Marked by Moonlight

by Sharie Kohler

  G ideon ducked Cooper’s swinging fist and charged, throwing his shoulder into his middle and sending them both crashing to the floor. They rolled, jabbing their fists against each other, knocking into furniture and banging into walls.

  Suddenly, Claire’s scream shattered the evening air.

  Gideon froze. His first fear was that Cooper had brought reinforcements, other NODEAL agents.

  He flew off Cooper and sprang to the window overlooking the backyard in time to see Claire flung over the shoulder of the lycan from the alley last night. Darius. He would rather he looked down at a yard full of agents.

  “Claire!” he shouted through the glass, fingers clenching the window’s wood frame.

  At Gideon’s shout, the bastard looked up, winked, and gave Claire’s bottom a little pat.

  A growl rumbled low in Gideon’s throat. Without thinking, he plunged his fist through the window, oblivious to the pain, oblivious to the thick blood streaming down his knuckles in warm rivulets. Shoving past Cooper, he took off downstairs.

  By the time he arrived outside, the yard was empty. A car sounded in the distance. He ran alongside the house to the front yard, where a metallic SUV pulled away from the curb and peeled down the street. Gideon ran, legs and arms pumping. Heedless of his nudity, of the stinging smack of his bare feet on hot asphalt, he sprinted down the middle of the street, trying to read the license plate. The vehicle swerved around the corner, tires squealing, before he could note the numbers.

  “Claire!” Panting, he skidded to a halt in the middle of the street. Indifferent to the setting sun warming his nude body, he stared blindly ahead. His hands sliced through his hair, clutching the shaggy locks at the back of his head until he came close to ripping them out by the roots. Throwing back his head, he hollered at the sky.

  He fucked up.

  Claire was gone. In the hands of a lycan who would put her through God knew what. And in five days, she would shift. She would kill and feed.

  He ran his hands over his face roughly. Claire had been right last night. He should have simply let her pull the trigger. His own desire, his selfish need for her had stopped him, sentencing her to God knew how many lifetimes as a lycan—a veritable hell on earth. And if the day arrived when some other agent did what he failed to do and actually destroyed her—she would face an eternity of damnation.

  The sound of his name came to him from far away. He turned to see Cooper standing on the curb, one hand pressed against his rapidly swelling split lip. “You’re naked, man.” With a grimace of disgust on his face, Cooper gestured to the house. “And bleeding. Come inside before your neighbors call the precinct.”

  Gideon inspected his hand and numbly noted the blood trickling down his fingers to the street. Dropping his hand, he marched past Cooper, cutting through the lawn still warm from the day’s relentless sun. “Go to hell.”

  Cooper followed. “You know, I’m the one who should be angry here.”

  Gideon yanked the back door open and stalked inside, going straight for the bottle of whiskey on the pantry’s bottom shelf. “Put it in a letter.”

  “How about putting some clothes on?”

  Gideon glanced down at himself.

  “Probably need stitches,” Cooper added, nodding to Gideon’s hand.

  Unscrewing the cap, Gideon downed a mouthful of liquid fire and continued to ignore the man he felt like pummeling to the floor. It wasn’t Cooper’s fault, he reasoned. He had no one to blame except himself. He felt hollow, dead inside. The whiskey burned its way down his throat, warming his belly.

  “So, that’s it?” Cooper crossed his arms. “You’re going to get shit-faced now?”

  The disgust in Cooper’s voice was only a measure of what Gideon felt for himself. He wrenched a paper towel from the holder and wrapped it around his hand. It would have to do. He wasn’t taking his sorry ass to the emergency room.

  Bottle in hand, he took the stairs two at a time, trying to ignore the fact that Cooper followed.

  He snatched his jeans off the floor, feeling Cooper’s glare. “She wasn’t damned yet, hadn’t taken a life,” he snapped, sliding into his jeans.

  “Doesn’t matter. You know that.”

  “That’s how you see things. I disagree.”

  “Since when?”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say since Claire, but he held back. He didn’t want Cooper to know he’d fallen for a lycan.

