Kiss of a Dark Moon (17 page)

He went on as if she had not spoken, penetrating the wall she struggled to erect between him and his horrible words. “A dovenatu can assume the strengths of both humans and lycans.” Softly, he added, “Unfortunately, the dovenatu can also assume all the weaknesses, too. The flaws.”

Flaws
. The flaws of lycans were many. Horrific and numerous.

Opening her eyes, she asked sharply, “Meaning?”

“A dovenatu can be evil.”

“Can be?

“They possess free will. Like any human. It's possible that a dovenatu could be a scourge on mankind. And for that possibility, EFLA is determined that the prophecy never come to pass.”

The image of her mother as she had last seen her—the only way she remembered her: a monster who killed her husband, who tried to kill Kit and Gideon—flared through her mind. He was telling her she could give birth to one of those creatures? The very thing she hunted?
Never
.

He nodded. “But a dovenatu can be good, too. Free will, remember? They don't have to be like lycans.”

Good?
Nothing remotely similar to a lycan could ever be good. As far as she was concerned, a dovenatu would be as bad as a lycan. And she would never bring one of them into the world. No matter what he said. She would never let herself produce such a child. Not if she had to tear it from her womb herself.

A flash of heat seared her cheeks, scalding. Her pulse grew to a hammering beat at her neck, blood pounding loud as a drum in her ears. A sense of forbidding swept over her. She shook her head fiercely at his explanation. “I've never heard any of this before. You expect me to believe—”

“Kit, I know what I'm talking about,” he broke in, his voice hard, inflexible. His dark eyes scanned her face as swiftly and intently as a hawk.

She held his stare, her mouth drying. A sick premonition swept over her. The tiny hairs at her nape stood on end.

“How? How do you know?”

His eyes drilled into her, the darkness sinking into her very soul, grabbing her heart in a tight vise. “I know,” he repeated. “I know because I'm the very thing EFLA is so afraid you will bring into this world. I'm a dovenatu.”

N
o!” She shoved back from her chair, sending it toppling to the floor behind her.

Heat washed over her, blistering fire over her skin. Only her heart felt cold. Deadly cold. She'd slept with him, for God's sake! Her stomach churned. He had deceived her in a way she could never have fathomed.

Shaking her head, she said again, her voice a harsh whisper, “No.”

In that instant, she didn't know what she was denying. The existence of some prophetic hybrid species? Or that he was one of them.

Deciding not to take a chance, she stepped around her chair, her movements clumsy, almost drunken. “Get away from me.”

“It's true, Kit. Trust me. I know.” Rafe rose, following her, stalking her like a cat, his movements lithe, predatory. Hadn't she noticed before the way he handled himself? More animal than human?
Because he was
.

He was this
thing
he claimed to be—a dovenatu. A monster.

“Stay away from me.” She held out a hand as if to ward him off even as heat continued to wash over her.

His features hardened, marblelike and beautiful in their fierceness.

“Kit.” Her name fell softly from his lips, but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice, a ruthless glint to his eyes. As though he were feigning mildness in order to coax a wild animal near. She grimaced at the comparison.

Her mind worked feverishly, searching for logic. Strange, considering she had long known the world to be far from sane. Nothing was black and white. Gray colored everything. The sight of her mother—a beast one moment and a corpse the next—had taught her that.

And he was telling her he was
one of them
. A man she had slept with? A man who had brought her body such incredible pleasure?

No
.

Shaking her head savagely, she spun around, ready to flee him and the horrid reality he was shoving at her.

He caught her. A hard hand dropped on her shoulder and spun her around. She balled her hands into fists and pounded on his chest.

One arm snaked around her waist and slammed her close, trapping her fists between them.

“Stop it,” he growled.

She looked up into his face, gasping at the change in his dark eyes. She had not imagined it those times before: His eyes did not change to silver, but they did change. The darkness ebbing, the centers glowing like a candle's pale flame.

That wasn't the only change.

The lines along his face blurred for a split second, shifting, sharpening, hardening into an almost felinelike aspect. Not ugly. Not the monstrous appearance of a lycan during moonrise, just not human. Not mortal.

