Marked by Moonlight (18 page)

Gideon grabbed her face and forced her to look at him. “You can do this, Claire. You have a gun. Use it if you need to.”

Her hand went to the leather handbag against her hip where her gun slumbered, loaded by her own hand.

His green eyes gleamed with determination. “I won't let them hurt you.” His fingers pressed into her cheeks, injecting her with some of his courage.

Her eyes drank in his face, absorbing his words and letting them fortify her. “All right,” she agreed.

“Good girl.” Before he dropped his hands from her face, he planted a hard kiss on her mouth. She had no doubt in her mind it was just for show, for the benefit of watchful eyes, when he muttered against her lips, “Leave one of them alive for questioning. Give me time to get in position. When they follow you, don't look back. Talk to them. Distract them until I make my move. You won't see me, but I'll be there.”

Then he was gone. She closed her eyes briefly, inhaling the lingering scent of him, suppressing the sudden stab of loneliness at not having him at her side.

Dogs possess a keen sense of smell.

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

G
ideon lowered himself behind a stack of crates, muscles stretched tight as he peered between a crack in the wood slats. Pulling the gun from its holster, he screwed on the silencer. Tonight would be different. Tonight they were ready. Prepared. No more surprises. No more ambushes.

He trained all his attention on that door, waiting breathlessly for Claire to emerge. Unfortunately, he was too focused. He didn't notice he had company until he heard the shoe scrape over loose gravel behind him. He spun, dropping to his belly, leveling the gun on the slight figure at the mouth of the alley.

“Kit!” He rose to a squatting position and lowered his gun.

She stood over him, one of his guns, a ridiculously large .357, in her hand. “Hey, big brother.”

He yanked her down, glancing over his shoulder at the club's back door. Satisfied that they were alone, he demanded, “What the hell are you doing here?” He nodded at the too-large gun in her hands. Kit took after their mother. At five feet, she barely reached his shoulder. The gun looked obscene in her slight hands. “And where did you get that monster?”

Readjusting her fingers around the gun's bulk, she ignored his question. “Thought you could use some backup.”

“Since when do I include you on my hunts?”

“Since when do you shelter lycans?” She stuck out her chin the same way she had done as a determined two-year-old, dead set on buckling herself into her own car seat even if she hadn't figured out how to work the belts and clasps. “Considering you've taken it upon yourself to break a few rules, I figured I could, too.”

Cursing, he jumped to his feet and dragged her after him out of the alley. He wasn't about to risk his sister's life. Legally, she might be an adult, but he was still her brother. Hell, he was more than a brother. Since their parents' deaths, he was her sole parent. Their grandmother had fed and sheltered them, but at sixteen Gideon had known she viewed them as a yoke about her neck. At sixty-five, she had finished raising children and only did the bare minimum parenting.

Kit tugged against his hold. Clearing the alley, he released her and shoved her ahead of him into the parking lot. “Go home, Kit.”

“No.” She propped a fist on her hip.

“You can't stay.” He waved to the sea of cars. “Leave.” He glanced over his shoulder, hoping Claire hadn't stepped outside yet.

“Let me stay.”

“You know why you can't. NODEAL prohibits female agents for a reason.”

“Yeah, and it's bullshit.”

“No, it's proven fact. Menstruation makes females more vulnerable. We need agents that are not only strong but more difficult to detect.”

Kit pointed at herself. “Well, if Cooper is going to accuse me of hunting lycans and read me the riot act for something I didn't do, then I might as well get in on the game.”

He sighed and looked up at the sky.
Cooper.
Gideon should have guessed. She did the opposite of whatever that man said. “He came to see you, huh?”

“Uh, yeah.” She said with heavy sarcasm, nodding as if that much was clear. “He tore me a new one.”

“He's under a lot of stress,” Gideon found himself defending him. “Never forget how much we owe him, Kit.”

“What about you,” she accused, arching an eyebrow. “You seem to have forgotten. You're the one breaking code behind his back.”

Her words hit home, igniting a guilty flame in his heart. He dropped his hand and said flatly, “Go home, Kit.”

