Marked by Moonlight

by Sharie Kohler

  He stared out the front bay window that faced the street, nodding. “I had the gun in my hand,” he said quietly, touching his fingers to his mouth. A mouth that even right now she would like to press against her own, to kiss until the nightmare faded. Insanity. That was the only word for it.

  “I put the barrel right to your head.” He tapped his temple with his index finger.

  “You should have ended it then.” Before things got carried so far with them.

  Claire drew a deep, shuddering breath at the image of him standing over her as she slept, a gun pressed to her head. She would never have known what hit her. Never have even seen his face. Never have felt the things she did for him. Kit’s words blew through her like an arctic wind. If you care at all for my brother, you will end this before he gets hurt.

  She lurched from the couch, throat thick with emotion. What was she waiting for? Some lycan out there to rape her? For Gideon to gather his nerve and destroy her? She swallowed past the thickness in her throat. She cared for him too much to do that to him.

  He took a step toward her. Claire lurched back and held up a hand to ward him off, afraid that he would touch her. If he did, she’d fall apart, crumble right in front of him. Shaking her head, she released a short laugh that sounded strange and brittle. “I bet you wished you had.”

  “You have no idea what I feel,” Gideon growled. “Until you, I was fine. I never questioned what I did,” he exploded, green eyes flashing like emeralds in sunlight. “But you’re different. You’re…”

  Claire dropped back onto the couch and lowered her shaking forehead into her palm. “Please, Gideon. Stop.” She couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t bear to hear him say he cared for her when she knew it couldn’t go anywhere. She had to protect him—and the world—from herself.

  “No,” he broke in. “I won’t.” In two strides he stood before her, wrenching her to her feet. “I’m not soft. I’ve killed others. Too many to count. And I’ve watched those I loved destroyed right before my eyes…my mother, my father.” His eyes scanned her face, and she gasped at the pain visible there. “If I need to, I will kill you.”

  Claire couldn’t help thinking he sounded as though he were trying to convince himself and not her. And right then, she vowed it would not fall to him. He’d suffered enough pain in his life. She would not add to it.

  She pressed her lips into a firm line. The waxing moon outside demanded she do something. She had no intention of waiting. No more lying to herself. Those lycans tonight had known the truth. So did Kit.

  His green gaze clashed with hers. Tension crackled on the air like electricity, palpable and frightening.

  She wiggled free of his hold. “It’s late.”

  His hands groped air. For a moment, she thought those hands would grab her and pull her back into his arms. And a part of her desperately prayed he would. She wanted to feel his hands on her again. One last time.

  Instead, they dropped listlessly to his sides. “Good night, Claire,” he said, his voice flat, lifeless.

  Her throat constricted and she nodded mutely, unable to return his good night. Not when it really meant good-bye.

  She fled before she could collapse in a pile in front of him. Upstairs in her room, she stared at the couch. There was no sense pulling out the bed tonight. She wouldn’t be sleeping. Sinking onto the couch, she rested her head on the pillow, nuzzling it with her cheek, seeking what comfort she could as she waited. A few minutes passed before she heard his solid tread on the stairs. He stopped at the top and she held her breath, heart aching, imagining him standing there, imagining him looking at her closed door. Silently, she begged for him to enter, to give her one more memory, a taste to take into eternity with her.

  At last he moved on, his footsteps receding down the hall to his bedroom. She would wait a little longer. Until she was sure he slept. He would never hear her creep down the stairs. Never realize what had happened until it was over.

  In the still of the kitchen, Claire stepped toward the chair where her gun slumbered peacefully in Gideon’s jacket, waiting. She slid her hand inside the pocket and wrapped her fingers around cold, hard steel. Now that she had reached the decision, she was anxious to get it over with. She wanted it to be over. While she still had the courage.

