Hunting Moon (Decorah Security Series, Book #11): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel (14 page)

Then what? He’d be on the run for the rest of his life unless he could find some wealthy patron who could protect him.

And what about his standing? If word got out about this failure, his reputation was in the toilet. But did that matter if he could save his own life—then start again? Maybe under another name. It would take time, but he’d done it once and he could do it again.

Yes, perhaps that was the best approach. Freemont had no way of knowing about the girl’s escape yet—unless someone back at the sanatorium was a spy.

He shuddered. He’d thought of that before and dismissed the notion. Now he knew it could be a crucial obstacle.

oOo

Brand worked his way around in back of the doctor. He could see the man moving away from the cliff edge, probably wishing he’d come in a car so that he could jump inside and lock the doors. The guy was a coward. And a bully. He apparently enjoyed inflicting mental pain, as long as he knew nobody was going to interfere with his plans—or turn the tables on him.

Brand stalked him as he moved away from the scene of the carnage. Earlier he had flirted with the idea of sparing the man’s life so that he could get some answers from him. But Brand had been fighting the stalkers on his own for what seemed like hours, and his energy reserves were dwindling. Better to finish this quickly so that he could get back to Tory

“Kimmel, you’re with me,” the doctor called out,

Nobody answered, and Brand figured he was talking to the guard who had taken off a few minutes ago.

The doctor finally stopped shouting, pulled a walkie-talkie out of his pocket and spoke into the instrument.

“Smith, report.”

There was no answer until the doctor got to Patrick.

“Sir?”

“Where are you?”

“A half mile away, I think.”

“Get back here.”

“Yes sir.”

The doctor found a large tree and pressed his back against the bark, probably to keep himself upright. It was tempting for Brand to prolong his fear, but the guy named Patrick was heading back.

Brand circled around in front of the doctor. As the man sensed movement in front of him, he lifted his head, spotted a large gray form facing him, and gasped in shock and dismay.

Their eyes met, and the doctor’s expression made Brand think of a character in a horror movie who realizes he’s going to be the next victim. Still, he had enough guts to speak—although he couldn’t quite hold his voice steady.

“Who are you? What are you?”

Brand bared his teeth in a low snarl.

“You understand me?”

Brand nodded his head.

“Are you . . .” The doctor paused as though the very question was too much to cope with. Finally he finished, “Are you the man who . . . took Tory away.”

Again Brand nodded.

The doctor caught his breath. Then he finally remembered that he had a gun in his hand and raised his arm, but he looked like the weapon was as comfortable in his grip as if he’d been holding a wiggling snake.

Brand moved in a flash of motion, dodging to the side, then charged forward, taking his quarry down from the left, then going for a killing wound to the throat. The man tried to call out. Brand sank his teeth in, just as a bullet struck a few feet away.

It must be Patrick. Shit, the guy had come back on the double. But the guard couldn’t take a close shot without risking hitting his boss. Instead he was trying to scare the beast away.

Good luck with that.

oOo

For the second time during the eternity while Tory had been waiting on the ledge, the sound of a gunshot shattered the night.

She jumped up, every muscle in her body tense.

She wanted to scream Brand’s name. She wanted to climb up the cliff again and find out what had just happened. But she knew she couldn’t make herself a problem for him. She had to stay where she was.

Almost unable to cope with the agony of waiting, she paced back and forth on the ledge, her hands balled into fists as she struggled to keep herself from going insane.

Dr. Son of a Bitch had tried to do that. His methods were a lot less successful than this torture.

A sound startled her, and she realized it was the chirp of the phone Brand had left with her. It wasn’t loud, but it could give her away.

Quickly she pressed the receive button.

“Brand?” a voice asked.

“No. This is Tory,” she answered, keeping her voice low.

The tone of the person on the other end of the line turned sharp. “Where is Brand?”

“He’s going after the men who were following us.”

“And where are you?”

“He left me on a ledge down the side of a cliff.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“I don’t know,” she answered in frustration. “Maybe for hours. Or maybe not that long. I can’t tell.”

“Okay. Give him a message. We’re on our way, but the rain has delayed us. It could be several hours before we reach your location.”

“Yes, all right.”

“Have him call in as soon as he can.”

“Yes.”

The connection snapped off, and she stared at the phone, thinking that the man on the other end of the line might not have trusted the information she was giving him.

oOo

Brand grabbed the man’s collar and dragged him into the woods, using him as cover while he fled. He dropped the limp body as he reached heavy underbrush and faded into the trees. Several bullets followed him, but it was clear that the man had no idea of his target and was simply shooting blind.

The guard gave up, and Brand heard a walkie-talkie crackle.

