Bianca’s lips peeled back from her teeth in a sneer. “No one will forget she killed Marcus. I won’t.”
Ian flicked his wrist and released a little sigh. “Marcus wore too much cologne. Besides, she is far prettier.”
Bianca strode past Claire, managing to sneak a kick to the ribs with the pointed toe of her boot.
“Watch the hooker boots, would you?” Claire hissed.
Bianca’s eyes narrowed to slits, the silver glowing like light spilling from a shutter.
Suddenly, the music from inside the bar grew louder, announcing a new arrival. Claire glanced up at the heavy clang of the club’s back door, praying to see Gideon, but her hopes were dashed when she met another silver-eyed gaze. Her heart plummeted to her stomach. Where the hell was Gideon?
The newcomer assessed their tableau before his gaze settled on Claire with unnerving intensity. Dressed all in black, his face was hard as granite, his square jaw unmoving, framed by hair as black as his clothing.
He studied her for a long moment before commanding, “Come.”
“She’s ours.” Bianca declared. “Don’t interfere—”
He flashed a broad hand in the air, silencing her. “Step away if you wish to live.” His speech was oddly formal.
Bianca blinked at this edict and looked to her companion uncertainly.
“Who are you?” Ian asked.
“Someone you don’t wish to challenge,” he answered, never once looking to Ian. His steady gaze stayed on Claire with searing intensity.
“And why is that?”
“My name,” the newcomer paused, finally looking to the nervous pair, “is Darius.”
A change swept over the two lycans, an anxiety that had not been there before. She could taste their fear, coppery and metallic as blood in her mouth.
“Leave her and go,” Darius repeated, his voice a rasp of sound on the air.
Ian and Bianca exchanged looks. Finally, a touch of defiance to his voice, Ian announced, “Darius is dead.”
The one claiming to be Darius smiled. A strange smile. Like it didn’t belong on his face. Like it hurt his cheeks to do so. “Is that what is being said?”
“Does she belong to you?” Bianca demanded. Ian grabbed her arm and gave her a warning glance.
“Let’s just say I’m making her my concern.”
“She killed one of our pack.” Bianca shrugged free of Ian’s hand and pointed to the corpse, heedless of her cohort’s silent warning. “In accordance with pack law, we demand recompense.”
“Very well.” Darius’s voice was cold, curt, void of emotion, his unfamiliar accent enunciating each word crisply. “I shall recompense you by letting you live.”
Bianca’s mouth parted in a small O of surprise. Apparently Claire wasn’t the only one breaking pack customs.
Darius motioned at Bianca. “Rein in your bitch lest you lose two members of your pack this night.”
Bianca looked prepared to argue, but Ian clamped a hand down on her arm, saying in a tight voice, “Shut up, Bianca.”
“There’s only one of him,” she hissed, trying to wriggle her arm free. “He can’t be who he claims.”
“I’m leaving.” Ian’s guarded gaze never left Darius. “Come with me, or stay here and find out if he’s really who he says. Just know you’ll likely die for your efforts.”
Bianca nodded reluctantly and allowed Ian to lead her away. Claire’s mouth was suddenly desert dry as she faced this new threat, suppressing the urge to pursue the departing lycans and press them for more information about Benedict. An instinct she was fast learning to heed told her not to turn her back on Darius. His icy gaze bore into her, relentless as a blizzard snowfall.
Her gaze flew to her gun several feet away, muscles tensing, ready to dive when his voice stopped her cold.
“You’ll never make it in time.”
She lifted her gaze to his, shocked to see that his eyes had begun to glow. Brighter than silver. Like two beacons of light scorching her to the spot.
His brow furrowed. “You’re—” he broke off as if suddenly seeing her—truly seeing her. “You’re not damned yet.”
Claire opened then shut her mouth, seeing no reason to deny the charge.
“A lycan with a soul,” he murmured. “For how long, I wonder?”
“There’s nothing to wonder about. My soul’s not going anywhere,” Claire vowed, sliding one step closer to her gun. “So you can forget about me joining—”
Zing.