  Yet it seemed Cooper had reached his own conclusions. “Since you tripped and fell into bed with her?”

  He pinned Cooper with his gaze. “Careful, Cooper.”

  Cooper stared at him for one long moment before rolling his eyes. “Shit. Even better. You’re in love with her.”

  Gideon pulled his shirt over his head and stuck his arms through the sleeves in rough, angry movements, not bothering to answer. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if it was true. Did he love Claire? It certainly explained why he couldn’t bring himself to kill her.

  “Where are you going?” Cooper asked as Gideon tugged on his socks.

  “To find her,” he answered simply.

  “You need to get that hand stitched up,” Cooper repeated, his voice grudging, as if he hated to reveal that he cared.

  Gideon glanced at his hand as he took another swig from the bottle. Blood already soaked the paper towel, but it didn’t matter. He’d live. Claire, on the other hand…

  His gut clenched. “Your concern is touching, but I’ve got shit to do.”

  “You mean find her?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you get the plates?” Cooper asked.

  “No.”

  Cooper shook his head. “You’re not using your head. How are you going to find her? You might need a little more to go on than a silver Tahoe.”

  True. Gideon didn’t know anything beyond the legend of Darius. But he couldn’t just sit around and wait. “NODEAL has records. I can run through the profiles in the database—”

  “No,” Cooper cut in. “You can’t.”

  Gideon cocked his head. No?

  “You’re suspended, Gideon,” Cooper decreed, his mouth a hard, unsmiling line. “Until further review. You’re denied access to the database.”

  “I have to find—”

  “Oh, we will find her. We’ll find both of them. NODEAL will take care of business. Like always. Only without you,” Cooper assured him, nodding. “Your involvement in the organization ends here.”

  Gideon flung the whiskey bottle across the room. It shattered against the wall with a loud crash. Glass rained down on the floor. The amber liquid would undoubtedly stain his white wall, but he couldn’t rouse any concern.

  “Was her fate ever in doubt?” Cooper asked quietly. “Did you really think you could save her?”

  “How would I know? I’ve been trained to destroy. Not help.”

  Cooper inhaled slowly. “She’s not your mother, Gid.”

  “No, my mother’s dead. And damned,” Gideon snarled. “No one tried to help her. Oh, except you. You were there, ready with a bullet.”

  “Maybe I didn’t save her soul. But I always took comfort in the fact that I helped you and your sister. I thought that meant something.” Cooper lifted one shoulder in a shrug and pushed off the door. “Use the time off. Think things over.” He tapped his head. “Like what you want to do with the rest of your life. Because your days at NODEAL are over. There’s no way the board will keep you on.”

  “I don’t give a shit about the board. I don’t need their sanction to—”

  “Gideon,” Cooper’s hand grasped his shoulder, his eyes hard. “We don’t tolerate rogue operators.”

  Gideon shrugged free of his hand. “I will find her.”

  Cooper shook his head. “You’ll fail. Maybe even get yourself killed in the process. Then I’ll find her and destroy her.” Cooper’s dark gaze drilled into him. “And until then others will die.” He jabbed the air inches from Gideon’s chest. “All because o
f you.”

  Gideon looked Cooper square in the eyes. For years, he had revered him, emulated him, wanted to be just like him. Only very recently his wants had taken a drastic change.

  “I’ll find her,” Gideon vowed. “She’s my responsibility.”

  Cooper turned into the hallway.

  Gideon’s voice stopped him at the top of the stairs. “And Cooper—stay out of my way.”

  Wordlessly, Cooper disappeared down the stairs. Moments later the back door slammed.

  Alone in his room, Gideon stared unseeingly at the amber liquid running down his wall and dribbling to the floor. He didn’t doubt that if he didn’t find Claire, Cooper would. That’s what he did best—hunt lycans.

  Gideon couldn’t let that happen. He was responsible for her. Curling his bloody hand into a fist, he made a decision—hard as it was. No one would destroy Claire but him. Even if in destroying her, he destroyed himself.

  Cooper or any other agent would do it mechanically, coldly, without compassion. Just another assignment. Since that first night the job belonged to him. Claire belonged to him. As much as he belonged to her.