“When are you going to stop treating me like a child?” Green eyes so like his own glinted up angrily at him. “You're not my father, Gid. If I want to do this, you can't stop me.”

Gideon squeezed the bridge of his nose. He didn't have time for this.

Clasping the gun in both hands, elbows bent, she faced the alley. Gideon nearly groaned, remembering that while his friends' sisters had played with dolls, his had wanted to play cops and robbers. Just his luck she never outgrew the habit.

“I'm the closest thing to a father you've got. If our father were here, he'd tell you to go home, too.”

“And I'd tell him exactly what I'm telling you. I'm staying.”

Gideon stared up at the sky again, pleading for patience before shooting another glance behind him. He couldn't waste any more time arguing with his sister. Claire needed him.

“Don't follow me,” he warned, jabbing his thumb behind him. “I mean it.”

At the stubborn jut of her chin, he used the one trump card he held, even if he found the notion of blackmail distasteful. “You want to pay your own way through school?”

Her eyes narrowed.

He didn't like threatening to withdraw his financial support. Even if she did change her major every semester, she was smart and he wanted her to finish school, to get the education he didn't have. He wanted her to go places. To be somebody—not an agent chasing vengeance like him.

At the mutinous twist of her lips, he knew he had won. He pointed to the parking lot behind her. “Get in your car.”

She scuffed her shoe against the pavement, reminding him of the little girl he used to send home when she tried to tag along with him and his friends. Only she wasn't a little girl anymore. She was a grown woman with more courage than sense. Like it or not, Gideon couldn't protect her forever. If she was dead set on becoming an agent like him, there was little he—or Cooper—could do about it. Honestly, he'd rather have her go through NODEAL training and start out with a team than set out into the world as a vigilante and get herself killed.

He released a pent-up breath. “If you leave now, I'll talk to Cooper for you.”

Her gaze, glowing with hope, shot to him. “Promise?”

Gideon nodded, feeling the frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. He didn't like it, but Kit's stubbornness gave him little choice. “I promise. Now go.”

“You're awesome!” Grinning, she spun around, her fair hair tossing about her head. “You won't regret it.”

Gideon scowled. He already did.

 

She closed the door firmly behind her, drowning out the heavy thrum of music. Rotting refuse from the Dumpsters tainted the air, and she pressed a hand over her sensitive nose. She was reminded of another alley not so long ago. Only this one was darker and smelled worse. And there was no guesswork involved. She knew what would be joining her. Had felt their eyes on her back as she exited the bar.

Her eyes scanned the narrow space stretching in front of her, searching left and right for a glimpse of Gideon. The opening leading to the parking lot yawned far ahead.

With a few quick steps, she distanced herself from the door. Inhaling, she braced herself, waiting, staring in silence at the dark steel door. She lifted her face to the night sky. The moon shimmered through swiftly moving clouds, a beautiful, frightening thing, bathing the alley in an iridescent glow. Watching, waiting, biding its time. Barely a week remained.

A heavy blare of music signaled the door's opening. Claire dropped her gaze and watched them step out one by one. The door shut behind them, once again muffling the music and noise from the bar. Their number had grown to three. The third to join possessed arms the size of tree trunks. Her chest rose and fell a bit faster, the beating of her heart in sync with the distant thrum of music.

That familiar sensation, warning of nearby lycans, tingled at her nape, far more intense than the night before. Was it because there were three of them? Or because they were stronger, more powerful, than last night's lycans?

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. She pulled her purse in front of her, her hands worrying the strap, letting it act as a shield.

A spark of hope flared to life, worming its way inside her fear-clogged heart. Maybe one of them was the alpha they sought. Maybe it could end here, tonight. Lenny had frequented this place. It wasn't an impossibility that one of the three could be the alpha she sought.

The youngest-looking of the three smiled almost kindly, his teeth a flash of white against his tan face. “You look lonely, dear.” He extended an elegant long-fingered hand to her. His black Italian silk shirt rippled over his finely sculpted chest with the movement. “There's no reason for one of our kind to ever be lonely.”

