Blood Moons (19 page)

His thought patterns were different. Base instincts were taking over—survival above all else.
Protect the female—my
pack, my mate. Destroy the challenger, by any means
necessary.
Right now the only means at his disposal was his own body. His strength alone could kill so easily, but the more control he lost, the more his outward appearance would change. She'd seen his eyes glow in the dark, seen his face change until he was barely recognizable. What would happen to him if it went too far?

Running footsteps outside the cell. The guards were coming. She was just about to warn Tristan when she was pulled off her bunk. Dara screamed and fought, but Tristan's hold on her was unrelenting. He shoved her into the bathroom area and closed it off after her, leaving her completely alone, shaken and frightened, still shivering uncontrollably.

Dara stared at that flimsy barrier, willing herself to see what was on the other side, but there was no light. She couldn't even see shadows. Couldn't hear anything out there, either. She banged her fists against the shield, needing to be 168

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there next to him, to make sure he was all right. The shield barely registered the feeble disturbance.

Someone shouted for the lights to be turned on. When light flooded the cell, Dara could see Tristan's shadow loom large just on the other side of the barrier. He'd taken a stand in front of it to shield her.

Dara placed her hands on the thing, pretending that he was leaning against it and she could feel him through it. She closed her eyes to see through his. He was focused on more intruders in his lair and distracted enough to let her through.

Blanc and Clay were on the floor. There were three armed guards in the cell, two aiming their guns at Tristan, one checking Blanc's vital signs.

Dara ignored all of that and focused on Tristan's mind. She molded her consciousness to his and slowly, gently started bringing his own memories to the fore. He was still on edge, a hair trigger ready to go off and slaughter anything in his way.

Which included the guards. Dara had to be his control now; she had to get him calm somehow. The alternative was unacceptable.

If she could just distract him long enough, maybe the diversion would help him return to himself. This was the worst possible time to start experimenting with her telepathy, but what choice did she have? They were in enough trouble already.

"Tristan? Talk to me."

"He's dead," one of the guards said and she had no idea who he was talking about.

"Tristan, please."

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"Randal," another said, and she could tell he was talking to someone who wasn't in the room. "Do you have the feed cued? I see. Call Dr. Chase. Tell her the flight plan has been moved up."

"Tristan!"

"I'm here,"
he finally said and Dara sagged against the sink.

"What's going on?"

The bathroom opened and Tristan grasped her hand to pull her out to his side. There was blood staining his shirt under his arm and his hand was slick with it. "Oh, God, you're hurt!"

"Leave it. It's fine."
He spoke in her mind, because he didn't trust his voice. Dara looked up and just stifled a gasp.

For a split second, he didn't look anything like the Tristan she knew. His hair had become lighter, streaked. His face had changed drastically; it was now animalistic, with his nose flattened and his mouth bulging with fangs, the upper lip curved, almost split like a cat's. And all over his skin, stripes appeared and faded like tattoos. It was all there one moment, then almost gone the next. All that remained constant were his golden eyes.

The guard talking on his com unit nodded. "Got it." Then he turned to the two of them. "Someone tampered with the video feed."

His voice startled her out of her shock. She struggled to get some sort of handle on the situation and failed miserably.

Dead men on the floor, at her feet. Blood everywhere.
Oh,
God,
it was like that night all over again. The guards were looking at her and she shrank from their gaze. Tristan's hand 170

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tightened on hers, keeping her with him. It was warm around her chilled fingers, but wet and sticky with blood—and she couldn't even tell whose it was! But she knew he was hurt badly. Dara grasped onto that. One crisis at a time.
"Fine?

You're bleeding all over the floor!"

"And you think Hunt is responsible?" Dr. Chase pushed her way into the cell. "Excuse me," she said authoritatively and came to crouch by Blanc.

"Quiet,"
Tristan told Dara. Still on point, assessing the situation with a predator's eye.

Dara watched Dr. Chase's movements. It brought the dead men into her field of vision again.

"No, ma'am," the guard said. "We got the feed back online just as Blanc opened this cell. We know foul play was involved."

Dr. Chase pressed her fingers to Blanc's neck. After a moment, she said, "He's dead."

"Yes, ma'am. The prisoner as well."

The
prisoner
lay in a broken heap next to Blanc. His arm was twisted at an awkward angle, and his neck was crushed and broken. His head was turned almost two hundred degrees from normal. And the look on his face was an eternal testament to the pain he'd felt before he died. The doctor didn't even bother checking him. "Then why did you call me and not the cleanup crew?" she demanded.

Dara turned her face into Tristan's shoulder to block out the sight, but she could still see them in her mind.
Too much.

I can't do this again!

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"H-how badly are you hurt?"
she asked him, trying desperately to focus on something else. Tristan was alive.

She clung to that knowledge for all she was worth.

"I'll live. Trust me."
He wasn't getting any better, keeping his attention on everyone else. His strength gave Dara courage enough to peek at the scene again, firmly ignoring the bodies on the floor.

The guard who had first checked the two men answered the doctor. "The guards you ordered to be posted here were called away. We don't know who gave the order, but it's obvious that it was someone on the security team. Probably Blanc. There is protocol to follow here, ma'am. You posted the guards because you expected trouble and you were proven right."

"But you don't approve of such use for the security team, right?"

"There's many of us who don't, ma'am. But we get that certain prisoners are also valuable test subjects."

"And some aren't even supposed to be here," Dr. Chase said, indicating Dara. That brought Tristan's bleeding side into her view, and she nudged Dara away to examine him. Tristan growled—actually growled—but let go of Dara's hand.

