To Crave a Blood Moon (19 page)

She sat in the car for a long moment, staring at the house through the window. It looked smaller. A forlorn
shape beneath draping cypresses and sycamores. The once-cheery yellow paint had faded more than she realized. So much that the house she loved, that she clung to like a life raft, looked dingy.

She remembered when her mother painted the house. It had been one of those projects she created following an
incident
. Her projects would take her mind off whatever happened, let her pretend it had not occurred, keeping her preoccupied, away from Ruby for a spell. Until she got over it.

The time her mother painted the house, it involved Ruby's refusal to spend the night with Ritabeth, the Methodist preacher's daughter. When Momma asked why, Ruby told her that Ritabeth didn't really like her. That Ritabeth's daddy had the hots for Momma and made his daughter invite Ruby for a sleepover. Just so he could see Momma. Of course, all this she had gleaned through her
gift
. Momma understood that at once.

Soon after, Momma stopped asking questions that began with
why
. Around that time, she just gave up. Period. When she died two years later, Ruby felt her relief as she drew her last sip of breath. Even Momma turned out not so very different than her father. Her method of escape just differed from his.

“Getting out?”Adele's question snapped her to attention.

Nodding, she stepped from the car and walked to the front porch. Adele, who had kept her keys for safekeeping, handed them to her. Unlocking the door, she stepped inside.

The house smelled musty, airless. She dropped her keys on the table near the door and made a beeline for her couch. A refuge of sorts. She had spent many a night there, both with Adele and without, a pint of Ben and Jerry's in her lap, watching movies. The old ones were her favorites. Jimmy Stewart movies.
Shenandoah, Rear Window, It's a Wonderful Life.
Dropping onto the worn cushions, she kicked off her shoes and curled her feet beneath her.

“All right.” Adele dropped on the loveseat. Perfect breasts pushed against her bright orange tank top where the words
BEACH OR BUST
were written. She curled her legs on the couch, her pink flowy skirt draping artfully without the slightest effort. With her Heidi Klum body, she had guys calling for a date every night. “Dish. And what's with the freaky contacts?”

Hopefully, Adele would accept what Ruby was about to tell her. Adele knew the extraordinary existed. They never discussed the extent of Ruby's abilities, but Adele knew. Accepted.

“So,” she began, clearing her throat. “Have you ever heard the word
lycan
before?”

The night hummed outside her window. Alive in a way she had never noticed before and her new animal self felt acutely linked to. Even the trees outside her window seemed to breathe, leaves rustling, life pulsing deep beneath the bark.

Ruby moved from the window, setting her alarm to seven. She would prefer not setting it at all, but she needed to resume life, and that meant facing the day bright and early. After Adele left, she'd gone into town and bought groceries—enough for herself and enough to get back into the swing of work.

At the top of tomorrow's list: a call to Rosemary. Her second goal came as the result of her long, exhausting conversation with Adele. After explaining
everything, Adele had promised her support and the two of them put their heads together, trying to figure out how they were going to cope with the coming full moon.

Adele's cousin seemed the natural solution. A pharmacy school drop-out, Dwayne's abuse and marketing of prescription drugs was widely known throughout the parish. Suddenly his criminal activities were to their benefit. When they began contemplating how to get their hands on sedatives, his name was the first on their lips.

Sighing, she stretched. Her sheets felt good, the cool, crisp cotton a welcome chill against her bare legs. Even with the air conditioner running a steady purr, the old house never got too cool, baking all day in the wet heat. She laced her fingers over her stomach and stared into the dark. In her mind, she calculated the time in Turkey. What was Sebastian doing? Was he still there? An unwanted throb started in the core of her at the thought of him. He could have gone to any one of his apartments. She supposed none really qualified as a home. But with his nomadic existence, he didn't require one. Without her as a rock about his neck, he had probably returned to his hunting.

She thought about how intensely she had wanted—needed—to return here, to reach home, refuge. She
did not have much in the way of people, but she had this house.