She barely heard the gun’s muffled echo, suspected she wouldn’t have noticed it if she didn’t know the sound so well, but she did. It was a sound she would never forget.
Claire spun around in time to see Bianca fall and Ian throw himself at Gideon. She lunged for her gun with a strangled cry, sure that at any moment Darius would stop her, but she still had to try, had to help Gideon.
She ran the length of the alley, stopping several feet from the struggling pair and leveling her gun. Still, a clear shot eluded her. Squinting one eye shut, she took aim at the moving pair.
“Come on,” she muttered under her breath, her heart rising in her throat as every second passed, “give me an opening.”
The gun was suddenly plucked from her hands.
She yelped and tried to snatch it back.
“A friend of yours?” Darius asked mildly.
He didn’t wait for her answer. Stepping in front of her, he took aim. She launched herself at him, raining blows upon the broad expanse of his back, desperate to protect Gideon.
A second shot punched the air, its soft zing a stab to her heart. Claire jumped off Darius, exhaling thickly as she watched Ian crumple to the ground. Not Gideon. Relief washed through her, consuming her, blinding her to all other concerns. Forgetting about Darius and what he would do when he realized he had missed and shot one of his own, she raced ahead.
Gideon was alive. That was all that mattered. She grasped him by both arms and looked him over. “Are you hurt? Did he bite you?”
Gideon shrugged free of her arms, assessed himself, clearly checking for any open wounds where Ian could have infected him. “I’m fine.”
His gaze lifted beyond her and before she knew it, he thrust her, stumbling, behind him. Apparently he had noticed they weren’t alone. Gideon’s gun lay a yard away and Darius held hers in his hand. Unarmed, Gideon stepped back, taking her with him, hands splayed on either side of her hips.
Darius studied them, following as they inched down the alley. “What are you doing with her, lycan hunter?” He nodded his dark head at Claire peeking around Gideon. “She’s not for you.” His eyes lingered on her for a moment, his gaze oddly intimate, possessive.
“How does he know you’re a lycan hunter?” she whispered into Gideon’s ear, flattening her palms against the rigid muscles of his back.
“I can always spot a lycan hunter,” Darius answered. “A useful survival skill.”
Claire swallowed and wet her lips nervously. Gideon tensed beneath her hands.
Darius continued conversationally, gaze trained on her. “They have a distinctive smell,” he explained. “Haven’t you noticed your keen sense of smell?” He tapped the side of his nose and shook his head indulgently, a light smile curving his lips. “I have much to teach you.”
“Like hell,” Gideon swore.
“What do lycan hunters smell like?” Claire couldn’t help asking, intrigued. Gideon had only ever smelled wonderful to her. Man and soap and fresh cut wood.
“Claire,” Gideon warned in a low voice. “Would you mind keeping quiet?”
“They’ve got a certain stink to them,” Darius answered, his voice laced with undeniable amusement. “The sour smell of righteous honor.”
His hands tensed, squeezing her hips even tighter.
Silence fell as Gideon and Darius assessed each other.
Finally, Darius repeated his question, all amusement gone from the clipped velvet of his voice. “What are you doing with her, lycan hunter?”
“Keeping her from becoming like you,” Gideon returned.
“Ah.” The fathomless silver pools of his eyes reflected nothing. And his face, carved of stone, was equally impassive, but his voice held a certain amount of contempt as he asked, “And you think you can succeed?”
At this, Gideon said nothing. She glanced at the back of his head, frowning as she waited for him to say that they could succeed. That they would. After all, what was the point of all this if he didn’t believe she had a chance?
“And you, my little dove?” Darius’s glowing gaze drilled into her. “You think this killer of lycans will save you?”
Claire opened her mouth but no words came. How could she claim what Gideon himself could not?
“Interesting.” He tossed the gun down with a noisy clatter. “You are both full of confidence. I’ll leave you to it.” His gaze hovered on her a moment longer. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”
“Don’t count on it,” Gideon replied.
