Marked by Moonlight (17 page)

“Our lunch.”

She looked over her shoulder at the bags of food sitting in the back. Taking one bag, he handed her the other. Arms shielding their precious cargo, they darted through the rain to her apartment, which was dark and stale from lack of use. Flipping on the light, she set her bag on the table. He placed his bag on the surface as well. She looked around her apartment, surveying everything with an air of sadness, as if seeing it for the first time. And in many ways it was the first time, he reasoned. She saw it through new eyes. The eyes of a woman who didn't know how much time she had left.

Damn, there he went again. Connecting with her. Empathizing with her. Wanting to pull her into his arms and kiss her fears away, to bury himself in her heat until both of them forgot the world around them.

He had to keep personal feelings for her at bay. It would only make destroying her harder—if it came down to that.

Her eyes widened as he pulled his sodden shirt out of his jeans and over his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting undressed. Got a towel?” he asked.

She nodded jerkily and disappeared into her room, returning seconds later with a towel in her hands. “Why don't you throw your clothes in the drier.” She pointed to what looked like a closet tucked behind her kitchen table. “I'm going to change.”

He waited until the bedroom door shut behind her before removing the rest of his clothes. Standing naked in the middle of her living room, he used the towel to rub himself dry. That done, he secured the towel around his waist and dumped his wet clothes in the small drier. The machine's rumble soon filled the air, accompanied by the occasional clinking against the metal drum.

By the time she joined him, wearing a pair of gray sweats and a Texas A&M T-shirt, he sat at the kitchen table unloading their food. Her gaze shot to his bare chest, her hungry gaze chipping at his resolve to keep things impersonal between them.

“Do you understand what I was trying to say at the restaurant?” he blurted, compelled to reach an understanding with her…with himself.

She bit her bottom lip and his gaze focused on those small white teeth sinking into the moist pink flesh. Releasing the lip, she replied, “Yes.”

“No more intimacy. From now on, what we have is strictly a working relationship. Our only focus is on getting you out of this mess. It's the only way.”

“Of course.” She nodded.

They ate in silence. Exactly what Gideon preferred. No more talk of grocery shopping. No more behaving like a couple, like lovers. Silence. Distance. No threats to the walls he struggled to erect between them. She finally understood how it had to be between them.

A heavy weight settled in his chest, part remorse, part resignation.

He was halfway through his spaghetti when Claire gave a small gasp and looked up. “Woody's,” she blurted, clutching her spoon tightly. “Lenny hung out at a place called Woody's. A student mentioned seeing him there shortly before he attacked me. She said he was with some creepy older-looking guys.”

“Woody's? In the Village?” he asked. Instead of relief that they now had a lead, he felt a flash of anger. “Why are you only now telling me this?”

“I just remembered,” she said in defense, shrugging. “It's not as if I kept it from you on purpose.”

“'Course not,” he replied in clipped tones, annoyed all over again and feeling suddenly validated. Maybe she would have remembered sooner if he hadn't been busy getting her flat on her back. “Anything else you forgot to mention? Any silver-eyed students? A colleague exhibiting uncharacteristic aggression?”

Her eyes shot icy daggers at him. “Very funny.”

“Because it's only your life on the line here.”

Claire's voice trembled. “I've got more at stake here than you. Next time you're worried about growing too attached to someone you might have to kill, remember that I'm the one needing the killing.”

She surged to her feet, her silver eyes shadowed with raw emotion. “I'll be in my room getting a few things.”

Alone, he stared at her door, contemplating whether he should knock and check on her. Then he shook his head, hardening his heart. Distance, he reminded himself. It was the best thing. For both of them.

A dog's instinct never fails.

—Man's Best Friend:
An Essential Guide to Dogs

T
he gun felt heavy in her hands. Heavier than the one she had purchased—the one she had intended to use on Gideon when she thought him a dangerous lunatic. Strange how things had changed in such a short time. She no longer thought him a lunatic. Just dangerous. And mostly to her heart.

“Standard NODEAL issue. Forty-four revolver. Custom-made silencer,” Gideon explained, stroking a finger along the barrel. “Cock the hammer with your thumb.”

Claire pulled the hammer back, the grinding click an oddly satisfying sound, empowering. A good feeling. Just what she needed for the night ahead.

They were venturing out to Woody's. It was strange, but she felt tonight was it. The night they would find the alpha. The night she would be returned to herself. But perhaps that was just desperate hope.

“Then you just pull the trigger. Your aim doesn't have to be great, just make sure you hit your target. The silver will do all the work.” Gideon nodded in approval as she repositioned the cold, hard steel in her hands and aimed at the wall of his living room. “Looks like you have some experience handling guns.”

Claire shrugged. “A little.” She didn't bother telling him about the gun she had purchased. Ever since leaving her apartment they spoke only when necessary. He had made it clear they weren't friends—not lovers—merely cohorts united for a like purpose. It didn't matter that she wanted more, that she wanted him. It was an odd sort of irony. He couldn't let himself want her, because she might not live out the week. But she wanted him all the more, desperately, because of that same fact.

