To Crave a Blood Moon

by Sharie Kohler

  Sweet, intoxicating woman blood… earthy, already a hint spicy from the savory bread she had consumed, filled his nose.

  With a groan, Yusuf lowered his head and licked her neck, his tongue nearly as dark as her wine-red blood that he lapped.

  Straining to escape his mouth, Ruby cried out, the sound stark and desperate, clawing through Sebastian.

  “No!” he shouted again, savage fury spiraling through him. But it was too late. The damage was done.

  The lycan released her. She fell to the floor on all fours, her hair falling in a dark veil that covered her face.

  Yusuf stepped over her. Chuckling, he and Annika took the tray and departed. The bolt fell into place, a loud clank as he sank down beside Ruby, afraid to touch her crumpled form. Afraid not to. His throat tightened with emotion. His hand hovered above her head.

  She lifted her face, tossing back her hair, her brown eyes glowing embers that reached inside him. She splayed one hand against the bleeding scratches on her neck. “Shit,” she muttered, shaking her head. Fresh blood kissed the press of her fingers, and the sweet aroma made him dizzy with need.

  “Ruby,” he breathed, the sound of her name brimming with pain and regret. Undoubtedly, she could hear it. Read it in his face.

  “What?” Her wide-eyed gaze scanned him, quick as a moth flitting, searching for heat. “What?” she demanded, her voice growing shrill. “It’s just a scratch.” Her expression turned exasperated. “I’ll admit his licking me was pretty gross, but it’s no big deal.” Her voice quavered. “I’ll be fine. At least they’re gone.”

  She didn’t understand. And he needed to make her understand. “No. You won’t be fine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All it takes is a bite.” He shrugged. “A lick. A scratch.”

  She fell still. “What are you saying?”

  He angled his head, cutting his gaze into her meaningfully. “I think you get what I’m saying.”

  She pushed herself close to him. “No. I want to hear it. Say it. Explain it to me. No more omissions or lies.”

  He leveled a steady gaze on her, forcing all sentimentality, all emotion out. “You’re one of them now. Or you will be. You’ll begin transitioning in the next few hours. Maybe later.” He nodded toward her neck. “The point of infection was small. A larger bite and transition would be immediate.”

  She pressed her palm against her temple, her voice a tormented whisper, as she closed her eyes. “This can’t be. I’m going to wake up and this will all be a dream.” Her voice grew into a faster rush. “I’ll be back in Louisiana, in my own house, in my kitchen, there’s a pot of gumbo on the stove, my tomato basil bread in the oven…” She shook her head harder, her voice a fevered rush. “I just want to go home.”

  “Ruby—”

  “Guy Fieri’s on TV and I’m diving for a pen to jot down his chow-chow recipe. I can see it. Smell home. I’m there.”

  He closed his hands over her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Ruby, stop it.”

  Her eyes burst open, glittering with tears. “No! Why should I? You just told me I’m going to turn into some damned werewolf!”

  “There’s a chance—”

  “What? What chance?”

  “We just have to kill Gunter. The pack’s alpha. Before…”

  “Before what?”

  “Before you shift… and feed next moonrise. After that, your soul is lost. All hope of ever returning to normal will be gone after that.”

  She quivered in his hands and closed her eyes in a pained blink that he felt radiate through his dry and starved bones.

  “Oh, God. Well. Since it sounds easy. Sure.”

  “We can do this.” He nodded, even though his gut clenched at the avowal. How in the hell was he going to accomplish that when he couldn’t break them free of this room? He could scarcely drag himself to stand.

  Some of the angry fire died in her eyes, replaced with weary despair. “What are you talking about?” She shrugged free of his hands. “You’re not going to help me. According to Yusuf, you won’t last that long before you break down and—and—”

  “I won’t,” he vowed, even though he doubted the truth of his own words. How could he make such a promise when he had never been in a fix like this before, when he just didn’t know…

  He tried to touch her again, his hand reaching for hers. She moved it quickly, tucking both hands behind her before he could make contact. Of course, she wouldn’t want his touch. In her eyes, he was no better than Yusuf.