  No more. She deserved compassion at the end. She deserved to be held in someone’s arms when she died. In the arms of someone who loved her. Yet as he grabbed his holster, hope niggled in the back of his mind, a stubborn ember that wouldn’t cool and die.

  Maybe. Just maybe there was still a chance.

  Claire leaned forward in her seat as the vehicle slowed. She clutched the dashboard in both hands, watching as a uniformed guard waved them through wrought iron gates. Turning around in her seat, she stared back at the guardhouse fading in the distance. The gates clanked shut, the sound echoing in her ears.

  As they drove up a winding drive she couldn’t help noticing several dogs, rottweilers and Doberman pinschers, roaming the grounds. How would she ever get past them?

  “You can’t escape,” Darius announced as if he could read her mind.

  She tugged at the bottom of her jacket, trying to cover more of her naked thighs. Gideon’s familiar scent reached her nose, creating a deep pang in her heart. The sound of him calling her name from the street still rang in her ears. She hoped he was all right, hoped Cooper hadn’t hurt him.

  Darius parked in front of a sprawling limestone mansion with a Spanish tiled roof. It loomed at least three stories high. He came around to open her door for her and she bolted, prepared to take her chances and try to outrun the dogs. She had to try. Once inside that house, she might not get another chance.

  She didn’t make it far before he yanked her back by the collar of her jacket and flung her over his shoulder. Claire found herself staring at the ground again, the bones of his shoulder digging uncomfortably into her stomach.

  He carried her through the front door. A man held the door open for them, watching blandly as Darius hauled her upstairs like a sack of potatoes. On the stairs, a maid clutched a broom and dustpan in one hand and stepped aside as they passed, eyes averted in deference. No one seemed the least bothered to see her slung over Darius’s shoulders.

  “Help!” she cried out.

  He carried her down a long hallway lined with portraits that looked museum quality. She studied the burgundy runner as she bounced on his shoulder, wondering if he led her to the rest of his pack.

  He entered a room and tossed her on a bed. She shot to her feet and scanned the rest of the room, searching for others. Her eyes met nothing save a well-appointed room with bars protecting the window.

  Sighing in relief, she pulled Gideon’s jacket tighter around her only to catch another whiff of him. Her heart constricted at the clean masculine smell laced with that faint hint of freshly cut wood.

  Squaring her shoulders and taking comfort in Gideon’s scent, she faced Darius. “What a lovely jail. You’ll have to give me the name of your decorator.”

  “I want you to be comfortable,” he said politely, gesturing to the room with an elegant sweep of his hand.

  “So that your pack of wolves can ravish me in luxury?”

  “There are no other lycans here to save us.”

  “I’m not like you,” she shot back, motioning at him with a desperate wave.

  “I know.” His gaze raked her. “That’s why I want you.”

  Her bare toes curled into the plush carpet and she inhaled deeply, steeling herself against that hungry appraisal, more terrified by that one look than all his manhandling. There was no mistaking the carnal interest blazing in those icy eyes.

  He advanced on her slowly, like a cat stalking its prey. “I couldn’t forget you. You’re different. You’re not like the others—”

  “What about your pack?” She moved back a step for every step he took in her direction. “Werewolves aren’t monogamous. You want me, but that means I would have to—” She struggled to say it. “Mate with the others.” She shook her head vigorously. “No thanks.”

  He nodded as though he approved. “Someone’s been teaching you about lycans.”

  “That’s right.” She bumped into a dresser and slid along it, her hands feeling the smooth wood drawers behind her. Still moving, always moving. “I know enough to know that I won’t be one of your kind—”

  “You already are.”

  “No! I won’t mate like a dog in heat with your pack—”

  “I told you. I’m the only one here. And I’m not sharing you with anyone.” He lips curved. “I’m keeping you for myself.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean you’re the only one? Every wolf has a pack.”

  “Not me.”

  A lone wolf? Without a pack? Gideon had never mentioned such a possibility.

  She angled her head suspiciously. “Why not?”

  “Like you…I’m different.”