  As she pulled the revolver out of the pocket she wondered if gunmetal ever felt anything but cold. Her thumb pulled back the hammer. Her finger curled around the trigger like a ribbon furling itself. She studied the black steel in her hand. What am I doing? The answer came back quick and firm. Ending it. For Gideon. For herself. For the world. It was the right thing to do—the responsible thing, even if it went against every instinct of survival she possessed. Deep in his heart, Gideon knew that. She had seen the truth etched in the hard lines of his face. She would spare him the burden of shooting her.

  Claire lifted her trembling arm and pointed the barrel to her temple, the kiss of the gun cold on her skin. The gun wobbled so much she brought her other hand up to grasp her wrist to still the shaking. Jamming her eyes shut, her finger started to squeeze.

  “You’re going to make a horrible mess in my kitchen.”

  Claire gasped and spun around.

  There was a flash of movement as Gideon knocked the gun from her hand. It clattered to the floor several feet away.

  She looked from the gun to Gideon, fury choking her. Yet a small thread of relief niggled beneath the fury.

  His eyes glittered in the darkened kitchen, his tall, athletic figure limned in moonlight spilling through the kitchen window above the sink. “Never took you for the cowardly type.”

  With a ragged cry, she flung herself against him, beating his chest, arms, face, anything her fists made contact with, for once indifferent to his bare skin and loose pajama bottoms that revealed too much for her senses.

  He had no idea how much strength it took for her to lift that gun to her head. No idea how much she wanted to live. Especially since she had never truly lived before he came along. It took every ounce of courage she had to lift the gun, every drop of love in her heart.

  “Damn you,” she hissed, hot tears pricking her eyes.

  He grappled for her flailing hands. Giving up, he folded her into his arms and jerked her against him, chest to heaving chest. She struggled until they fell to the kitchen floor.

  “Why are you doing this?” she sobbed, the linoleum cold and unforgiving beneath her back. “If you can’t do it, just let—”

  He silenced her with a hard kiss.

  She surrendered, helpless to her desire, to the need he roused within her. Her arms snaked around his neck, his skin warm and supple beneath her arms. He ravaged her mouth, never breaking the kiss as he swung her into his arms and carried her up the stairs.

  He followed her onto his bed, covering her with his hard body, sinking into her softness as his mouth devoured hers. His hands moved over her, swift and feverish, breaking their kiss for only a moment to yank her T-shirt up and over her head.

  Then his hands were everywhere. Her breasts, her hips, seizing her panty-clad bottom in his hands to pull her against him and grind his erection against her crotch.

  She shoved him back, forcing him on his back. Hungry, starved for the taste of him, she slid his pajama bottoms off and straddled his thighs. Never taking her eyes off him, she dipped her head and closed her lips around his thick shaft. Tongue swirling around the plump head of him, she sucked, her hand squeezing gently at the base of him, delighting as he surged off the bed, thrusting himself deeper into her mouth.

  Groaning, his hands fisted in her hair as he worked his hips. She sucked harder, working her tongue over the delicious length of him, salty and warm.

  With a growl, he wrenched away from her and tossed her on her back, his mouth claiming hers again as he tore her panties in one savage jerk.

  He impaled her in one hard thrust. She screamed at the engorged heat of him filling her. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging his head back so that she could kiss his ar
ched neck, licking and nipping at the tendons stretched taut along his throat.

  He groaned, a deep animal sound of need. Pulling back, he drove into her again, the force sinking her deep into the mattress. He grabbed her hands and placed them on his warm chest. His heart thumped beneath her palm, a distant drum that echoed the pounding of her own pulse. Those green eyes glowed with an intensity that stole her breath.

  His lips took hers again. His hands carried their own special heat, branding her, singeing her cheeks where he held her face and better angled her mouth for his questing tongue.

  Her flesh rippled with heightened sensation as he dragged himself in and out of her. Waves of searing heat flowed through her body like rolling lava. Her hands fell limply beside her head and she whimpered, beyond pleasure, beyond pain. He grabbed hold of one leg, his hand a searing brand behind her knee as he stretched her leg back, angling her for deeper penetration. Her head flew off the pillow, a shuddering cry rising from deep in her chest.