  “You can’t make that promise. You can’t know that you won’t attack me.”

  She spoke the truth. In this condition, starving… who knew what he would do? He’d always been so careful to never find out. Had he been mortal, he would have already died from lack of food and water. The only thing keeping him alive was that he was a dovenatu. The beast kept him alive… and the beast couldn’t continue much longer without food.

  “Let’s just go back to our opposite walls,” she suggested, nodding at what he had come to think of as her wall. “Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. And damn it, don’t touch me.”

  Settling against the wall, she drew her knees up to her chest in that protective pose again.

  He studied her a moment before walking across the room in silent strides. His body so cold. Bloodless. Starving.

  He felt her stare following him, boring into his naked back. At the wall, he turned and met her gaze, noting the shimmer of doubt there… the fear that had lurked from the start.

  He wondered if there would ever come a day when he did not see fear in her eyes. If so, he doubted he would be around to see it.

  Soon he’d be free. Out in the world again.

  Hunting the likes of her.

  Maybe an hour passed since she had been infected. Maybe more. Hours. Days. Time blurred since she’d been tossed down in this dungeon. She’d had enough time to think, time for questions to start filling her head.

  “Are you going to explain to me what you are? Exactly?”

  He opened his eyes and fixed them on her across the cell.

  To fill the strained silence, she added, “There’s not a lot else to do as I wait to turn into a werewolf, is there?” The sarcastic edge faded from her voice as she whispered, “Make me understand this. I need to understand.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “How did you become a dovenatu? Why do they want you so much?”

  He sighed. “I was born this way, transitioned when I was fourteen. Me and my twin brother. I can shift at will. Not just during moonrise.”

  “And that’s why they want you so badly?”

  “I’m stronger than a lycan. Unless it’s moonrise, then the playing field is pretty even. But one-on-one, when the moon isn’t full, there’s little contest. I can shift. They can’t. They’re only at their strongest during full shift.”

  “So, you’re quite a prize for them.”

  “If they can recruit me.”

  Which they planned on doing. Through using her. Her throat thickened.

  “They won’t,” he vowed. “I don’t have to feed, don’t have to kill.”

  “Unless you’re starving,” she injected, the bitterness back.

  The first man she had given herself to would be the death of her. But he was more than that. He was the first man she had ever felt anything for. Suddenly the thought of him, over her, inside her, filled her head. The stark pleasure, the need he drew deep inside her, made her quiver. She moistened, dry lips had rubbed at her chest, over the throbbing ache beneath her breastbone that kicked in at the very idea of him killing her.

  “I’ve hunted lycans since I left home at seventeen. I hunt them down like dogs and kill them. As far as I’m concerned they need to be wiped from the earth.”

  She swallowed. He was talking about her. Did he realize that? At least she knew where they stood if they didn’t kill Gunter and break her curse. “Big job for one man.”

  “T
here are others. Organizations of hunters. Both in Europe and the States. And don’t forget I’m blessed with long life.” His lips twisted as though this were not necessarily a blessing. “I’ve killed many lycans. And I’ll kill more yet. Once I get out of here.”

  Eager to change the subject from his dedication to killing lycans… killing the likes of her, she asked, “Were your parents like you? Dovenatus?”

  “No. As far as I know, there aren’t many of us. My brother. His wife. I know of no others. That’s not to say they’re not out there. Blending in. Suppressing the part of them that’s more beast than human.”

  “If your parents aren’t dovenatus, then how did you—”

  “My mother descends from Etienne Marshan . . . before a witch cursed him into the world’s first lycan. Meaning that my mother descended from the son born to him before he was cursed. Lycans cannot procreate with humans. Different species and all that. But a Marshan descendant like my mother shares compatible DNA with lycans. Meaning she can breed with a lycan where humans cannot.”

  “So your mother slept with a lycan?”

  “A lycan raped my mother. And my brother and I are the result. Dovenatus.”

