To Crave a Blood Moon

“Please,” she pleaded. “Your name.”

Ruby turned her face into him. Lips on his cold skin, she whispered against his scratchy cheek, ignoring the slight softening inside her at the utter maleness swirling around her in a heady mist. “You're hurting me.” She tried to lift her arms, but his hands pinned them down.

“God help me,” he groaned.

Fresh panic flared to life inside her. And a spark of response. His pain, the agony of his hunger, threatened to consume her… but this emotion, his desire, made her purr and arch against him.

He nudged Ruby higher and released one of her arms. Instead of shoving at him with her hand, she curled her fingers into a naked shoulder, hissing at the contact, at the sensation of smooth male flesh… instantly infused with all his need, all his dark
wanting
. For her.

Her mouth opened wide against his bristly cheek. A sharp cry ripped from her throat.

God help her, as his desire rose, the blackness receded, faded to nothing.

“Sebastian,” he spat out, his cheek rippling against lips as he spoke.

“What?” She felt drunk, addled in the head.

“My name… is Sebastian.”

“Heated passion, fast-paced action, and a world of werewolves you never knew existed.”

—Bestselling author Robin T. Popp

A
LSO
BY
S
HARIE
K
OHLER

Marked by Moonlight

Kiss of a Dark Moon

S
HARIE
K
OHLER

The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2009 by Sharie Kohler

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First Pocket Books paperback edition September 2009

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Cover art by Chris Cocozza. Cover design by Min Choi.

Manufactured in the United States of America

10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

ISBN 978-1-4391-0158-2
ISBN 978-1-4391-2700-1 (ebook)

For my talented, wonderful friend,
Tera Lynn Childs— who just plain gets me.
And loves me anyway.

To Crave A Blood Moon

The slam of the screen door cracked on the night. Ruby crawled from bed, dropping to her feet and sliding into her waiting slippers. Light glowed softly through the open door of her room. Voices rolled on the air.

Angry
.
Mad
.

Her tummy cramped. Whimpering, she hugged the wall and peered out the door, bringing her stuffed duck to her mouth to gnaw.

“Richard,” she heard Mommy say. “Please. Don't go.”

The screen door creaked as it always did when someone stood in the threshold, holding it open.

“You made your choice,” he snapped. “Now I'm making mine.”

Something that felt very close to hate rolled off him, finding Ruby where she huddled. She bit down on her duck's floppy bill. Her stomach cramped tighter, twisting, and she felt her dinner of peas, potatoes and meatloaf rise up in her throat.

“For God's sake, Richard. What choice is there? She's our daughter—”

“No, she's weird, Diane. She's a weird kid. And I can't stand to be around her. My own goddamned daughter!”

Tears burned her eyes. Ruby buried her nose in her stuffed duck and fought the urge to suck her thumb. Big girls didn't suck their thumbs.

“If you won't listen to me, listen to your mother,” Daddy continued in that ugly voice that made her cringe. “Your sister. Even your own family thinks she's—”

“Stop it. Enough.” Mommy's voice dropped to a quick hush. “You're right.”

Closing her eyes, Ruby muttered a silent, fervent prayer, begging Jesus to make Daddy love her. Make her the kind of little girl a daddy could love.

The screen door groaned. Someone was pulling it wider. “You've made your choice,” Mommy said. “Now I'm making mine. Get out.”

The door slammed, the sound reverberating on the night, making her jump. Her duck fell. She edged
back from the door, her heart seizing in her chest, hurting, hurting. The hurt was so bad she couldn't even breathe.

Daddy was gone.

Because of her.

Mommy's footsteps started toward her room. Ruby flew back into her bed and pulled the covers to her chin, pretending to be asleep.

A moment later, she felt the bed sink with her mother's weight. Mommy folded her discarded duck into her arms and curled her body around her.

“Mommy?” she asked, eyes still jammed shut.

Her mother's chest rumbled against her back. “Go to sleep, baby.”

“Is Daddy—”

“It's late. We'll talk tomorrow.” Pause. “We're going to be fine, baby girl. Happy,” her mother said, in the voice she used when trying to convince Ruby that black-eyed peas tasted good. Just like regular peas.

