.

  They could track her. Just as they could track Gideon via his cell phone—if they hadn’t already. Knowing she had to warn him, she quickly typed a text message cautioning him to go to ground and wait for her to join him, confident she could find the cabin where they had vacationed as children.

  After sending the message, she turned her phone off and shoved it into her bag. She hoped her brother would get the message soon—before they homed in on his location. He would trust her enough to follow her instructions.

  She hit the stairs two at a time, her ears straining amid the silence of the house as she moved into the kitchen and snatched her purse off the counter. Early morning sunlight shot through the large bay window that looked out over the backyard, already warming the kitchen. The day would be a scorcher. Not good. Just what she needed. Lycans were more aggressive in hot weather. They usually avoided it. But forced out into it, they would be in high temper.

  A quick stop at her grandmother’s for a few necessary items—namely money—and she would go. Leave town. Temporarily, of course. But she wouldn’t stay away forever. Someone would pay for murdering Cooper. For making her run and for robbing her of her freedom, her life.

  She had worked damn hard to gain Cooper’s acceptance, to persuade him to train her and let her hunt. The only thing she lacked was official authorization from NODEAL and a paycheck. He’d had faith in her. And now he was dead.

  Someone would pay.

  A pair of dark eyes set in a too-handsome face flashed before her mind. She had a pretty good idea who that someone should be.

  CHAPTER 7

  Scanning the yard, Kit hurried to her car, her purse and duffel bag slung over her shoulder, bouncing with her steps. A warm vapor rose up to meet her, coating her skin in a sticky sheen of perspiration. She clutched the keys so tightly in one hand that the metal cut into the tender skin of her palm.

  Although she spotted no one, her nerves were stretched tight as wire. Imagined or real, the sensation of being watched stayed with her as she tossed her bag and purse into the passenger s
eat. An instinct not to be ignored. She had honed it over the last few years.

  Heat swamped her as she recalled last night, and what had happened when she’d followed her instinct and investigated her sensation of being watched. Shaking her head, she forced herself to forget. To not think about the way he had touched her, the burning sensation that had fired her blood when he put his hands on her.

  Ducking her head, she had almost cleared her doorframe when a hard hand clamped on her shoulder. Ready for the bastard, Kit spun around, barely registering a pair of pale blue eyes before she reacted, jamming the heel of her palm into the man’s face. Instantly, the grip on her arm vanished. Without stopping for breath, she grabbed her assailant’s shoulders with both hands, yanked him closer, and slammed her knee into his gut with the barest grunt.

  “Shit!” He dropped to the ground like a load of bricks.

  Before she could escape inside her car, someone else yanked her by the wrist and flung her around, slamming her face first into the rear passenger door. Pinned, her wrist trapped, she kicked backward at this new attacker, making contact.

  A fierce oath gave her a moment’s satisfaction. Until a hand grabbed her by the back of the head, tangling in her hair and slamming her head down against the roof of the car with a resounding crack. Pain exploded in her forehead. Her vision blurred, and she clung to the car, struggling not to succumb to the welcoming gray pulling her in, promising relief, escape from the hurt.

  Rancid breath fanned her ear. “Don’t give me any trouble, March. It’ll go easier for you.”

  Wincing, she twisted her neck around to get a look at this attacker, recognizing him instantly. “Lockhart,” she breathed. A few months back, she had killed a few lycans fleeing him. It stung her pride for him to be getting the best of her now.

  Lockhart spun her around, exchanging his cruel grip on her hair for a handhold around her neck. He pushed hard against her, pinning her hips and legs between him and the car so that they could not budge.

  “You know my name? I’m flattered.” He grinned: an unfortunate row of uneven teeth against a heavily acne-scarred face.

  “Sure,” she replied, breathing deeply against the throbbing ache of her head. “My brother said you were NODEAL’s shittiest agent.”

  His grin slipped. “And I see you’re just like that arrogant prick. Must run in the family.”

  “Waste the bitch.” The second guy grunted, clambering to his feet off the driveway. He stared at her balefully from small, deep-set eyes as he leaned forward, one hand braced on his knee, his face red and mottled, a thin trickle of blood seeping from his beaklike nose.

  “What’s wrong?” she taunted. “Can’t take a woman beating the crap out of you?”

  “Waste her,” the man said again. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “Shut up, Davis,” Lockhart snapped.

  “Yeah, listen to Davis there and do your job,” Kit suggested with more bravado than she felt, guessing that their appearance had something to do with EFLA’s arrival in town. “You’re both EFLA’s dogs now, aren’t you?” She shrugged. “Maybe they’ll give you a nice desk job. All the donuts you can eat.”

  Lockhart frowned, staring at her intently. Ignoring her jibe, he demanded, “You know about the merger? Who told you?”

  “Just tell me this: How did they justify killing Cooper? Did they have a good excuse for whacking him? How can you look yourselves in the mirror? He was your boss. He brought you in and trained you.”

  Lockhart shrugged. “Cooper had become a liability to the organization. Like you and your brother. He impeded the ultimate goal to rid the world of lycans.”

  “There’s nothing noble about NODEAL anymore.” She leveled a glare at both men. “You’re just a bunch of murderers now. Assassins. EFLA’s dogs.”

  Lockhart shrugged. “You’d see it that way.” Raising his leg, he pulled his gun from his ankle holster. “And what you think doesn’t amount to shit.”