  She groaned, her skin burning, the ache in her belly twisting tighter. Each thrust left her writhing beneath him. Her hands grabbed his shoulders, his back, his buttocks. She moved wildly, searching, aching for the building climax.

  He grabbed her hands, trapping them on the pillow on either side of her head. His fingers laced through hers. Palm to palm, their eyes locked, his eyes gleaming down at her knowingly.

  His thrusts grew harder. Faster. Intense. She tilted her hips, shifting beneath him, trying to get closer, trying to take more. He wrapped an arm around her waist. In one fluid motion he flipped her so she sat on top.

  “Go on,” he commanded, fingers digging into her hips, urging her to move. “Ride me.”

  She didn’t wait for another invitation. Instinct took over and she rode him hard, hands pressed against his chest for leverage. Whimpering, she dropped her head and worked her hips furiously, laboring until a fine sheen of perspiration coated her body. Her hips never ceased their frenzied dance. She took him in and out of her body in hard, rapid-fire pumps. The pressure increased, building. He swiped the hair from her face and dragged her mouth down to his for a bruising kiss.

  Every muscle in her body suddenly tightened and contracted. She tore her mouth away and cried out as shudders racked her, took her soaring over that final precipice. Arched over him, she stilled, her hands slippery where they clutched his chest.

  His hands circled her waist and he bucked beneath her, thrusting several more times. His groan rumbled through him into her. Panting, she collapsed against his chest, never happier than at that moment to be alive.

  They spent the day making love, napping, and making love some more. No mention of the future. No mention of the time remaining, of the six days left to them. Night would come soon enough and they would have to rise and confront the world. Regret and recriminations could come later. Right now, Claire in his arms was all that mattered.

  At noon, Gideon ordered two large pepperoni pizzas and watched in awe as Claire devoured one whole pizza herself.

  Licking tomato sauce off her fingers, she caught him staring at her. “What?” she asked, looking adorable in his too-big shirt and with her mussed hair.

  “Finished?” he asked.

  She inspected the empty pizza box on the bed before nodding.

  “Good.” He swiped the pizza boxes off the bed with one arm and tossed her on her back.

  “Gideon!” She laughed up at him, a rich, throaty sound that rippled through the air and wrapped silken chains around his heart.

  Holding her face in his hands, he stared down solemnly at her. “I’ve never heard you laugh.” His thumbs stroked her finely arched brows almost tenderly. “Not truly.”

  “I haven’t had a reason lately.”

  He frowned, not liking the reminder of all that was wrong, of all that stood between them.

  “Until you,” she added, gazing at his mouth. Her fingertips traced its curve, almost as if she wished to erase the frown from his face.

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “It feels good.”

  “It sounds good,” he whispered, tugging her hand away so that he could kiss her deeply. An emotion very much like satisfaction tightened his throat at the sinuous way she arched against him. Satisfaction…and something else.

  He realized he hadn’t felt this good in a long while either. And Claire was the reason.

  The sound was soft, barely discernible—just a click. With her heightened senses, it might as well have been a foghorn blaring in her ears for all that it jarred her awake, pulling her from Gideon’s warm arms and a comfortable slumber.

  Someone else was in the room with them.

  Her senses hummed with awareness, but she waited silently, eyes closed. The wood floor creaked close beside her. Too close. Her eyes flew open, blinking rapidly at the black hole floating directly in front of her eyes. A gun barrel. And beyond it, a grim face of stone. Cooper.

  Claire eyed him. Dark haired. Dark eyed. Thin, ruthless lips set in a narrow face. He gripped the gun with familiarity, like it was an extension of his arm. Not an ounce of softness detectable anywhere. There would be no reasoning with him. No pleading. He wanted her dead.

  Funny. She would have willingly placed herself before his gun last night to spare Gideon. But not now. Things had changed. She had changed. Even if she had only a few more days, those were days she could spend with Gideon.

  “Gideon.” She tapped the chest beneath her cheek with her fingers.

  His chest moved beneath her cheek, alerting her to the fact that he was already awake.

  “Put the gun down, Cooper,” he said quietly.

