She looked away from the road to stare at his profile, absorbing his words before she announced, “Then I’m dead, too.”
He glanced at her, the lights of an oncoming car casting the hard lines of his stern features into relief. “Not yet. I wouldn’t help you if you were.”
She shook her head and stared ahead, the streetlights narrow streaks of rainbow flying past. “I don’t understand. Why are you helping me at all?”
“Maybe I’ve gone soft. Maybe I’ve gotten tired of killing and felt like saving a life instead. Maybe you’re…”
“I’m what?”
He shook his head, whatever he thought to say held in check.
Claire hugged herself, her fingers digging into her arms as she recalled the brutality of her attack. “I’d rather be dead than become like them.”
“If it comes down to that, I’ll pull the trigger myself.”
She glared at him. “So you’ve said.”
He was so cold. So calculated. And in that moment, she hated him for it. Even if she knew he couldn’t afford to be any other way.
Gideon glanced at her as she crossed her arms in a noisy huff, clearly offended by his bluntness. He sighed. It wasn’t as if he would enjoy ending her life. Not hers. Not Claire.
There had been a time when he enjoyed the hunt, relished the kill. Each successful mission avenged his parents. At least when he started out, when he was young, that was the case. He hardly slept, hardly ate—only hunted. His sole purpose had been to hunt and destroy. And standing over each of his kills, he had imagined that dead lycan to be the one who infected his mother.
Lately, that driving need to annihilate lycans had vanished. Partly because he now accepted that they could never totally be eradicated. His efforts only added sand to a constantly widening hole. Lycans had walked this earth for generations. They were a finely honed species, built to endure the expanse of time, built to withstand NODEAL and the other underground societies created to hunt and destroy them.
The most he got out of the hunt anymore was a minor sense of accomplishment. That he had performed a small, necessary service for society. Gideon realized, however, that he wouldn’t even have that peace of mind if he destroyed her. He would only feel failure. And, he admitted, a sense of loss.
Because Claire Morgan had gotten under his skin.
She had infiltrated his resolve to keep their relationship impersonal. He wanted her. He pounded the steering wheel with his fist and pushed the impossible thought from his head.
Tonight, when she’d hinted at the abuse she had suffered at the hands of her father, he had experienced a violent impulse no less savage than that which drove lycans. He wanted nothing more than to drive across town and beat the shit out of the bastard with his bare hands. For hurting Claire, for reducing her to a ghost that clung to shadows rather than stepping into the light, for failing to be the father he should have been, the kind that made her know how special she was. He took a curve a bit too fast, hugging the guardrail, his back right tire lifting.
Sitting rigidly beside him, she looked nervously between the road and him, as if expecting him to crash into the guardrail. Realizing how fast he drove, he eased his foot off the accelerator. No sirens chased them. They were safe. For now.
He shook his head in disgust, thinking back to the two lycans. They mustn’t have been in the club. They carried themselves like predators, like lycans. The sight of them would have immediately put him on alert.
“I killed them both,” he spat out. His goal had been to keep a lycan alive for questioning. “Now we’ve got nothing.” She jumped beside him when he hit the steering wheel a second time.
This was going to be even harder than he had first thought. Their only lead was Lenny, a dead lycan. What could Gideon do? Go around town killing as many lycans as possible in hopes of nailing the right one? That would never save her in time.
He pulled his cell out and stared at the glowing face for a long moment, debating whether to put in the call. He had left two dead lycans behind. Questions would arise within the organization. Shoving the cell back into his pocket, he muttered another curse. Too bad. He couldn’t risk it. Not with Claire.
NODEAL could cope. He cringed, imagining Cooper on a rampage, searching for a rogue agent when he discovered two dead bodies with silver bullets lodged in the corpses. Two dead lycans and no one claiming the job. Cooper would go nuts.
“You okay?” he finally asked, glancing at her. She clutched the tatters of her halter top to her chest, her black satin bra peeking out. He forced his gaze back to the road, both disturbed and tantalized by the sight.
“Sure,” she said slowly, appearing to weigh his question. “I just had a werewolf—”
“Lycan,” he automatically corrected.
“Semantics,” Claire snapped, glaring at him before continuing. “I just had a werewolf try to rape me on the hood of a car, but I’m swell.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,” he replied.
“Yeah, well, I’ll deal with this my way.” Her brow scrunched and this time her voice came out subdued when she asked, “Why did he say I wanted it?”
He stared at the road, lips pressed tightly together as if he could hold back the truth.
“It wasn’t just talk,” she insisted. “He really believed I wanted it.”
At this point, he knew he couldn’t keep the truth from her any longer.
Considering the vibes she put out, the lycan hadn’t been far off. She did want it. She just didn’t realize it yet. Had it only been yesterday that they had nearly fucked on the floor of her family’s lake house? It had taken every ounce of restraint to reject what she so eagerly offered and slam those cuffs on her wrists.