Sebastian didn't have that. Nor did he seem to want it—to want anything or anyone. It only reminded her of their differences and confirmed in her mind that leaving was for the best.

She closed her eyes, commanding herself to sleep. To forget.
To forget him
.

The world outside hummed and pulsed in rhythm to her heart, a primeval symphony. Soon her breathing fell soft, even and regular with that world. And she drifted off to sleep.

She woke with sudden alertness, pouncing up on all fours on the bed. The old mattress's springs gave the barest squeak. She held herself still, head cocked to the side, listening to the night, to the humming world outside, the barely perceptible sounds of her house settling its old bones. Nothing.

She didn't hear anything, but she knew. She felt.

She wasn't alone. Someone else was here. Close.

She vaulted off the bed and landed on the floor, silent as a cat on the balls of her feet. But she didn't have time to marvel at her agility. Using every one of her newly developed senses, she slipped from her room.

Soundless as the breath of death, she slid along the hall's wall, close as plaster, palms skimming. Not a sound rose on the air and yet every hair on her body stood on end, tingling and vibrating with awareness. Her fingers stretched against the wall, then flexed into a curling fist.

Even with her light tread, the bottom step on the stair creaked as it always did. She winced, waiting for someone to dart out from behind a piece of furniture.

Nothing.

She released the breath she had been holding and continued, eyes peering easily through the darkened house, missing nothing.

She froze. Her scalp tightening, tingling. Her heart rate accelerated in her too-tight chest. A strong current of emotion slammed into her.
Fury
.
Exhilaration
. She looked up at the precise moment a figure dropped down from the air, landing in front of her.

She reacted. Didn't think.

Without a sound, her hand lashed out, striking the intruder in the face. She registered the crunch of bone against her hand. Shocked at the speed of her reflexes and her own strength, she hesitated. Just a second of pause. A second too long.

She pulled her arm back for a second blow, but she never had the chance to unleash it.

A hard fist closed around her own hand. She tugged. Winced at the crushing force tightening around her fingers. He was strong. Stronger than her.
Not human
.

Panting, her gaze traveled from the large hand holding her fist hostage to the face in front of her.
Sebastian
. He stared at her, all hard, unforgiving angles, his chilled stare striking coldness in her heart.

“Coming into your own, I see,” he murmured, voice softly even, unsettling given the rage glittering in his eyes. His wrath cut through her, bitter as poison, and she knew she had to flee, had to save herself. She'd never felt such fury from him before. Not even when he fought lycans. This was personal.

“Where's Darius?” he demanded.

“What?”

Her gaze flicked away, searching, hunting for a way out, away from him, from what he would do to her. He had not flown halfway around the world to save her. She wasn't that naïve. If he'd come all this way, it was to finish this.
Finish her
.

“Darius,” he ground out, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe. “Is he here?”

She looked down at herself, at her cotton nightgown that fell just above her knees. She crossed her arms over her chest, the gesture defensive and self-conscious.
He made her feel that way. Young and awkward. Made her remember this was the man who had taken her virginity with a savagery that should have horrified her… instead of leaving her aching, wanting more even now.

His voice cracked on the air, making her jump. “Where is he?”

She tried to speak. “What are—”

He hauled her close, crushing her fist between their bodies. His other hand dug cruelly into the back of her neck, forcing her still. He inhaled against her neck, his face pressed hotly into her throat. She gasped.
Wanting. Stark possessiveness.

Her body instantly reacted, responded to his in a mortifying flood of heat. “Did he have you?”

She shook her head. “No. Of course not. Why would he—”

“You left with him,” he announced flatly, a deadness entering his eyes, a contradiction to the flood of emotions tearing through him.
Tearing through her
.

“That doesn't mean I'm with him now. He dropped me at the airport and then left. End of story.”

