Bound to Moonlight

by Nina Croft

  Perhaps this was how to reach her. His grip tightened on her arms, and he picked her up and tossed her on the bed. He stood, looking down. Her pale skin was flushed now, her lips parted, swollen from his kisses and trembling. He needed to taste her again, and he dropped to the bed beside her, came down over her, his arms braced on either side of her shoulders. He lowered himself, until his face was close to hers, and her breath shivered across his skin.

  “Tell me to stop,” he muttered against her mouth.

  She went still beneath him, and he pulled away so he could look down into her eyes. They were wide, bewildered. “I should,” she said. “But I can’t.”

  “Then tell me what I need to know, and I’ll stop.”

  He knew it was a lie. Only she had the power to bring this to a halt now, but she made no move to stop him. Instead, she reached up and curled her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck then pulled him down to her.

  Oh, God, what was he doing?

  This woman was his enemy, his pack’s enemy, but he couldn’t resist her as her mouth opened under his. He kissed her for long minutes. His tongue pushing into the moist heat of her mouth, and he tasted again the sweetness of her. Her tongue stroked against his like warm wet velvet fueling the fire inside him. His balls ached viciously, and his cock was already rock hard inside the confines of his jeans.

  Sebastian tore his mouth from hers and raised himself up on his elbows, staring down into her wide-open eyes. He lowered his body until his hips pressed into her stomach then ground his erection into the softness of her. She went still beneath him.

  ***

  Anya drowned in the dark sensual promise of his eyes, in the hard erotic promise of his body.

  He wanted her.

  This wasn’t some trick to make her talk. This was genuine desire, and the realization flooded her mind and body with heat.

  She’d had lovers before. Guards at the Agency, but she had never been sure that they weren’t acting under orders. They had all been shielded, and she was unable to read their thoughts. She’d taken them anyway, because she needed something to stave off the loneliness, but she had never wanted them like this, had never suffered when they had left her, as they always did.

  Now, here was another man, also shielded, but his thoughts weren’t hidden from her. They were plain on his face. Hunger and need. Guilt and desperation.

  She recognized the emotions because they reflected her own. She wanted this. How could she? But even as the questions raced through her mind, her body melted beneath him.

  He slipped a knee between her legs, separating them, so he could sink into the V between her thighs. He rotated his narrow hips against her core and heat pooled at the center of her body. A low moan escaped her lips.

  “Tell me to stop,” he said again. She shook her head mutely.

  At the back of her mind, a small voice whispered that this was her chance to get him off guard, make her move. Escape. And she would. Soon.

  First, she needed to know what his skin felt like, what he tasted of.

  She looked up into his sensual face as he pressed into her, sending a wave of pleasure crashing through her body. She pushed back against him, rubbing her hips against his shaft, trying to get some relief from the pressure building inside her.

  His eyes closed as he groaned.

  The realization that she could bring him pleasure heated her skin. She didn’t want to lay here, quiescent. She wanted to be the one in control.

  She moved suddenly, shoving him onto his back and rolling on top of him in one fluid move. His eyes shot open. For a moment, she though he meant to fight her, then he relaxed back and watched her through narrowed eyes.

  Anya straddled his lean hips then lowered herself onto him, a knee on either side. She looked into his face.

  “Let me touch you?” she said.

  Heat flushed his sharp cheekbones. He nodded.

  Her hand reached out and splayed across the hard wall of his chest. His skin was smooth and hot, and she ran her fingers over the swell of muscle, laid her palm flat against him, and felt the thud of his heart.

  A sense of urgency filled her, to feel his skin against hers.

  She pulled the T-shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. Her bra followed. He watched her through half closed eyes as she leaned over and rubbed her bare nipples across his chest. They tightened into hard little buds, so sensitive that each brush across his chest sent ripples of pleasure shooting through her. Still she needed more. She raised herself up, so her nipples grazed his face. His lips parted, and he licked a long slow swipe across her breast, before drawing one taut peak into the warmth of his mouth, suckling her.

  A pulse throbbed between her thighs; her sex felt swollen and wet, as her insides turned molten and threatened to slide from her body.

  She pulled back before she lost all control, sat on her heels and looked down at him. The hard line of his erection pressed against the material of his jeans, and she traced it with one finger.

  He groaned as she opened the button and lowered the zipper, so he sprang free, thick and full. The skin was taut like satin, pale and silky, the head rosy and flushed with blood. It pulsed and twitched under her gaze with a life of its own.

  She shifted down the bed, so she could reach him with her mouth. Leaning close to him, she paused and flicked a quick glance up the long line of his body, to his face. The skin was stretched tight across his cheekbones and his dark eyes gleamed from behind his thick lashes. As she stared, he shifted beneath her, and she pressed a palm to his chest and pushed him down.

  She blew gently over his swollen shaft then kissed him lightly on the tip. Her tongue flicked out. He tasted salty, and she rolled her tongue around the rim, reveling in the warm musky scent that filled her nostrils.

  She was drowning in the taste of him. She needed to feel him lose control. Drawing the engorged tip into her mouth, she sucked gently and heard the indrawn hiss of his breath. His hips rose beneath her, thrusting more of him into her mouth until he filled her. She sucked harder loving the tension that filled his body, the knowledge that she held him on the edge.