Dara squeezed herself into the space between the bathroom and the bunks, feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable.

While she checked his wounds, Dr. Chase said, "I doubt either of these men came here tonight for a social visit to Hunt. This is a gunshot wound." She tapped the wall where Dara always got books, and typed something onto the touch 172

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screen. A compartment opened underneath it and Dr. Chase took out a med kit. "Sit," she told Tristan, then addressed the guards. "So what's the protocol to deal with this?"

"See?"
Tristan said.
"I told you I'd live."

Dara didn't reply. Only turned her face away and pressed herself tighter against the wall.

Tristan finally turned his head to look at her, his features drawn in a frown.
"Dara?"

Dr. Chase set to cleaning his wounds. Dara was so shaken she didn't have the sense to shield her mind. She was picking up everything around her. From Dr. Chase, she heard Tristan would be fine. It did nothing to reassure her, not when he still looked like he might bite into someone's neck if they made a sudden movement.

The guards were tense, uncomfortable being in the cell with a guy who'd taken out two men like an animal. They were scared of him—and with good reason.

Tristan's mind was the loudest. He was still in fight mode, tense every time Dr. Chase touched him. He couldn't see Dara clearly where she'd hidden herself and it frustrated him.

His mind was in turmoil, needing to protect her, but he sensed how fragile she was so he struggled to pull back from the brink. For her sake. Each time he failed, it infuriated him and set him further back.

"Your flight plan has been moved up," the guard closest to the door said. "The shuttle is fueled and ready for takeoff whenever you are. You and the prisoners will be escorted to the launch pad and we'll be increasing our security measures 173

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to make sure you arrive safely and without mishap at Niren Colony."

"Very good," Dr. Chase said, all business. "Have someone bring my luggage to the launch pad. There are two suitcases and a box waiting by the door of my room. And make sure they get there in the same condition I left them, or we will have a problem."

"Yes, ma'am," the guard said and left.

"As for you two," she said to the remaining guards, "Call the cleanup crew and clear the way to the launch pad. Tell the pilot we're on our way."

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Dara was shaking. Her arms tight around her chest, she tried desperately to stop the shivers, but it was like being hypothermic. Her body automatically did what it needed to do to survive, and her mind had no say in the matter. And the more she tried to hold still, the worse the shaking became.

Part of her mind recognized that she was going into shock.

Or was already in shock. Something like that. But the rest of her didn't give a shit what was going on, because it was hell all over again. This might as well be the night she'd seen the murder. Only this time it was worse. This time, she hadn't dreamed the events—they had actually been happening around her.

Her mind was on spin cycle, perversely replaying everything over and over again, and each time with more details that her imagination filled in. The faces of Blanc and Clay started to look more demonic than human, their sneers sharper, colder. Their hands turned into claws, and their postures hunched. Bogeymen coming to get her.

And then the fight.
Oh, God ...
Dara clutched her head to keep the memories back. They were black shadows, ghosts in her mind. Things that could reach out of the darkness and tear her to pieces, but each time she tried to fight back, her hands passed through the shapeless things like mist. She couldn't defend against that; no one could.

The others were talking—the guards and Dr. Chase. But Dara couldn't hear them past the din in her head and the 175

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noise the prisoners were making. The rest of the prisoners had awakened when the lights were turned on and now they were going insane watching Tristan and Dara be escorted out.

They were screaming, shouting, throwing things against the force fields and each time something vaporized, it emitted a brief flash of light. There were hundreds of those flashes going off all around her and Dara flinched at each one, her gaze darting back and forth. It was making her dizzy and disoriented.

She was having trouble breathing and she was tripping over her own two feet as the guards led them across the catwalks and the bridge to the main exit. There were three guards in front of her, two between her and Hunt, and four more after Dr. Chase.
Too many people. Too much noise.

Dara was on the verge of screaming her head off.

Then they were past the exit, in the cool tunnel and when the gate closed behind them, the noises hushed. Dara slowed her step, shaking so badly she feared that any longer and her legs would simply give out. They felt about as steady as toothpicks.

The guard behind her nudged her into motion again. "Keep moving," he said, and somewhere behind him, Dara heard Tristan growl low. He was handcuffed to a chain belt, but she doubted those flimsy restraints would even slow him down if he decided to stop playing nice. For a moment, she wished he would.

As if in answer, she sensed him tense against his bonds, hands curling into fists, gaze fixed on the guard behind her.

"
Go!
" the guard barked when she still hadn't moved.

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Before anyone else, even Tristan, could react, Dr. Chase shoved her way past a guard to get to the one who'd shouted.

"Enough," she hissed low, glaring up at a man easily twice or three times her size. She gave him her back and faced Dara, her eyes assessing the situation rapidly from behind her glasses.

When she laid a hand on Dara's shoulder, it was like opening the floodgates. Dr. Chase put a calm face on things, but inside she was all chaos. Her mind-voice wasn't just echoing, it was multiple. And all were talking over each other.

— had to fight tooth and nail for him and now some
jackass shot him up —

— fought like an animal —

— didn't help; she's in shock anyway —

— so close to a body bag —

Thank God, I'm finally getting out of here!

Dara flinched, moving away.

Tristan swore.

"She's in shock," Dr. Chase said, keeping her voice low and even. "Get me a blanket and a glass of water."

"We have to keep moving," the guard at the front said.

Dr. Chase ignored him. "Dara?"

Her voice was still echoing in Dara's mind and others were starting to leak through, becoming more agitated with the delay.

— wanted escort and now she won't move —

— can't believe Blanc and Clay —

Hell, she's sweet on the eye; I'd probably do her. But not