“This is Patrick. We have a situation here. The wolf got Raymond. I assume the doctor’s dead.” The man raised his voice as he said again, “I repeat, I think the doctor’s dead. “

One man answered. The one named Kimmel who had been on his way out of there.

“That’s it? Nobody else?” Patrick asked.

None of the rest made their presence known.

“Key in on my location,” Patrick said, backing up against a tree near where the doctor had stood and moving his gun from side to side in a two-handed grip.

Brand watched as Kimmel came plodding out of the forest.

“It’s just you and me?” Making no mention that he’d been about to clear out.

“Yeah.”

“And you saw what happened to the doctor?

“Yeah, that wolf I saw the other night came back. It was chewing on Raymond when I got here, but I couldn’t take a shot with the animal right on top of him. It got away.” He swallowed hard. “Well, it dragged Raymond with him. Like it knew to use him for cover.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No.” Patrick looked around. “What about the intruder and the girl?”

“Screw them. Let’s get the hell back to the loony bin. The doctor’s dead. He’s the one who wanted the girl.”

“Yeah.”

“We can collect our stuff and see what else we can find. Or we can just leave.”

“We gonna take the doctor’s body?”

“Why should we?”

“Just asking.”

“Without Smith, do we know which way to go?”

“Yeah,” Kimmel answered. “Approximately.”

They were still discussing the best route to take as they headed toward the parking area where Brand’s car had met its unexpected fate.

As he watched them disappear, he wanted to lift his face to the night sky and howl, but he stifled the impulse because he knew Tory would ask him about the wolf.

He waited to make sure they hadn’t changed their minds, then headed back to the spot where he had left his clothing. Behind the same tree, he reversed the process, transforming from wolf to man. His wet clothes lay on the leaves in a sodden heap. He grimaced as he pulled on the shirt, then he went back to one of the men he’d killed, stripped off the man’s pants and put them on. They were wet, but not as wet as the ones he’d discarded.

After getting dressed, he wondered what someone was going to think when they came upon this scene of carnage, Brand shook his head. He had no tools to bury these guys. The best he could hope for was that a predator would finish what he’d started. It was a cynical thought, but he hadn’t been the cause of the fight. And he hadn’t killed any men for sport. Only to protect his mate.

His mate.

She was his, and he wanted to start making plans for the future. But he knew that would have to wait.

He’d like to think she was out of danger now. But he couldn’t say that for certain. With the boss gone, the guards would have no reason to go after her—or to stick around the sanatorium. But someone had hired the doctor to get information out of a woman who had witnessed a murder.

Maybe Tory would have a clue about what it was. And maybe she would be as deeply in the dark as Brand was himself. But he knew she wouldn’t really be safe until they figured out why she’d been brought to the Refuge—which meant starting with Raymond’s records.

He stopped at a stream and washed his face, then rinsed out his mouth and spit, washing away the taste of blood. It didn’t bother him, but he knew Tory would wonder why he’d gotten blood in his mouth.

He began working on the story he was going to spin her as he headed cautiously back to the drop-off.

Yeah, what exactly was he going to tell her? That he’d ripped out the throats of the guys in the search party? He was sure she was going to love that. And as he went back over the past few hours in his mind, he didn’t like it much either. It had been a savage night’s work. But it had been his only option if he was going to save her.

He’d been in a kill or be killed situation. And if he’d been taken out, his mate would have been in a world of trouble.

“His mate.” This time, he said the words aloud, feeling a surge of wonder as he let the reality sink in.

With an almost giddy anticipation, he moved along the cliff to the ledge where he had left her.

From the ledge on the cliff’s face, Tory strained her ears. She’d heard nothing for a long time. Now she detected something. It sounded like a person or an animal moving along the edge of the drop-off again.

Was it Brand? Or was it one of the security guards who had been hunting them all night. She’d taken care of one of them; now she thought she didn’t have the strength to climb up the rope and do it another time.

Brand, Brand Marshall,
she shouted inside her mind, praying that it was him.

She couldn’t call out; all she could do was pick up a grapefruit-sized rock and clutch it in her hand, her breath shallow as she waited for disaster.

“It’s me.”

The voice startled her, and she realized she hadn’t dared to hope that he would make it back.

“Brand. Thank God.” The rock she was holding clattered to the ledge.

She saw him come down the rope, first his legs, then the rest of his body. When he landed on the stone surface, she ran to him, clasping him in her arms.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes. Are you?”

“Fine.”

As he held her, his mouth lowered to cover hers for a long hot kiss.

“What happened up there?” she asked when the kiss broke.