  Her hands moved down to cup his balls. She squeezed, and he exploded. He gripped the back of her head, holding her against him while his hips jerked, spilling his seed into her, and she swallowed convulsively.

  Finally, his body lay still, and his tight grip loosened. His warm hand smoothed down over her neck as a lazy, rueful smile curved his mouth.

  “I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said.

  She licked her lips. “I did.”

  “Just give me a minute to recover.”

  “A minute?”

  “Maybe two. In the meantime…”

  His hands clasped her waist, and he lifted and turned her so he straddled her hips and she lay beneath him once more.

  “My turn,” he murmured.

  He leaned down and kissed her lips then trailed light kisses across her cheek. His warm breath tickled her neck as the tip of his tongue traced patterns on her ears, then down the line of her throat. He kissed her collarbone, then lower, and her nipples tightened beneath his heated gaze, sending darts of pleasure shooting to her belly and lower. A slow smile curled his lips. Reaching out, he trailed one long finger over her breasts. He plucked at her nipples with his finger and thumb, then bent his head, took one tight little bud into his mouth and bit down.

  The sensation was mind-blowing.

  He kissed her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel, swirling patterns on her skin, and she was almost overwhelmed by the exquisite pleasure. He pushed down the waistband on her pants, and his mouth moved lower.

  She had to act now, before she lost it completely. Before she decided never to go back, to stay here with this man for whatever time she had left. Her thoughts warred with the feel of his mouth moving over her skin, moving closer to the core of her desire.

  But even from the short time she had known him, she’d perceived that Sebastian was a man
who would honor his responsibilities. Soon, he would come to his senses, remember his missing people.

  She had to go now, before she was completely undone, before she gave in and told him anything he wanted to hear.

  Anya took a deep, calming breath. Staring over his shoulder, she focused her powers on the heavy stone jug that stood on the bedside table. The jug lifted easily, flew through the air, and crashed down on the back of Sebastian’s skull.

  His eyes widened, filled with confusion. Then a shudder ran through his body, and he collapsed on top of her.

  Anya lay beneath him, unmoving. Her face was wet, and she realized she was crying silently into his shoulder. After a minute, she swallowed her tears and pushed her hands against his chest. She dragged herself from under him and stumbled to her feet.

  With trembling fingers, she picked up her bra and T-shirt and pulled them on.

  She rubbed her hand across her face and turned to go. At the door, she paused and looked back. She tiptoed to the bed and sank down beside him, picking up the pieces of the broken jug scattered around his head.

  One side of his face showed and she stroked the silky hair back from his cheek. It occurred to her, fleetingly, that she could quite easily complete her mission, now. He was helpless, all she needed to do was open the vein in his throat, and his life would drain away. She traced one finger down along the vein. Beneath her fingertip, she could feel the throb of his life force. So fragile.

  She stood up abruptly. This time she didn’t stop at the door.

  Chapter Seven

  The walls were closing in on her.

  Since she’d got back to the Agency, Anya hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of being trapped. A sense of evil hung about this place. She’d done her best to ignore it in the past, but now, the doubts that had plagued her so long, crystallized into hard, cold certainty.

  Everything inside her screamed that Sebastian was not the immoral mercenary the Agency made him out to be. She might not have been able to read his mind, but she’d sensed his innate strength and goodness. He was like the moonlight his people loved, a bright light in the darkness of night. Whatever else she did with her life, she knew she had to right the wrongs she had done to him and his pack.

  She’d told her handlers that Sebastian was dead.

  The lie wouldn’t hold up for long, but she hadn’t wanted to reveal that she had left him alive. If she’d admitted she’d failed her latest mission, she was unsure how the Agency would react, and she needed her freedom—however limited it was.

  Unfortunately, that freedom did not include access to the lower levels of the building where prisoners were kept.

  As darkness fell, she sat in her room on the ground floor, staring through the bars of her window. She sensed the people as they left the building, forced herself to wait until only the nighttime guards remained. She knew where they were stationed and chose her route to avoid them, gliding through the corridors.

  Halting around the corner from the elevator, she opened the top two buttons of her shirt, and took a deep breath.

  The guard looked up as she approached, every muscle alert, but relaxed as he recognized Anya. “Hi,” he said. “What are you doing up so late?”

  She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. Still hyped up from the job. I needed someone to…” she paused and curved her lips into a smile. “…talk to.”

  His eyes flickered over her, lingering on the swell of her breasts and the expanse of cleavage revealed by the open shirt.

  “Well, you can talk to me anytime, babe.”

  She stepped up close and reached out a hand, pressed her palm against his chest, and felt the thud of his heart accelerate beneath her fingers. Sliding her hand up over his shoulder, she curled it round his throat, found the pressure point, and squeezed.

  Anya grabbed him as he fell and lowered his unconscious body to the ground. She frisked him quickly, took his gun and shoved it down the back of her pants, then used his own cuffs to secure his hands in front of him. He wore a keycard round his neck, and she broke the chain and sent a silent prayer that the card would give her access to the cells below.

