Marked by Moonlight (20 page)

“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.

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.”

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 arched 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.