  Claire didn’t breathe, didn’t move. Her fingers curled around Gideon’s bicep.

  “Point that gun somewhere else.” Gideon’s voice lifted, rumbling beneath her ear, the command unmistakable.

  Cooper glowered at her like she was something dirty on the bottom of his shoe. She self-consciously pulled the bedding higher to cover her nudity.

  “Could have seen this coming with other agents.” Cooper’s cold gaze cut to Gideon. “But never you.”

  “She hasn’t shifted yet. Hasn’t taken a life. She’s still got a chance. We can save her.” His hand gripped her shoulder, more to reassure him, or herself, she couldn’t guess.

  Cooper gave a bitter laugh. “What chance?” His gaze swept over her, cold as winter sleet. She tightened her hold on the sheets, pulling them to her neck. One look in those eyes told her this man wasn’t interested in saving her. No matter what Gideon said in her defense.

  Cooper frowned thoughtfully. “I had plans for you, Gideon. Saw you taking over after me. Just never would have pegged you—” He paused to shake his head fiercely. “You seemed impervious to a pretty piece of ass. Guess I was wrong. Hope she was good.”

  A growl rumbled from deep inside Gideon’s chest. He tucked her more closely against him. So tight she could hardly draw air. It suddenly hit her that he was trying to make it impossible for Cooper to get a clear shot at her. At least not without risk to himself.

  “You’re not killing her,” Gideon announced.

  “Gonna stop me, Gid?”

  “If I have to.”

  She looked between the two men, her chest tight and hurting as if a heavy weight had been placed upon it. They had a long history. They were more than friends. Almost family. Claire couldn’t come between them.

  Gideon tried again, saying, “If you would listen—”

  “Oh, I understand perfectly. You’ve lost your edge. Too busy thinking with your cock.” His hard stare swung back to Claire. “Move away from her.”

  “No.” The single word fell into the charged air, a gauntlet tossed down.

  Her gaze met Cooper’s over the barrel of the gun and she read cold-blooded determination in the dark depths. He wouldn’t stop until she was dead. Even if it meant hurting Gideon. The hairs on her nape stood. She couldn’t let that happen.

  Cooper widened his stance and trained his gun on what he coul
d see of her. His gaze swung to Gideon. “Move out of the way, or I’ll shoot the silver-eyed bitch dead in your arms.”

  He meant it. She knew it just as she knew Gideon wouldn’t budge from her side. If anything, he would shield her and take the bullet himself. She recognized that in the sudden way he tensed, his muscles taut like a bowstring.

  Knowing what she had to do, she drew a deep breath, surged to her feet, and tossed the comforter over Cooper’s head.

  Gideon took advantage of the opportunity and tackled Cooper to the floor, locking his arms around him and pinning him down. His gaze met hers over the kicking and thrashing comforter.

  “Go! Take my Jeep!” His eyes burned green fire. “Go!”

  She hesitated, the pounding of her heart loud in her ears.

  “Gideon,” she whispered. “I…”

  At that moment Cooper heaved violently beneath him and Gideon roared, “Go! Get the hell out of here!”

  Naked, she fled downstairs, through the living room, and into the kitchen. Something crashed upstairs, sounds of the battle Gideon waged on her behalf. Heart hammering, she danced in place near the door before grabbing Gideon’s jacket and slipping it over her nakedness. Snatching his keys off the table, she darted out the back door and into the yard.

  In the fading glow of dusk, she faltered and looked over her shoulder. She bit down hard on her lip, loath to abandon Gideon. No matter that he ordered her to go, no matter that she risked a silver bullet if she stayed, she worried about what Cooper would do to him.

  The hairs on her nape tingled, a warning that was growing all too familiar.

  She swung around just as twin bands of muscle locked around her, hauling her off her feet and sealing her in. Her eyes shot up to meet a pewter gaze and her stomach pitched. Opening her mouth, Claire screamed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dogs are destined to seek out other dogs for companionship.

  —Man’s Best Friend:

  An Essential Guide to Dogs