  “Oh.” Her voice rang with reproach. “So you’ve got the lucky side of the gene pool. All the perks and none of the disadvantages.”

  His eyes glittered across the distance, bright flames twisting at the centers. “I guess. Only I don’t feel very lucky right now.”

  “No?” she snapped. “Well, neither do I. I’m sorry if I don’t extend you my sympathy. I’m reserving it for myself.”

  “I didn’t get you in this,” he reminded. “You stuck your nose where it didn’t belong.”

  She sprang to her feet and approached him in a furious stalk, forgetting about keeping to her side of the room. “So this is all my fault?”

  “If I were you, little girl,” he growled, lifting a finger, “I’d take myself back over there.”

  She stopped, looking down at him where he sat, utterly still, legs stretched before him in a deceptively reposed position. His eerie gaze traveled the length of her, and she felt the desire that was becoming so familiar. Addictive heat pooled low in her belly, and she was swamped with the memory of his body locked with hers.

  She shook her head, her hair brushing her cheek. That couldn’t be ordinary. Couldn’t be just because he was a dovenatu. This chemistry had to be him. Her. Her breasts tightened, tingled against her top, and she knew she wanted him again. If he made the slightest move, gave her the slightest sign, she’d fall on him, greedy for more.

  Then his gaze shifted, stopping to rest on her neck where Yusuf had scratched her. Her fingers flew there, brushing the gritty, dried blood.

  Hunger. It slammed into her, the bleak ache clawed her in a savage swipe that nearly bowed her over.

  Reminded of the predator he was, she quickly retreated, tossing up her barriers, doing her best to guard herself from the deadly beast that lurked so close. She shoved back the tender thoughts she’d harbored for him, her first lover—the consuming desire.

  She couldn’t let that blind her to what he was, to the very real danger he posed. Sinking to the floor, she drew her knees close, closed her eyes and thought of home.

  9

  Two days passed and still she slept. He knew it was the way with every newly infected lycan, just as was the fever raging through her. He knew she was senseless to the world—to his presence—and he was glad for that small favor. He moved from the corner where he had tracked a trickle of water and lapped what he could from the wall. Settling down on the floor, he propped a hand on his bent knee and watched her. In the deep silence of her sleep, he could almost pretend she wasn’t there. Almost.

  Sitting on his side of the cell, bitter cold, his blood a slow chug in his starved, constricting veins, he fought down sympathy for her. What would be the point? He never sympathized for his prey before. He killed them. And she was prey now. A lycan. His enemy. It didn’t matter that the scent of her was buried on his soul. That he craved her. That he wanted her again. That he would likely never forget the shattering release he found in her body.

  Through the darkness, he scanned the curve of her neck. The blood had long dried to a rusty brown on the creamy flesh. His mouth salivated.

  Killing her would be justified. His conscience could accept it—should. As soon as the idea entered his head he shoved it down with a savage curse. No. Never.

  His gaze devoured her, drinking in the curve of her jaw, the full lips, the nose that tilted slightly up at the end. With her eyes shut, he saw her eyes as he remembered them. The fiery gold-brown that melted anyone who looked into them—the memory of those eyes warmed him when he felt only the bitter cold in his bones.

  He couldn’t kill her. Even though he desperately craved food, nourishment, life. He couldn’t.

  Not when he craved her more.

  Ruby dreamed of hell.

  It must be hell. Amy chased her through a forest of fog. Branches and brambles clawed her, tearing her clothes, her skin. Only it wasn’t Amy. Not really. Not anymore. The monster with blood-stained teeth stretched her gore-covered talons for Ruby, flexing on dense air.

  Ruby ran harder, faster, legs pumping through yellowed fog. Her breath fell quick and hard, filling her ears like the endless buzzing of a clock. Ahead she spotted her house with the giant cypress tree draped beside it. Curtains of moss hung from the branches and drifted in the breeze. Yes, yes, yes.