He stared at her, some of his tension lessening, but none of the anger. None of the resentment. He wanted to punish her. Hurt her. Anger still clawed through him. And more than that.
Dark need. Hot desire.
A hard ridge pressed into her belly. His hand
dropped from her neck and cupped her ass, gripping it and lifting her against him. Moistness wet her panties. Her limbs grew heavy, molten, a clenching sensation starting low in her belly.
God. Oh, God. Oh, God
…

And she knew. Knew she had to run. Escape.

Now was her moment. Now or never.

“Can I get dressed?” she asked, having no idea if he would allow it.

He angled his head and considered her. The rage was there, dark and dangerous, a live pulsing thing on the air. “Why? I'm a heartbeat away from ripping your clothes off.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh. Is that how it's going to be?”

He forced her hand down, pressing it over the hard length of him. “It's how it has to be.”

She exhaled and did her best to sound enticing when adrenaline burned through her veins. “Then let's go upstairs.”

He stared at her for a long moment, unblinking.

“A bed would be a welcome change,” she added, trying to sound tempting, going for coy. Her voice shook.

With a hard nod, he released her.

She turned and took the first step. Shooting a cautious look over her shoulder, she advanced several more. She knew he had to hear her heart pounding
against her ribs and hoped he credited it to arousal and not her anxiety over what she was about to do.

Halfway up the stairs, she took a bracing breath and swung. With a grunt, she kicked him square in the chest with the flat of her foot. As hard as she could.

He flew off the stairs and through the air like a missile, striking the front door. She didn't wait for him to rise. Didn't wait to see if he was okay.

She turned and ran. Fire in her limbs. Heart rising to her throat. A prayer on her lips that he not catch her—not kill her.

In her room, she slammed the door behind her and rushed to her window. She flung it up and punched the screen free. Swinging one leg over the ledge, she vaulted onto the roof, sliding over the shingles.

The neighbor's farm was only a couple of miles if she cut through the woods. Mr. Wilson would lend her his truck to get to Adele's place. He was one of the few people who didn't mutter
freak
beneath his breath when she walked past.

She dropped to the ground, not feeling the slightest jar to her body. She landed lightly on her feet… like brushing the bottom of a swimming pool. And she was off.

She took to the woods, warm wind rushing over her, tangling in her hair, the humming trees a blur
in the night. Her bare feet flew over the ground, not feeling a twig or root.

A small light flickered ahead. A porch light. She was almost to the farm. Elation filled her. Soon the trees would clear and she would be at Mr. Wilson's fence.

A shape surged from the trees like night coming to life, stepping in front of her. Dark eyes, light flashing in the centers… and she knew. She had not escaped. As fast as she moved, he moved faster. Tears of defeat stung her eyes.

Her arms flailed, as if swimming a backstroke to avoid him.

He stretched out a hand to catch her.

“No!”

He seized both her arms and hauled her until their noses nearly touched. “What the hell is wrong with you? When are you going to stop running? You should know that you can't escape me.” He smiled cruelly, a jagged twisted movement of his lips. “Sweetheart, you might be a lycan now, but I've been at this game a hell of a lot longer than you. I can catch you with my eyes closed.”

She struggled, whimpering like captured prey, remembering only his vow to destroy all lycans—her.

“Ruby,” he growled, his voice thickening in that way that alerted her of his descent to darkness. Even
if she hadn't heard it, she would know. Would remember from that endless stretch of time with him in their bleak little prison.

Rage.
Deadly and so tightly strung. He was ready to snap, erupt. He would turn, change into that thing that could so easily tear her apart. Only this time, he would feel justified in doing so. Because she was a creature that needed slaying. For the sake of mankind.

His hands on her didn't budge.

Closing her eyes, she stopped struggling. She just . . . stopped.

She couldn't beat him.

“Just make it quick.” The words slipped from her lips in a hushed rush.

“What?”

Bewilderment. Confusion
.

She felt his frustration heighten and she rushed to clarify, “I know you don't relish this. You think you have to do it… so do it.”