  Kit ceased to breathe as he pressed his gun to the side of her head, the steel cold and unforgiving against the soft skin of her temple.

  “Are you such idiots you would shoot her in broad daylight for the entire neighborhood to witness?”

  Kit’s head whipped around at the droll, rolling voice. Air escaped her in a sigh.

  Rafe Santiago stood there, a faintly bored expression on his too-handsome face as he surveyed them.

  “Santiago,” Lockhart exclaimed, easing the gun off Kit’s head. “What are you doing here? We can handle this.”

  “Can you?” Rafe cocked a dark brow, drawing closer at an ambling pace. “Have you never heard of discretion?” He slid a sharp glance to the gun in Lockhart’s hand. “Put that away.”

  Lockhart hesitated, looking from his gun to Kit, indecision writ in his expression.

  She cocked a brow, taunting. “You heard the man.”

  Lockhart’s face reddened and his hand tightened around his weapon.

  “Stop provoking him,” Rafe growled, looking at her with dark, intense eyes. “If I were in your position, I would say very little.”

  She thrust out her chin but held silent.

  “Now put away the gun,” Rafe commanded, his face hardening as he looked back to Lockhart. For all the quiet of his voice, his words came out harsh, an order to be obeyed.

  Lockhart complied, putting the weapon back in his holster.

  Rafe flicked his hand as if swatting a fly. “Now step away from her.”

  “You have to watch this one,” Davis chimed in, pressing one hand to his nose in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. “She may be small, but she fights almost like a man.”

  “I fight better than a man,” Kit goaded. “And I fight better than you.” She flicked Lockhart a scornful glance. “Better than both of you.”

  Rafe’s lips gave the barest smirk. “I’m not worried,” he assured the agent, eyes locking with Kit’s. Something electric passed from his gaze to hers. Heat washed over hers, stinging her cheeks as she recalled their fight last night—and how it had ended. His eyes grew bright, and she knew he remembered, too.

  “Sent your goons to do your dirty work?” she challenged, her voice strangely out of breath. She eased away from the car and smoothed her hands down her denim-clad thighs.

  He held her gaze, not sparing the two agents a glance. “Hardly. I don’t need help when it comes to doing my job. Or handling you.”

  “No?” She waved her arms wide. “Then why the mass-scale alert?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She made a disgusted sound. “I know that every agent and lycan in town is gunning for me.”

  “Do you?” He didn’t bother hiding his surprise, cocking his head to the side. “And how is it you’re so informed?”

  She wasn’t about to explain Darius to him. Professing her alliance of sorts with a centuries-old lycan would be a bad idea right now. “Don’t you think I was bound to find out?”

  “Unless you have an informant, no. Has there been an attempt on your life yet?” His gaze slid from her to the area around them, as if he expected lycans to emerge from the bushes.

  “Other than these fools?”

  Lockhart puffed out his barrel chest. “Are we going to stand here chitchatting or finish the bitch?” His pale blue eyes were cold as frost.

  “Yeah,” Davis murmured in agreement, shifting his small eyes along the houses lining the quiet street. “Shouldn’t we hurry up with this before any lycans show up? Let’s take her inside.”

  “Yeah, releasing my identity wasn’t too clever,” Kit continued. “What’s wrong? Don’t trust yourselves to get the job done, so you recruited the enemy?” She nodded once, clucking her tongue in false sympathy. “Not very well thought out. What if some of you get killed because the lycans you sicced on me show up? I doubt they’ll exclude you from their plans if you’re here when they show up.”

  “It wasn’t my idea,” Rafe said, and from his tone, he didn’t seem too pleased that her identity had
been released to every lycan in town. His dark eyes gleamed down at her with a menacing light.

  “Appears to me your bosses aren’t confident you can do your job.”

  Rafe stepped toward her. “I don’t need help from anyone to handle you.”

  Kit assessed the three men, subtly shifting her weight, muscles tightening, preparing herself to act the moment one of them made a move toward her. She wouldn’t go inside the house willingly. That would be tantamount to handing them a knife and offering them her neck. Killing her wouldn’t be easy.

  Rafe took another step toward her, his full lips a grim line. She tensed, readying for a fight, knowing, with him, just how much of a challenge that would be. But this time, she wouldn’t let her body betray her.

  Suddenly Rafe stopped with the suddenness of a dead wind. His resolute gaze snapped away from her. A strange stillness came over him. A muscle along his jaw flexed wildly. Ever so slowly, he lifted his head, almost as if he smelled something on the air. From the way his nostrils flared, she imagined the smell wasn’t good.

  She followed the rapid progress of his dark eyes as they scanned the area around them, looking intently into the trees, the thick hedge of honeysuckle bushes separating her brother’s house from that of its neighbor.

  Then she heard it. Or rather, felt it.

  Silence.

  None of the usual sounds filled the air. No birds chirping, insects singing, or dogs barking. Even the faint breeze that had stirred the branches had now ceased altogether. The tiny hairs along her arms stood on end.

  “We’re too late,” Rafe murmured.

  “Too late?” Lockhart questioned in a loud voice, discordant in the eerie silence. Idiot. “What are you talking about?”

  Rafe’s eyes swung back to Kit, hard and grim. She knew what he was going to say before she heard the words, and she tensed, readying herself.

  “They’re here.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Three sprang out at them from all directions, almost as if borne on air and wind. One lurched over the hood of her car, a faceless blur coming at her, his eyes a bleeding flash of silver.