  If she just reached it, if she just made it inside…

  Heat flared in her back, needle-lancing pain that spread outward. She toppled down with a sharp cry. Flipping over, she fought, arching, hissing and scratching at her attacker—the beast that would have her if she did not fight, if she did not resist. She lashed out, striking, hitting. Her fists connected with something hard.

  “Ruby! Ruby!”

  Her eyes flew open. She gulped down stale air and focused on the shadowy figure above her. The sharp lines and gaunt planes of a man’s face blurred in and out before her.

  “Ruby, settle down. Don’t fight it. You’re making it worse.”

  “Sebastian,” she breathed heavily, as if having run a great distance and reached the end, the finish line.

  She took a quick glance around their fogless space. She was still stuck in the cell, nowhere near her home. Nowhere near Amy, beast or not. The girl was dead. Despite Ruby’s promise to help her. She brushed a hand against her cheek, wincing at her fiery flesh and the wetness that could only be tears. The pain in her back came again. It burned through her, radiating throughout her entire body. She moaned, arms clutching at her middle.

  “What’s happening to me?”

  “You’re transitioning.”

  She shook her head, not understanding, her brain felt thick, thoughts sluggish, like the drip of syrup from a spout.

  He pulled her into her arms, holding her tightly. And she let him, clung to him, listened to the hard thump of his heart against her ear. Not a monster. Not a monster. He couldn’t be… she wouldn’t have done what she did with a monster, wouldn’t relish the hard press of his body, a predator who would devour her…

  Shudders shook her. She moaned, fighting his embrace.

  Sympathy. It felt good. The arms strong, supportive.

  He hugged her tighter, compassion rolling off him and into her. She stopped fighting. His heartbeat sounded louder against her ear. “Don’t fight it, Ruby. Don’t resist. It will go easier for you.”

  “I don’t understand.” She turned her face, her lips brushing his chest as she spoke. With a will of its own, her tongue darted out to taste salty skin. Her eyes burned, tears pricking at the corners and she clung to him tighter, pressed her body closer, moaned at the sudden needy clench of her belly.

  He gasped, his arms squeezing her back, tightening even more around her. A shot of desire trickled through the awful, aching burn of hunger dwelling inside him. Liquid-hot want.

  She latched onto it, her f
ingers digging into his arms, clinging. “Yes,” she growled. “Take me. Please. Again.”

  Then his desire faded. The flame dimming, dying. For the arrival of a new emotion.

  Sour regret. Heavy grief.

  He gripped her arms. Dragged her away from him.

  She shook her head, hair tossing, catching in her mouth.

  “You don’t really want that. You just want to escape the—” He stopped and she knew he was trying to think of a way to make the truth sound better—not so bad. She got that, but she wouldn’t accept it. She had to know what was happening. Why he felt so sorry for her.

  “What? Tell me,” she gritted through teeth clenched tight against the sweep of tearing heat in her bones and muscles… incinerating pain.

  “Your death.”

  Her belly cramped, the terrible sensation reminiscent of other times. Sometimes she accidentally flipped to a news station when the horrific footage of a shooting flashed across the screen, zooming in on a victim writhing pain. But then she could flip the channel and sever the connection before her nose started gushing blood.

  She couldn’t flip the channel right now. She could only endure. A deep keening moan poured from her lips.

  This time the pain was her own. The death she felt hers.

  Her lids drifted shut. Blackness rolled in.

  Sebastian flexed his hands and eased them off Ruby, even though the heat of her skin felt good—she felt good. Warming to his cold, cold flesh. But he couldn’t let himself touch her any longer. Not with his own agony ripping through him. Not with her words ringing in his ears. Take me. It had killed him not to oblige, not to sink into her softness and forget where they were.

  Knowing he had to, he lowered her back down and dragged himself to his side of the cell. Away from her. His gaze fixed on her where she curled into a small ball. Even mindless with the fever, her human DNA dying, making room for the new, his pulse leapt at the sight of her. His cock hardened in the chill air, remembering the warmth of her tightness.

  During transition, she was weak, feverish, vulnerable. Willing. It would be so easy…