Claire's feet shuffled back a step, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. That coaxing voice and smile mesmerized her, summoning her nearer as if pulling her by an invisible thread.

She felt his power. Recognized instantly he was the leader among the three. The strongest.

“You're alone,” the female in red stated.

Claire nodded. “I'm looking for someone.”

“And who would that be?” she asked.

At this, Claire hedged.

“Who turned you?” the leader asked, his voice smooth as silk.

Claire's gaze locked with his, recognizing at once that he understood. He knew she sought the alpha responsible for her curse. “A boy named Lenny.”

“I don't know him. Careless of him to turn you and then leave you to your own devices. Lycans are careful at initiating into our pack.”

“Yes,” the female chimed in with a sneer. “We don't let any trash off the streets join us.”

“Come, Bianca,” the leader chided. “Be hospitable. Our lovely friend here is one of us now and she appears to be in need of guidance.”

“I'm not one of you.” Claire slid her hand inside her purse and curled her fingers around the gun.

“Is that what you think?” The leader's kind smile turned almost cruel then. “Pity. We shall have to convince you, then.”

“Join us.” Bianca stretched out her hand. Claire stared at that slender hand with its perfectly manicured nails and a strange sense of detachment settled over her.

Something cold and evil glittered in the female's steel gaze. Malevolence shadowed the curve of her mouth, and Claire knew there wasn't anything friendly about her.

The newest member to the trio growled his impatience. “Enough talk.” He smoothed a hand over his slicked-back hair, fingers sliding down the dark length of his tight ponytail with an anxious energy. “Let's take her and show her what it means to be a lycan.”

Claire's skin crawled as she watched him run his tongue over fleshy lips.
Take her.
She knew he meant more than coercing her to join their pack. Instantly, Claire marked him the wild card. The impatient one.

He started toward her, his silver gaze glowing brilliantly, startling and otherworldly against his swarthy face.

Gideon, where are you?

Unwilling to wait any longer, she slid the gun from her purse, flexing her hand around the textured grip, cold and abrasive in her hand.

The beefy lycan paused, staring in confusion at her gun before his lips peeled back into a feral grin. He shook his head slowly, wagging a long, thick-nailed finger.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he said as if they played a game, as if she weren't serious, as if she didn't have every intention of blowing a hole through his black heart if he took one more step. “First rule of the pack is to stick together.”

“I'm not of your pack.”

“A lone female—breeding as you are,” the leader inserted. “You have to belong to a pack. It might as well be ours. Accept what you are. There is no other choice. You are one of us. You can't undo it.”

His words hit her hard, as no blow could.

The brawny lycan continued his advance.

“Stop.” Her thumb pulled back the hammer, the grinding click loud on the air. “I mean it,” she warned, her finger curled around the trigger.

She aimed at his chest and shook her head side to side in determined avowal. “I swear to God I'll shoot.”

The leader's voice continued, rolling over her, seductive and mesmerizing, softening her will. “Everything's confusing right now. We can make things easier. Come with us. We'll show you how incredible life can be.”

“I'm not one of you,” she muttered in a harsh whisper. Jamming her eyes shut, she squeezed the trigger. The gun bucked in her hands. The acrid smell of cordite stung her nostrils.

She peeked one eye open, then the other. The brawny lycan stood frozen, rooted in place just inches from her. He looked down at his chest and back to her face in shock.

She watched as he toppled to the ground. She felt no rush of victory. Only shock. She had killed someone—no, not someone. She had destroyed a lycan. Yet it was hard to remember the distinction as the silver faded like a wisp of smoke from his eyes, leaving a very mortal shade of brown behind.

A flash of movement caught her eye. Too late. She didn't have time to lift the gun and aim before the shrieking female charged her. Claire landed on her back with a teeth-rattling jolt. Her gun clattered against the pavement, skittering several feet away. Pinned, she couldn't budge as razor sharp nails attacked her neck and face, scratching and slicing in a flurry of motion. Saliva dribbled down onto her face from the crimson lips snarling above her.