Smiling vaguely, Darius turned.
“Wait!” Claire cried, rushing around Gideon.
Darius looked back over his shoulder, a dark brow arched.
“I was infected by a boy.” She held her breath, searching his face, hopeful. “His name was Lenny.”
“And you want to find him?”
“No. He’s dead.”
“Ah. You want to find his alpha, then.”
She nodded jerkily.
His silver gaze shifted to Gideon, then back to Claire, assessing, measuring. “I don’t know anything about a boy named Lenny. Or the alpha you’re looking for. What you’re trying to do is impossible. You’ll never find and destroy the alpha you seek before the next moon. You’d best adjust to the fact that you’re a lycan now.”
“A monster?” she cried, his words filling her with a keen sense of hopelessness. “Never!”
“A monster,” he echoed, cocking his head to the side. “Yes.” A humorless smile curved his lips. “I am that. And so are you.”
That said, he stepped back through the club’s door, his words ringing in her ears. You’d best adjust to the fact that you’re a lycan now.
Claire stared at the door he had disappeared through. “Why would he let us go?”
“I have no idea,” Gideon muttered, his expression troubled as he stared at the door Darius had disappeared through.
“He called himself Darius.”
“What?” Gideon’s gaze shot to her face with startling intensity. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, why?”
Gideon snatched up both their guns. After reholstering his gun and stuffing hers into his jacket pocket, he grabbed her hand and dragged her into the parking lot.
“Gideon,” she demanded, running to keep up with his long strides and trying not to sound panicked. “What’s going on?”
“Remember that lycan I told you about? The old one?”
Claire thought for a moment before recalling the twelve-hundred-year-old lycan he’d mentioned. “The one rumored to be dead?” she asked, a tight knot forming in the center of her chest, making it difficult to breathe.
“Yeah. His name’s Darius.”
A shudder ran through her and she nearly tripped over her feet. His hand tightened around her fingers and he increased his speed, pulling her along faster.
“But if that’s him, why would he let us—”
“I don’t know, but we’re not going to test his charity tonight. He’s a killer. We couldn’t even fathom the number of lives he’s taken over the centuries.” Gideon looked left and right as if he expected Darius to pop up from behind a parked car. They headed deeper into the parking lot, Gideon’s strides swift and angry.
“I don’t think he’d let us go just to come after—”
“The way he looked at you—” Gideon broke off, shaking his head. “I’m surprised he walked away.”
“Maybe we should go after him.”
“Let him go.”
“Why? Those other lycans mentioned a Benedict. I think he’s their alpha. Maybe Darius knows—”
“No, Claire. He may have shot one of his kind, but he’s not inclined to help us. And I don’t like the way he looked at you. Next time he may not let you go.”
“So what, then? Another night and no leads?” she demanded. “I’m going after him.” Spinning around, Claire stalked back down the alley.
Gideon’s hand clamped down on her arm, whirling her around. His green eyes glittered. “You want to give him a go at you? Is that what you want?”
A deep growl rose up in her throat. “Exactly. I’m a creature of passion, remember?” she mocked, wrenching her arm free and stepping back. Blood pumped through her veins thick and fast. He made a grab for her arm again and, without thinking, she brought her palm cracking against his cheek. His head jerked from the force of her blow.
Her hand flew to her mouth, drowning out her gasp. Even in the murk and gloom of the alley, she made out her handprint, white and stark against the swarthy skin of his cheek, evidence of her rage, a proclivity for violence that gripped her in its throes.
His furious gaze roamed her face, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his gaze settled on her mouth, heat swept over her. Claire started to tremble, the familiar wanting sinking deep in the pit of her stomach and spreading outward. Helpless, she leaned in.
He grabbed her by the back of her neck and hauled her against him, slamming his mouth over hers. She parted her lips, groaning at the sweep of his tongue inside her mouth.
His hands dropped to clench her hips, wedging her against him, his erection a hard ridge prodding her belly. She ground against him, wanting that hardness elsewhere, buried inside her.