  “Different how?”

  “I don’t feed.”

  Despite everything Gideon had explained to her about the nature of lycans, hope unfurled in her chest. This lycan didn’t feed? Maybe Gideon didn’t know everything. Maybe a lycan could resist the insatiable need to kill. Maybe she could live as a werewolf and avoid eternal damnation. Maybe she and Gideon could be together.

  She edged closer to Darius, hands clasped as if in prayer. “You’ve never fed?”

  His smile vanished and his silver eyes shone with an almost angry light. “I didn’t say that.”

  She dropped her hands and took a step back, disappointment welling up inside her again. “Then you’re no different. You’re a killer. Damned. An animal like the rest of them.”

  He was in front of her before she had time to register he had moved at all. Hard hands circled her arms. He wasn’t as tall as Gideon but broader. An unbreachable wall.

  “I am different. My last kill was a long time ago.” At her look of disbelief he added, “Three hundred years.”

  Okay. That qualified as a long time ago. She wet her lips nervously. But did it matter how many years had passed? A life taken was a life taken. From what Gideon had told her, his soul could never be redeemed. “How old are you?”

  His hands loosened, but he still held her. Suddenly, he looked tired, the hard lines of his face stark. “Too old.”

  “Why don’t you have a pack?

  The corners of his full mouth curled. “Being that I don’t kill, I don’t play well with the other lycans.” His fingers flexed lightly on her arms. “It’s a lonely existence.” He scanned her face as if memorizing every feature, every detail. “I can’t live among humans. I can’t live among my own kind. And I refuse to infect an innocent and make them like me just so I can have a companion. But you—” His gaze roamed her face. “You’re already infected. You don’t have a pack and don’t wish to feed. I’d say that makes us perfect for one another.”

  He had to be kidding. He wanted her to be his girlfriend?

  “But I don’t want to be a lycan at all. I want to be human again.” Desperate, she tried to wriggle free. “The man you stole me from was helping me find the alpha responsible—”

>   He snorted. “Any luck there?”

  She stopped struggling, the truth hitting hard. “You could help me.”

  He shook his head, the blue-black strands of his hair grazing his chiseled cheekbones. “The full moon is almost upon us.” Darius released her and walked toward the door. “Joining me is your only option.”

  She moved to the bedpost, grasping the smooth wood in her hands as the significance of his words washed over her. “And what if I refuse?”

  “On the eve of every full moon I lock myself in a steel-walled room. Then, on the new moon, a trusted member of my staff unlocks the door and frees me. You will be with me in that room.”

  She closed her eyes and sagged against the bedpost, weak with relief. She would not kill. No matter what happened, she wouldn’t take an innocent life. At least there was that blessing in this nightmare.

  His voice intruded on her musings and she opened her eyes to find his pewter gaze locked on her knowingly.

  “I think you understand the forces that drive lycans. Those forces are already alive and well in you. We may not be able to kill and feed in that room. But we will mate. Instinct will demand it.”

  Relief suddenly gone, Claire slid to the floor, stricken, her hands clinging limply to the bedpost. His voice rolled over her like a fog that she could not outrun.

  “Considering the alternative, eternity as my mate won’t be such a bad fate. I’ll see that you at least keep your soul.”

  “No! Never!”

  Smiling at her as if she were a child to be indulged, he slipped from the room as silently as a curl of smoke.

  Considering the alternative, eternity as my mate won’t be such a bad fate. I’ll see that you at least keep your soul. Perhaps. If only she wasn’t already in love with someone else. If only the thought of another touching her did not make her want to curl into a small ball and die.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Just because one dog rejects another doesn’t mean mating won’t occur.

  —Man’s Best Friend:

  An Essential Guide to Dogs

  T he shadows on the walls lengthened, taking on frightening dimensions. Like the monsters of her childhood dreams. Only the barest amount of moonlight filtered past the tree branches outside her window. With one hand beneath her cheek, she watched as the shadows grew and stretched. She stayed as she was, curled on her side as the night deepened, wondering if Darius’s sour-faced housekeeper would return for the tray of food she had left at lunchtime.