She knew the voice. Knew that Mommy was pretending now. But then Ruby knew. She always knew.

“It's okay, baby girl. We're going to be fine.” She rocked her now, her hand smoothing over her hair.

The tight embrace only made Ruby
feel
more, made Mommy's pain wash over her in burning waves.
Desolation. Regret.

All of Mommy's hurt bled into her. Hot sobs rose in the back of her throat, but Ruby held them back, kept them stuffed inside so Mommy wouldn't know that Daddy was right.
She was weird
. Only someone weird could feel what other people were feeling.

A sound must have escaped her.

Mommy stroked the side of her face.

“Hush, baby. I can't stand it when you hurt.”

Ruby didn't have the heart to tell her it was
her
pain that made her hurt. Mommy hugged her tighter, and Ruby fought back a scream. Biting her lip, the coppery tang of blood ran over her teeth. But she didn't utter a complaint. Complaints were what drove Daddy away. And kept anyone from wanting to be her friend at school.

From now on, she would never complain again. She would never tell. Then she wouldn't scare anyone.

And Mommy wouldn't leave her, too.

T
WENTY YEARS LATER
…
I
STANBUL
, T
URKEY

He had moved beyond the point of pain.

Weeks had passed since Sebastian Santiago felt anything except bone-deep numbness. His carefully constructed shields remained in place while his beast prowled, hidden inside him. For now, it would wait in that dark, secret part of himself. And endure.

All to survive. To protect Rafe. He couldn't lead his brother here, to this place. To these soulless bastards. He couldn't let them know that he wasn't alone. That others like him existed.

Bending his head at an odd angle against the moldy stone at his back, he watched the female beside him drag a blood-red nail across his chest. With moonrise so close, Annika was exceptionally vicious
today. Not that she had ever been a cupcake with him. She had declared him her special pet the first day he arrived. Her nail increased its pressure, breaking skin as she drew a jagged line through his flesh. His chest surged against her hand, but he held silent as blood welled up, more black than red in the darkened cell.

Water dripped somewhere, a monotonous, lonely sound. He counted each drip, letting it occupy his thoughts.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
His tongue salivated, yearning to find the source and press his parched lips to it. They'd fed him this morning, but hadn't bothered to supply water. Maybe they would remember tomorrow.

The ancient ground pulsed beneath him, cold with fallen blood. His. And the others that came before. Every full moon his captors gorged themselves. And blood ran. Swam down the walls. A corrugated river through the old building's bones. He smelled it still. Could taste it in the air.

He inhaled harder, past wood, rock and mortar, past the taint of blood. A distant whiff of the world outside teased his nose, calling to him. Freedom—where the air smelled fresh, wet from the rain he had heard last night and the wash of sea at the city's every side.

He closed his eyes, imagining he was out there.
Instead of a dozen feet below earth where his nights and days were consumed in dark torment.

His eyes adjusted to the blackness with ease, seeing the movements and faces around him. A second female sidled near. An animal slinking closer. The coppery tang of blood seeped from her every pore. She pulled her dress over her head, revealing her sleek body.
Catriona,
he thought her name.
Remember their names. Know each and every one so you can kill them later.
He never once questioned his survival. He was a hard man to kill.
Man
. His lips curved cruelly, a harsh breath of laughter escaping him.

Annika frowned and dug her hand into his face, forcing his attention back on her. Greedy bitch. Her talon-like fingers delved through the bristly growth of beard. The smell of his own blood on her hand filled his nose.

She spoke to him in her tongue. He spoke several languages, but his Turkish was rusty. Even so, it had improved vastly since his imprisonment. “What is wrong, my pet?” she demanded in her guttural voice. “Our games amuse you?”

Their hands slithered like serpents on his body. Catriona bent over his chest and lapped up his blood with the rough rasp of her tongue. As if the taste of him was too much, she groaned and bit down. He surged against the force of her bite, eyes squeezing
shut as the bitch made a snack of him with her blunt little teeth.

Annika shoved Catriona aside and bent to taste from where she had carved her mark on his chest. Catriona took exception and slapped her. Annika came up hissing fury, and the other female backed down, dipping those eerie pewter eyes. A strict code of hierarchy existed within packs. Clearly Annika held more rank.