A soft voice intruded. “Want me to shoot her for you, Gid?”
Claire spun around to face Gideon’s sister, aiming a gun that looked much too large for her slight hands.
“Kit,” Gideon groaned. “Put the damned gun away before you hurt someone.”
Kit lowered the gun. “I know how to use it.” Her green gaze narrowed on Claire. “And I know who to use it on.”
“Kit,” he growled in warning.
“No, Gid,” she snapped. Facing Claire, she demanded, “What the hell are you doing? Besides putting my brother at risk? Take some responsibility. If you care at all for my brother, you will end this before he gets hurt.”
“Kit, that’s enough,” Gideon barked.
Claire stared at the young woman’s face, feeling the truth of her words like a razor blade to her flesh.
“This is why I was late getting to you,” he explained, waving a hand at his sister. “She showed up and wouldn’t leave. She wants to hunt lycans,” he quickly explained.
“And he won’t let me because I’m a woman,” Kit retorted. “Have you ever heard of such crap—”
“Because you’re too young,” Gideon insisted.
“I’m twenty-four! Not some teenager.” Kit waved her gun in a small circle, sending Gideon and Claire ducking.
“Give me that thing.” Gideon snatched the gun from her hand.
Claire shook her head, wondering how she ended up in the middle of a sibling squabble.
Gideon tossed a wary look over his shoulder, no doubt still worried about Darius. He pointed to a Cyber Green Volkswagen bug parked next to the Jeep and growled, “Get in your car and go home, Kit. I don’t want to worry about you for at least another twenty-four hours.”
She scuffed her shoe on the ground, kicking up a cloud of dirt. “Don’t forget your promise to me.”
“I won’t forget. I’m just not going to do anything about it tonight. It’s not safe. Now get of here.”
Apparently satisfied with whatever promise Gideon had given, Kit ducked inside her car. Claire followed suit and climbed inside Gideon’s Jeep.
Another night with no leads. No information. No closer.
Gideon slid in beside her. She glanced at the rigid lines of his profile. Her heart ached with the need to touch him. She smoothed
her hands over her jeans to keep from reaching out. He didn’t want her touch. Didn’t want closeness from her of any kind. Moonlight spilled through the windshield, gilding the hair at his brow a silvery blond. Her gaze followed the light to its source, to the ticking time bomb in the sky. There is no other choice. You are one of us. You can’t undo it.
The small flame of hope that she nurtured deep in her heart sputtered out.
Chapter Fifteen
Like humans, dogs may suffer bouts of depression.
—Man’s Best Friend:
An Essential Guide to Dogs
C laire didn’t utter a word the entire drive home, and from the glances Gideon sent her way, her silence unsettled him. He might not know what to do or how to deal with a quiet, brooding Claire, but she did. She knew exactly what needed to be done.
“Want something to eat?” Gideon asked when they entered the kitchen.
She shook her head. Surprisingly, even food didn’t appeal to her. Ever since the lake house she had resisted voicing the one question burning in her mind, too afraid he might reconsider helping her. But that didn’t matter anymore. She had to know the truth. Lifting her face to stare him directly in the eyes, she asked, “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard.
“Why haven’t you killed me?” she repeated, her voice insistent. She dug her nails into her palm, waiting for his response, determined to have it.
Gideon flexed his hands into fists beside him.
“Claire, I—” He stopped abruptly, leaving whatever he was going to say unfinished as he shrugged out of his jacket with jerky, agitated movements.
She watched as he laid his jacket over the back of a chair, her gun clearly outlined in the pocket. She buried her hands in her pockets, curling her fingers into tight fists. Turning, he stalked out of the kitchen without a word, ignoring her question.
Claire followed him into the living room. “Other agents would have. Hell, your sister would have.”
He stopped in the middle of the living room and turned to face her. “I intended to destroy you.”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as she sank to the couch. “That night in my apartment. You were there. You were going to kill me, then.”
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