“I picked them off one by one, until the two guards who were left figured it was better to cut their losses and run.”

“What about Raymond?”

“He’s dead.”

She caught her breath. “I heard shots. Did you shoot him?”

“No, that was a couple of his men shooting at me.”

“But you’re okay?” she asked, needing reassurance as she ran her hands up and down his arms.

“Yes.”

“You fought them?”

“Yes, but I had to be silent, so they wouldn’t know what was happening.” He hesitated for a moment, then went on. “I cut the doctor’s throat—like I did some of the others.”

She swallowed hard, trying to picture it. “You . . . eliminated all of them with a knife?”

“Mostly. I think one slipped and went over the edge of the cliff.”

“I pulled him over,” she whispered and heard him catch his breath.

“You did?”

“He was coming along the edge. I was afraid he’d see the rope and call the others. He did see it, but I had already climbed up and was waiting for him. I grabbed his leg and yanked him off balance.”

He stared at her.

“You think I shouldn’t have killed him” she whispered.

“Of course you should. And I think that was brave as hell.”

She gave a little nod.

“But you’re okay?” he asked urgently.

“Physically. Mentally—not so much. I never thought I’d kill anybody.”

“You did what you had to—to save yourself.”

She had started to shake in reaction, and he stroked her and kissed her, murmuring reassuring words until she felt more in control.

He eased her down, and they both sat with their backs against the rock wall.

“How did you get so many of them?” she asked in a thin voice.

“They spread out to search for us. I started picking them off.” He made a low sound. “I can operate pretty much like a ghost when I have to.”

“Like the way you got into the compound.”

Before either of them could say more, the phone gave a low chime, and Tory startled.

“Oh! I forgot. Someone from . . . Decorah Security called you. They didn’t like it that you weren’t here. They told me to tell you to call.”

When she handed him the instrument, he pressed the talk icon.

“This is Brand.”

Tory couldn’t hear the voice on the other end of the line.

“No, I’m fine.” He glanced at her. “I’ll give you the details later.”

Again, the other person spoke.

“Yeah, there are bodies. . . That would probably be best.”

Again he listened for several moments.

“I understand. We’re on a ledge at a place where there’s a drop-off. We’ll wait here for you. When you reach the area, we can climb up.”

He clicked off, and turned to her. “The rain delayed them.”

“They told me.”

He looked up at the overhanging rock. “This is as good a place as any to wait. It’s dry and nobody’s likely to stumble on us here.”

She watched as he reached into the pack and brought out a thin blanket which he draped around her shoulders. It was surprisingly warm.

“I didn’t even know that was in there.”

“It will help now.”

“You too.” She pulled at the end so it reached around him, and they sat together.

“Thank you,” she murmured, “for getting me away from Dr. Son of a Bitch.”

She saw his face harden.

“Son of a Bitch is right. If I’d tried to imagine the scenario back at that funny farm, I couldn’t have come up with anything like it in a thousand years. Thank God I found you at that place.”

Everything had happened so fast that they’d barely had a chance to talk. Well, they could have done it on the escape route if she hadn’t needed all her energy for putting one foot in front of the other. Now she bubbled with questions.

“What were you doing up here?” she asked.

“I was taking a break from work, if you can believe that.”

“Why?”

“I was restless. I felt like I had to get away for a while, and I picked this area for a camping trip. My dad and I had been up here when I was a teenager, and I liked the park.”

“That’s right. You told the guy on the phone that we’re in a park?”

“Yes, the sanatorium is on the edge of the Finger Lakes National Forest.”

“Oh.” She shuddered. “I don’t want to think about the sanatorium. Not now.”

“You’ll have to . . .”

“Not now,” she said again, turning to him and pressing her lips to his. “I want to forget about it for a little while. Please.”

“I have to keep guard,” he said in a gritty voice.

“We’re safe.”

“I’ll be sure of that when my friends get here.”

Needing to be as close to him as she could get, she switched her position, straddling his lap, the intimacy making it very clear what she wanted.

He made a strangled sound. “Don’t.”

“You don’t want to?” she asked, moving against the erection that had sprung up as she settled onto him.

“Of course I do. But this isn’t a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“For the reasons I gave you,” Brand managed to say. He was dizzy with desire, and suddenly all he could think of was claiming this woman for his own. But he couldn’t have what he wanted—not yet.

Still, when she leaned forward to kiss him, it was impossible not to respond. He ran his hands up and down her back, then slipped them under the back of her knit shirt. When he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra, he felt jolt of need.

“Ah, God, Tory.”

“I’m right here,” she answered with a little gasp.