“Oh, God.” Her breath came fast and hard, serrated rasps on the air. She leaned back as far as she could in his arms.

“Easy,” he instructed, and she recognized his voice from that night in the motel. Thick and strangled. He had shifted then to this…this
thing
when he fought those lycans.

Easy? Easy?
A slow tremble eddied through her. She struggled to stave off her fast-rising panic.

He inhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment, and his face changed again, returned to its usual handsome mask. Familiar. Human.

Relief skittered through her, and her breath fell less harshly. Gradually, his arms loosened around her.

“I'll let you go, if you promise not to run.” He stared at her expectantly.

After a moment, she nodded, desperate to be free of his overpowering nearness.

He dropped her arms, and she stumbled back a step, rubbing her arms where he had gripped them.

She moistened her lips, eyeing him warily. “If you're a dovenatu, how can you work for EFLA?”

“Because they don't know,” he explained, still advancing. “Ironic, isn't it? They pay me to terminate descendants of the Marshan line. Because they fear the prophecy of the dovenatu. A prophecy that already exists. In me.”

“I don't get it. Why would you hunt your own kind? Well, essentially the Marshans are your own kind, right?” She moved backward as she spoke, trying to increase the space between them.

“In a way.” He followed her step for step. “Yes.”

Her back hit the door. She could go no farther. “So, why would you hunt Marshans?”

“I don't. I infiltrated EFLA to help descendants of the Marshan line from being butchered. I track Marshans with the assistance of EFLA in-house archivists. Then I explain to the targets what they are. Help them assume new identities and relocate.” He sighed. “I stage their deaths, leave no trail, then tell EFLA the job is done.”

Cocking his head to the side, he paused, dark eyes probing, gleaming in silent challenge as he lifted a tendril of hair off her cheek, rubbing it between his fingertips.

She stilled, like prey caught in a lion's grasp.

“I'm not a monster,” he whispered.

But he was. She had just seen that with her own eyes. And it wasn't even a full moon. If she had slept the last two nights, as he claimed, moonrise had come and gone.

She had no concept of dovenatus' limits…if they possessed any. But he had just proven he could shift at whim, that he was not bound by the moon. She had seen the change in his eyes. His face.

The only advantage hunters ever held over lycans was the fact that they shifted at moonrise. And only then. The rest of the month, their powers, while strong, were subdued. But he could shift at will. She could not wrap her mind around such power, the potential threat…

“I'm not a monster,” he repeated. “So you can stop looking at me like that.” He leaned in, his breath hotly fanning her cheek. He inhaled near her neck, like an animal savoring her scent. Goose bumps feathered her flesh, and her adrenaline kicked into high gear.

“How am I looking at you?” she asked.

“With fear.”

Resolve shot up her spine. Her fists knotted at her sides and she pulled her head back until it bumped the door. “I'm not afraid.”

And yet his dark eyes drew her in. She felt herself slipping, drowning in his dark gaze. She struggled against the mesmerizing effect, reminding herself what he was. Brethren to the beasts she hunted. Evil. Soulless. Only, staring at him, it was hard to remember that. Hard to believe.

She gave her head a hard shake. This must be how Gideon felt about Darius. Why he felt compelled to foster a relationship with the age-old lycan. Maybe she should not have judged Gideon too harshly, after all.

His lips twitched. “So proud,” he muttered. “I've been with EFLA for twelve years now.” All hint of a smile had disappeared from his mouth. “And I've never met a Marshan like you before.”

“How so?”

His chest rose on a deep breath, nearly brushing the front of her T-shirt, and she couldn't help wondering if he had kissed any of the others. Had there been some beautiful woman so grateful for his protection that she fell into his bed? Her gaze scanned his hard-edged face. Not that most women would need an excuse to fall into bed with him. She should know.

“No one ever gave me so much trouble. They're always a little reluctant to believe what I'm telling them. They don't even know lycans exist, remember? But once I've convinced them of the matter, they're eager to cooperate, eager to help themselves.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. Her pulse spiked at his touch. She swallowed, struggling to shield her reaction.

Eager?
“I'll bet.”

He continued as if she had not spoken, his thumb tracing a small circle on her cheek that left her breathless. “To do whatever it takes to help themselves.” This he uttered with a fair amount of accusation.