Gideon took the gun from her, flipped the lever on its side, and with a flick of his wrist demonstrated how to open the cylinder. He pointed at the flat faces of six silver bullets before turning the gun and emptying them into his palm. His movements were deft and practiced, those of a man long accustomed to handling firearms. “If you empty the rounds tonight, reload—immediately. Never be caught with an empty cylinder.”

Claire nodded. Gideon tossed the bullets in his hand. “Customized Colombian silver bullets.” They clinked together lightly. “Okay. This is the hard part.”

Her gaze shot to his grim face, arching a brow in silent question.

Seizing her hand, he dropped the bullets into her open palm. “Reload.”

Claire hissed in pain and dropped the bullets that scorched her flesh. They clattered noisily to the wood floor, spinning and whirring in wide circles at her feet. She stared down at her open palm, at the angry red welts rising on her skin—exactly six in number.

“Pick 'em up.”

“They burn.”

“You're a lycan. Silver burns. Now pick them up.”

“What about gloves—”

“You'll look strange wearing gloves in ninety-degree heat, and you can't take the time to put on a pair of gloves when you need to be quick and reload.”

Claire sucked in a deep breath and pressed her wounded palm against her denim shorts in an attempt to reduce the sting. Flexing her other hand around the gun, she squatted and stared down at the innocent-looking cylinders, bracing herself to pick them up.

“If you can't load the gun, you can't defend yourself,” Gideon said above her. “You might as well quit right now.”

Quit. He meant die.

Swallowing, she poised her hand over one bullet. With a deep breath she grabbed it, ignoring that it felt like fire on her fingertips. Trying not to fumble, she slid it into one chamber. Her hand dove for the next one, afraid that if she stopped she would never finish. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and the smell of burning flesh seared her nostrils. After the fourth bullet, she looked at her hand. The fingers were badly blistered. Tendrils of smoke drifted above her palm and she gave a strangled cry, horrified at further evidence of her descent into a nightmare from which she could not wake.

“Move,” Gideon growled next to her ear. She hadn't even noticed when he dropped down beside her. “Don't stop, damn it. Move.”

Tears blurred her vision as she finished loading the last two bullets. She forced herself to grip the gun in her throbbing hands. Lifting her chin, she glared at him defiantly, her chest lifting in pride. “I can do it.”

“Good,” he announced in a flat voice, his look frustratingly blank. “Just be ready to do it again tonight.” He turned and left. Her heart sank as she listened to his fading footsteps.

Claire sank onto the couch and set the gun beside her. Outside, the sun dipped behind the treetops. Another day gone. Tonight would be the night. It had to be. She flexed her sore hands open and shut. Already the pain was starting to ebb, the lycan ability to heal working its magic.

Only the pain in her heart lingered.

 

Woody's catered to a wide spectrum of patrons: from high school adolescents eager to test their independence to hard-edged thirty-somethings. Music pulsed over the air, a heavy, discordant throb emitted from a band that appeared to be strung out.

It wasn't long before Claire spotted Nina through the haze of smoke, in a skirt much shorter than any she ever wore to school.

Claire pointed across the dance floor to the girl. Gideon followed her finger, his gaze running over Nina in cool assessment.

“What's her story?” He spoke over the bar's din, his first words since he left her standing in his living room.

“She's a good student.” Claire studied the crowd surrounding Nina. Some were recognizable from the hallways. “Transferred in last January. Can't recall where she came from exactly.”

“Maybe a little of everywhere?” he asked grimly.

“Yeah,” Claire said in surprise. “Something like that. I think her dad is in the marines. How'd you guess?”

“Packs move around. It's not their nature to feed in one area too long. Long-standing impulse—don't deplete the food source.”

Claire swung her gaze from Gideon back to Nina. “You're not suggesting—”

“Why not? She knew Lenny and could easily have infected him.” He shrugged. “I'm not getting a read on her either way, but the more experienced lycans are harder to detect. Especially the females. They're more adept at blending in.”

“She's just a girl.”

“For all we know, she could be five hundred years old. Lycans can live a very long time. The longest on record is twelve hundred years.”

She felt her eyes widen. “There's a twelve-hundred-year-old werewolf out there?”

“We
think
he's still out there. He's either dead or been lying low for a couple centuries. If he's dead, it's through natural causes. Otherwise NODEAL would have a record.”

She silently wondered how NODEAL could efficiently monitor the comings and goings of every single werewolf, but she let the matter drop, refocusing her attention on Nina and the possibility that her prize student might be a werewolf.

The notion troubled her, and not simply because she cared for Nina. “A female alpha?” She felt her brow scrunch.

“Alphas are frequently female.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Don't females rule many species? Ants? Bees? Even ancient human cultures bowed before woman.”