He brought his hands around, taking the weight of her breasts in his palms, entranced by the feel of her. When he skimmed his thumbs across her swollen nipples, he heard her drag in a strangled breath.

“That’s so good.”

It was for him too. He had never wanted a woman more and never been more aware that he couldn’t have her—not until he had brought her to safety.

But he couldn’t stop himself from touching her, kissing her, loving the small sounds of pleasure she made.

She was his mate, even if she didn’t know it yet. He understood that without rational thought. They had spent only hours together, but he knew they would be together for the rest of their lives—unless she was too afraid to accept him.

That thought sent a wave of desperation through him. Wanting her to know how good it would be between them, he slipped his tongue into her mouth and was gratified by her heated response. The need to bind her to him almost wiped away his ability to think about anything besides mating with her. She was his, and he wanted her to know it.

At the same time, in some corner of his brain, he realized that he had to stop. This was not the time and place for the ultimate intimacy.

But was it possible to stop when the blood coursing through his veins felt like it would burn him from the inside out?

The need for her tore and clawed at him, but he had to master it. Teeth gritted, he pulled his hands away from her breasts and pressed them to the hard stone below his body. Immediately, her eyes snapped open, and she gave him an uncertain look.

“Brand?”

As she asked the question, she moved her sex against his erection, driving him to the edge of insanity. Still, when she reached for his belt buckle, he stopped her.

“Don’t.”

“You don’t want to?”

“You know I do.”

“But what?”

“We can’t. Not here. Not now.”

Ignoring the sharpness of his need for release, he shifted her farther down onto his legs, relieving a little of the pressure building inside his body. But it was impossible to separate himself from her completely. Could a werewolf bind his mate to himself without the two of them having intercourse?

Perhaps that was what he hoped when he reached his hand into the front of her sweatpants and panties and found the folds of her sex. She was slick and wet for him, and he burned to drag her pants off—and his.

Instead he caressed her intimately, as possessive emotions leaped inside him.

He dipped his finger inside her, then stroked up to her clit, learning what felt best to her as he gave her pleasure.

Her hips moved as she thrust herself against his hand and away, and he drank in every subtle shift of her body and every sound she made.

“Brand.”

“I have you.”

He felt her movements become more urgent, heard her cry out as he moved his hand faster, feeling small convulsions against his fingers, convulsions that traveled outward, making her body shudder. She went limp against him, her head dropping to his shoulder.

Knowing he had given her so much pleasure sent a wave of satisfaction through him.

Her eyes blinked open, and she raised her head, staring at him, looking confused and embarrassed.

She flushed. “I . . . shouldn’t have done that.”

He laughed. “Did I give you a choice?”

The flush deepened. “There’s always a choice.”

“Right. And I wanted to do what I could with you—for now.”

“But . . . what about you?”

“I have to make sure we stay safe.”

“And I tempted you almost beyond endurance.”

“Almost.”

He was glad she didn’t know what it cost him to lift her off his lap. Still fighting the needs coursing through him, he pulled the blanket around her shoulders and settled her against himself again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be. You’ve just been through a horrible ordeal, and that was the first taste of the pleasure I’m going to give you to wipe the bad stuff away.”

“Oh, Brand. I’d still be back at that horrible place if you hadn’t found me.”

He pressed his lips against her hair, drinking in her scent as he settled her head on his shoulder. “Try to rest.”

“You, too.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into him, but neither one of them was really relaxed—for different reasons.

Still, he was glad he had taken a step in binding her to him.

“I want . . .”

“What?” he asked.

“I said that out loud?”

“Yes.”

“I want to be with you,” she answered lamely.

“You are with me.”

“I mean . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“If you mean forever, you have me for as long as you want me,” he answered, hearing the gritty tone of his own voice.

She drew in a quick breath, turning her head so she could meet his gaze. “You hardly know me. You never would have met me if . . .”

He held his breath, waiting to hear the end of the sentence.

“If you hadn’t stumbled on that asylum—and believed that I wasn’t crazy. I mean, didn’t I seem . . . screwed up?”

“I heard them talking. I knew you were their captive—and that something weird was going on. But it wasn’t your fault.”

He stroked his hands up and down her arms, raising goose bumps on her skin.

“What kind of man would do what you did for me?” she asked in a small voice.

“Anyone with an ounce of moral fiber.”

She raised her head. “I don’t want to think about Dr. Son of a Bitch. Tell me stuff about yourself. Where did you grow up? Did you have a big family?”

That seemed like an easy question. At least part of it.

“I grew up on a farm in Howard County, Maryland. My family raised sheep, and my dad repaired machinery for other farmers. We did a lot of outdoor stuff.”