“Maybe things would have been different if you had been honest with me from the start,” she returned, indignation eddying through her in bitter waves.

“Doubtful. The reason I didn't tell you from the beginning is because I knew you would react this way. With all your biases in place. So damned distrustful…”

She pressed a hand to her chest. “I have a reason to distrust lycans—”

“I'm not a lycan,” he quickly countered. Something in his voice stopped her from arguing further. A menacing edge.

With the door at her back, the hard wall of his chest at her front, and his face so close to hers, she felt vulnerable, exposed.

Damnable heat smoldered through her, and she wondered if she suffered a fever, if she was, in fact, sick.

“You already know about lycans. You're a hunter.” He angled his head, staring at her so intently, so…strangely. “I never knew a woman like you could exist.”

Something in the way he said that, in the way he looked at her, sent a flutter through her belly. Warm and languid, she pressed her thighs together where she stood and willed herself not to feel. To keep a cool head and
think
.

She squirmed against the door, resisting touching any part of him. Inexplicably, she itched to tear off her large shirt, as if it added to her discomfort, chafing her overly sensitive skin. She squeezed her eyes shut in a long, tight blink, forcing herself to inhale a steadying breath. A mistake. The scent of him overwhelmed her. All male. Intoxicating.

“Kit.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes. He stared at her darkly, eyes fathomless, ageless. Ageless?

Then something he said penetrated. “Twelve years? You've been with EFLA for twelve years now?”

“Yes. I'll have to stage my death soon. Can't have them wondering why I never get any older.”

“How old are you?”

He hesitated a moment before answering. “One hundred and twelve.”

One hundred and twelve years old
.

She closed her eyes again. Nothing he had said before made her realize what he was more than that single statement.

“Your mother was of the Marshan line, then? Like me?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What did she do when—”

“When she gave birth to me and my brother?

“You have a brother?”

“We're twins.”

Two dovenatus? Two darkly handsome lost souls? She moistened her lips, asking again, “What did she do?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, dark eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Well, did she know it was a lycan who'd assaulted her? Did she know what you and your brother were?”

“When we came of age, it was clear we weren't like other boys. She knew then.”

“And…”

“And what?” he bit out, a muscle along his jaw jumping wildly. “She didn't poison our soup or throw us out with the garbage, if that's what you want to know. She loved us.”

“She must have been a strong woman,” she murmured, not meeting his gaze, unwilling to test his temper with her true thoughts.
She loved her cursed sons. So much that she set them free on the world. Damned selfish fool
.

Every lycan Kit had ever encountered flashed through her mind. Their grotesque appearance, their thirst for blood, their indiscriminating tastes. No one was safe. Man, woman, or child. Kit could not imagine allowing such a creature to exist. Blood relation or not.

Clearly she had not experienced a mother's devotion. Memories of her own mother were too vague, but Kit could never do as Rafe's mother had and overlook her children's monstrousness. A shiver raced through her. She wouldn't—not that she ever intended to be put to the test.

So she was a Marshan. That didn't mean she was doomed. Didn't mean she was like Rafe.

She took several gulps of breath, telling herself that it wasn't the end of her world. Being a descendant of the Marshan line didn't mean she was a lycan.

So she shared compatible DNA. So what? She just had to be sure she never let herself become impregnated by a lycan. She wasn't like Rafe's mother, some girl from a dead era who hadn't a clue about defending herself. She didn't even need to quit hunting. She could handle the situation. She had made it to twenty-six without bringing about the prophecy, and she exposed herself to lycans all the time.

Chin lifting, she vowed in an ugly sneer, “I won't be a vessel for some lycan. Don't worry about me. I can handle myself without giving birth to—”

“What?” The muscles along his jaw knotted. “Without giving birth to what?”

Him
. She thought it, but dared not speak it. The dangerous glint of light was back in his eyes again. For the barest second the contours of his face blurred, and she feared he would transform before her.

And she hated that fear. Hated the way her breath hitched, hated the way he made her feel like a lost girl again, weak and small, witnessing her mother transform into a nightmarish creature.

“Me, you mean,” he growled. “You think I'm a monster, Kit. Just say it.”