Claire nodded. She supposed a lifetime of watching her father subjugate women—including her—made her question the notion of female empowerment.

Still, Nina?

“Last night I felt those other two. Before they even attacked us. I've never felt anything around Nina.”

“She could be that good.” At her skeptical look he elaborated, “Alphas are the wisest, strongest lycans out there. They are masters of camouflage. You may never sense them. But let's find out if you can.”

They cut through the dance floor, skirting gyrating couples as they made their way to the predominantly teen section. Heavier smoke. Fewer bottles. Apparently not everyone possessed a fake ID. Their presence definitely earned a few stares. Especially Gideon's. He towered over boys who had yet to reach full development, and the girls openly drooled.

She tapped Nina on the shoulder.

“Omigod! Miss Morgan!” The girl crushed Claire in a hug.

The hug felt good. Surprisingly good. Even amid the heavy smoke, she inhaled the clean, fruity scent of Nina's shampoo, overcome by the realization that this might be the last time she saw her. She squeezed Nina closer. Claire gave herself a mental shake. Now was not the time to walk that dark road. She needed to concentrate on other things. Like whether or not Nina could be the werewolf that infected Lenny.

Claire didn't sense anything, didn't
feel
anything beyond the bittersweet emotion that welled up inside her. Arms locked around the girl's slight frame, she knew Nina couldn't be anything other than what she appeared: a sweet, innocent girl.

“Where have you been?” Nina pulled back to demand. “We have this awful sub! She assigned us seats and I have to sit next to Eddy Case!” She noticed Gideon then and her eyes widened. “Is this your boyfriend?” Before Claire could answer, Nina rushed on, her words tumbling out excitedly, “I heard a rumor you were dating Mr. Jenkins, but I didn't want to believe it.” Her lip curled in distaste. “He's bald.”

Claire rolled her eyes. That one date was going to follow her for the rest of her life.

“Mr. Jenkins and I are
not
dating.”

Nina waved a finger back and forth between Claire and Gideon. “So this is your boyfriend.”

“Yes,” Gideon answered smoothly, slipping an arm around her waist. Claire stamped down her streak of pleasure at the feel of that solid arm holding her close.

Nina grinned and winked at her, mouthing,
“Nice.”

Deciding a change of subject was in order, Claire asked, “How's school?”

“Almost over. Thank God.”

They chatted for a few more minutes until Gideon caught her eye and motioned for them to move on. With a hug, she pulled away. Gideon led her to the bar at the far end of the room.

“Well,” she asked, “what do you think?”

“More importantly, what did you think? Feel anything?”

She shook her head, her gaze shooting back to the group of teenagers. “Nothing. Not from any of them.”

“Maybe it's no one from school. Maybe it's someone in his family.”

“He only had foster parents.” She sighed, resisting the hopelessness threatening to swallow her. “And we already checked them out.”

“The mother wasn't there.”

“He said she took off,” Claire reminded him.

“Yeah, that's what
he
said.” Gideon shook his head.

A cold weight settled in the pit of her stomach. The alpha could be anyone in the entire city. The entire state, for that matter. It could have been a random infection; it didn't even have to be someone Lenny knew.

“Hey.” He turned her to face him, his fingers whisper-soft on her chin. The gentle look in his eyes tormented her, made her want what he would not give. It was easier when he treated her like a stranger. Easier to not want him so badly that way.

He continued in that velvet voice, “I haven't given up. Don't you quit either.”

Her thoughts in a jumble, she forced a wobbly smile.

Suddenly, her nape prickled. Her eyes cut across the room, knowing what she would find staring back at her.

“Over there,” she squeaked, her gaze trapped by two pairs of silver eyes. One male. One female.

Gideon followed her gaze across the room through the haze of smoke. “Bingo.”

“They're—”

“Lycans,” he supplied.

“They're not wearing contacts,” she added, wetting her lips nervously.

Their eyes glowed bold and obtrusive amid a crowd of ordinary faces. Claire shivered.

Tight red leather molded the female's body like a second skin, hiding nothing of her sleek, lithe form. They watched her intently, two hungry predators.

“They're not trying to hide.” Gideon nodded grimly. “Confident bastards.”

No, not hiding. It was more like they were advertising themselves. Her skin sizzled where their gazes trailed, eliciting a strange longing, an unremitting ache that throbbed deep within her. She resisted their pull by turning her back on them. Her eyes darted wildly ahead of her, instinctively searching for an escape route.

“It's okay,” Gideon murmured against her ear, clearly sensing her anxiety. “See that exit in the back.” His breath, soft as a feather, ruffled her hair. Claire inhaled a shaky breath, looked to the red exit sign in the distance, and nodded.

“I'm going to leave out the front. Wait five minutes and take the back exit,” he instructed.

“You want me to lead them outside,” she concluded, briefly shutting her eyes against the panic rising hot and bitter in her throat. Her last experience with these creatures was still fresh on her mind. The thought of being alone with them even for a moment had her shaking her head.