It was foolish, even unrealistic of him, but he had hoped to avoid telling her. There had been enough revelations yesterday. She didn’t understand her urges. But he did. He had seen the way she responded to Mr. Black Leather Pants in the bar. The woman needed a chastity belt with one very big lock.
Hell, she could be lying on her back under him right now if he only crooked a finger. That image made him shift uncomfortably in his seat and his hands clenched the steering wheel. No way around it. He had to tell her. Then maybe she would understand. Maybe she could fight it. Because, God help him, he found it harder and harder to resist her.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded, her voice cracking.
“Lycans follow…primitive urges,” he began, searching for the appropriate wording.
She waved impatiently for him to continue.
“They feed and they procreate. The objective being to further the species.” He shrugged and flexed his hands on the steering wheel. “Simple, really.”
Her look told him she disagreed.
“What are you saying?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
And that, he guessed, was because she didn’t want to. He knew her well enough at this point to realize she had a hard time accepting ugly truths.
“It’s not conscious. It’s instinctual,” he elaborated.
“Procreate?” she echoed.
“You know, to reproduce—”
“I know what it means,” she snapped.
“They’re a pack society. A lone female of childbearing years, without any other lycans—male lycans—protecting her, is a prime target.”
She leaned back in her seat, her head bouncing against the headrest several times. “Unbelievable. I’m a sex target,” she muttered. Her head shot off the seat, apparently struck with a sudden thought. “And you sent me out tonight without telling me any of this?”
“I wanted you calm.”
“I could have better prepared myself.”
“It would have gone down the same. You were already freaked out enough. Now look at you. You’re hysterical.”
“I am not hysterical,” she said tightly, trying, he guessed, to keep herself from yelling and lending credence to his claim. “So you’re saying that as long as I’m without a
pack, every werewolf we come across will want to jump my bones?”
“Pretty much.”
“Great.”
“And you haven’t exactly helped the situation.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, her look indignant.
“You’ve…embraced your urges.” He wondered why he even mentioned it except that he was annoyed at her total naïveté. Was she completely unaware of the signals she put out—how she looked, how she moved, how she affected him?
“How?” Her lips worked like a fish’s, searching for words. “I don’t have any urges.”
He laughed as he turned into his driveway. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she countered.
He shut the motor off and faced her, the leather creaking beneath his shifting weight. “Yes. You do.”
She shook her head again.
“And I suppose you still think this change in appearance—” He waved a hand over her person. “—is just coincidental?”
Her eyes flared wide, the brilliant silver glowing even brighter. She jabbed a finger through the air accusingly. “You told me to dress provocatively!”
“You changed your looks before I made any suggestion about how you should dress tonight.”
Her knuckles whitened where they held her top together. “You got me to dress like this when you knew they would come after me.”
“I didn’t know you were going to dress like Pamela Anderson. You’re the one who sent that lycan into overload.”
“Oh,” she squeaked, face flushing a vivid red.
Before she could arrive at a more dignified answer, he hopped out of the Jeep. Heading toward the back door, he called over his shoulder, “That lycan was right. You want to give it up.”
Gideon bit the inside of his cheek, stopping himself from adding that he wanted to be the one to receive it.
Chapter Eleven
A dog in season is subject to variances of mood; be sensitive to your pet.
—Man’s Best Friend:
An Essential Guide to Dogs
C laire stepped into the kitchen and let the door slam behind her. “You make it sound like I’m in heat,” she accused.
Propping her hands on her hips, she waited for him to assure her otherwise, waited for him to say she wasn’t actually a dog, that she couldn’t be ruled by base, primitive urges.
He cocked an eyebrow at her as he shrugged out of his jacket and removed his holster. She translated his look to mean, if the shoe fits.
All the ways in which she had recently changed flashed across her mind: heightened senses, quick temper, wardrobe, hair, makeup, renewed interest in men.
“Oh, my God.” She sank into a chair, propping her elbows on the kitchen table and burying her face in her hands. “I am in heat.”
“You’re not in heat,” he said as he opened the refrigerator to peer inside.
She peered through her fingers, staring at him hopefully.
“Well,” he amended, “not exactly.”
She dropped her face back into her hands with a moan. Not only was she a werewolf, but a werewolf whose biological clock tolled for a litter of her own. “I’m not stepping outside this house ever again.”
“Yes. You will,” he countered with annoying certainty, head still inside the fridge, rear end displayed to full advantage in his well-worn denim.
Jamming her eyes shut against the sight, she fought back a wave of lust. Oh God. Did he drive her wild with need? Or was it simply an instinctive need to fornicate? She snuck another glimpse at his ass, refusing to believe that she had lost all dignity, all self-control—that sex, regardless of the partner, would suffice.
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe it’s not a good idea to flaunt myself all over town.”
“We’re not any closer to finding the alpha of your pack. You’re going out again. You have to.”
“My pack,” she snorted in contempt. “I don’t have a pack, remember? That’s why everything on four legs wants a piece of me.”
Gideon’s lips twitched.
She glared at him and uncrossed her arms to wag a finger in warning. “Don’t you dare laugh.”