  As the elevator descended deep beneath the ground, Anya’s skin prickled, and she swallowed the nausea that rose in her throat. She’d spent five years of her life down here, imprisoned in one of the cells beneath the Agency.

  Up until the age of eleven, her life hadn’t been so bad. She’d had people who looked after her, taught her, and a certain amount of freedom. Then her powers had emerged. At that point, the Agency hadn’t yet developed the shielding technology, and they obviously hadn’t wanted her reading their minds. They’d locked her down here, her only contact with guards who knew nothing. Even so, the brief glimpses into their minds had terrified her. Their thoughts made her stomach churn with fear and revulsion, and she’d soon learned to block them from her mind.

  Anya hadn’t seen the sun again until she was sixteen, and by that time, she would have done anything to survive, to stay out of that cell. So she’d done what she was told, become what they wanted her to be.

  It had taken her seven long years to realize that however much she wanted to live, sometimes the price was too high.

  The elevator came to a halt, and she shook her head, dispersing the memories.

  Down here, the walls were bare concrete with bright strip lighting. The miasma of evil was stronger; the scent of despair and death saturated the air and clung to the walls. Anya stood for a moment, unsure which way to go, when a low moan echoed down the empty corridor. She followed the sound, coming to a halt in front of a steel door. A small glass window in the front allowed her to peer inside. A woman huddled beneath a blanket on the small cot, motionless.

  Anya moved on to the next cell where a man sat hunched on the bed, hands dangling between his knees.

  The stolen keycard slid easily into the slot, and the lock clicked open.

  The man glanced up as she pushed open the door, but he didn’t rise. His dark eyes were dulled by pain and fatigue. She reached into his mind and found him unshielded. She could sense the wolf lurking deep inside. His thoughts were slow, sluggish. He believed her another come to torment him, force him to shift. He hoped he could hold out. He wished they would torture him rather than make him listen while they tortured Maria.

  “Sebastian sent me,” Anya said quickly.

  A light flickered in his eyes. “Sebastian’s here?”

  She shook her head. “No, but you’re getting out. Follow me.”

  Anya turned and left the cell without waiting for an answer. She opened the next door along and stepped inside. The air was thick with the acrid scent of blood. She crossed to the small cot and crouched down beside it, brushed the woman’s long dark hair from her face. She moaned and curled into a ball, hugging the thin grey blanket around her naked form, but Anya caught a glimpse of the scars that crisscrossed her body, many still seeping blood.

  “She’s alive?” A voice asked from the doorway.

  Anya nodded. “You need to wake her.”

  He crossed the room and sank onto the mattress, reached out a hand and rested it on the woman’s shoulder. “I could hear her screaming. They told me they would stop if I shifted.”

  Anya straightened and stepped away to give him more room. “Did you?”

  He shook his head. “It’s one of our most sacred laws. We never change in front of humans. We never give up our secrets.”

  “Will she be okay?”

  He nodded. “We heal pretty fast, and she can shift once we’re out of the building.”

  “Will that help?”

  “It heals most things.” He squeezed the woman’s shoulder. “Maria, wake up. We’re getting out of here.”

  Her eyes remained closed. Her face was a mass of bruises, her lower lip swollen where she had bitten through. He shook her gently, and at last, her eyes flickered open.

  She licked her lip, wincing. “Travis,” she said. “What’s happening?” She looked around her, he
r eyes settling on Anya. “Who are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Anya replied. “Can you walk?”

  Maria wrapped the blanket around herself and struggled to her feet. She swayed and put a hand out to the wall. Anya watched as she gathered her strength then nodded grimly.

  “What about Jonas?” Travis asked.

  Anya frowned.

  “The other man. He was taken before me.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “I thought he must be, but I hoped…” Travis rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Why? What is this place? What do they want with us?”

  “They kept asking me about Natasha,” Maria said. “Where was she? Was she alive?”

  “Did you tell them?” he asked.

  “Of course not.” Her voice was full of scorn.

  Anya had gone still at the name. “Natasha?”

  Maria looked at her, suspicion flaring in her eyes. “Who are you?” she asked again.

  “Sebastian sent her,” Travis answered.

  Maria frowned. “How do we know she’s telling the truth? It could be some trick to get us to talk.”

  Anya didn’t answer the accusation. Instead, she reached into Maria’s mind and saw the image of a woman, tiny with long red hair and golden eyes. “Natasha—she’s not dead?”

  She plucked the answer from Maria’s mind. No.

  “Where is she?”

  She read the answers with ease. Natasha was in Russia with her husband and she was one of them—a werewolf. Anya saw an image of a red wolf running through the forest and a sense of wonder filled her. Natasha was beautiful, and she was free.

  The last of her doubts vanished, and she turned away to hide the tears that threatened to spill over. “Follow me,” she said. “We have to get out of here.”

  Why had the Agency lied to her? Why had they told her Natasha was dead? Was it merely to send her against Sebastian? But she suspected it had to be more than that. They had known she had doubts, must have known she dreamed of leaving this place, of finding a family.

  By telling her she had a sister and then that the sister was dead, murdered, they had isolated her, taken away one of the main reasons for her wanting to leave.