“Believe me, I find no humor in the situation.” His mouth fell into an uncompromising line. His eyes dropped and he cleared his throat. “You can change clothes. Unless you enjoy exposing yourself to me.” His voice sounded tight and strangled.
She followed his gaze. Her top gaped open, revealing her black push-up bra. She felt her nipples tighten beneath the black silk and grabbed at the tattered fabric.
“Maybe I’m trying to seduce you,” she flung out with far more bravado than she felt. Face flaming, she scooted back in her chair back and added, “I am in heat, after all.”
Deciding it best to flee—before she made a fool of herself and succumbed to the base impulses tormenting her—she stormed out of the kitchen.
She was not an animal. Not a dog in heat. She alone controlled her body. Even if she did want to pick up where they left off at the lake house. Gideon was the only one to affect her that way. Only he made her forget that the two of them were a very bad idea.
Thankfully he had control enough for both of them.
Claire stared at the shadows flickering across the ceiling, thoughts of tonight and Gideon keeping her awake. The purr of a diesel engine growled in the night. Kicking back the covers, she hopped off the uncomfortable pullout and moved to the window.
Parting the curtains, she watched a man climb out of his truck and stride up the front walkway. Something about the purposeful way he carried himself, the quick way he canvassed the area, reminded her of Gideon.
Footsteps pounded down the hall—the smack of Gideon’s bare feet on the house’s old wood floors. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one awake and aware of their late-night visitor.
The door to her room flung open. Gideon stood there bare-chested. She devoured the sight of him, the stranger outside forgotten. His eyes settled on her with an intensity that sent heat rushing to her face. His jeans hung loose and unbuttoned on his waist. The enticing line of hair disappearing below his navel made her throat constrict. Tousled hair, dark in the room’s shadows, brushed his naked shoulders. She felt herself take a step forward, fingers twitching at her side, itching to touch that hair, recalling its softness in her hands.
She froze, rooting her feet to the floor, telling herself to get a grip.
He pointed an imperious finger at her. “Stay here.”
The back door opened and slammed shut below.
“Gideon,” a voice boomed out.
Gideon gave the smallest flinch.
Goosebumps sprang to life over her skin. “Who is it?” she whispered.
“My boss. Don’t make a sound,” he cautioned, his eyes glowing bottle green in the shadows. “Not unless you want it all to end right here, tonight.”
His meaning left no doubt. Shivering, she nodded.
He turned and walked back out of her room, closing the door behind him.
For a long moment, she held her breath, almost afraid the sound would carry downstairs and give her presence away.
His boss? The low rumble of their voices barely carried from the bottom floor. The drumming pulse at her neck gradually slowed. They couldn’t hear her from up here.
Easing the door open, she stuck her head out into the hall. The voices were no clearer, still a faint murmur on the air. She crept down the hallway on silent feet and lowered herself to the top step, well out of sight but in perfect hearing range.
“Two dead lycans and no one’s claiming them. Know anything about it?”
“Why would I?” Gideon’s voice rang out.
“The whole thing smacks of a rogue hunter. You know I won’t tolerate that. Not in my town.”
“Yes. I’m well aware of our policy regarding non-sanctioned hunters.”
She bit her lip. What would happen if his boss realized he lied? Worse yet, what would happen if it were
discovered that Gideon sheltered her? She could guess at her fate, but what about him? Until that moment, Claire hadn’t realized just how much he was putting on the line for her.
A long pause followed Gideon’s flip response. She strained forward on the step, waiting.
“Seen your sister lately?”
Biting her bottom lip between her teeth, Claire hugged her knees to her chest.
“Not much. She’s busy with school and work.”
“Right.”
Even from her position high on the stairs, she detected the man’s skepticism.
“You know what I think?” he continued.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Gideon retorted.
“Your sister’s been trying to get into NODEAL for as long as I can remember.”
“So?”
“So, maybe she’s decided to do a little freelancing.”
Gideon’s rich laughter rippled through the air. “I don’t think so. Between classes and tending bar, she’s pretty busy.”
“I want to talk to your sister—”
“Then talk to her. You don’t need my permission.”
Even from where she sat, Claire could picture his lips curving in that mocking smile.
“Oh, I’ll do that. But if I find out she’s involved in this—”
“You’ll what, Cooper? Slap her on the wrist. So what if she did the world a favor and took out two lycans? Big deal.”
Cooper? Her gaze darted back to her room, remembering the inscription in the book tucked away in the drawer.
“You know the rules, Gid. We don’t let women in.”
Interesting. Werewolf hunters were sexist. Guess they didn’t have to worry about the ACLU filing suit. Not when the world was ignorant of their existence.
“And she’s not,” Gideon returned. His voice sounded closer. The soft fall of footsteps signaled their advance into the living room. Her heart jumped and she cautiously rose to her feet, hands pressing flat against the wall on either side of her. If Cooper departed through the front door he would pass the stairs. One glance up and he would see her.
“I know you understand, Gideon. Just make sure your sister does, too.”
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