Kiss of a Dark Moon (4 page)

R
afe settled back in his seat, watching the house he knew belonged to Gideon March. For whatever reason, Kit had been staying there for the last two nights. There was no sign of Gideon March or his wife, Claire—a woman who, sources claimed, had been infected by a lycan a little over two years ago. A death warrant to most, but, unbelievable as he found it, Gideon March had helped her in tracking and killing the alpha of her pack and breaking the curse before she shifted and fed, damning her.

The narrow red-brick two-story sat still and silent in the warm night, the leaves of the large oak in the front yard rustling in the breeze. Its roots, thick and gnarled, protruded from the green lawn like bumpy tentacles. The yard was large, like its neighbors, the grass verdant from the muggy Houston climate.

In the far distance, someone had fired up a grill. Charcoal burned on the air, the scent smoky, pungent in Rafe's nose. He inhaled harder, guessing fajitas were on the menu.

One by one the house's lights turned off, first the front living room, then the porch light. Minutes later, the silhouette of a woman appeared in an upstairs window. His heart raced, all his senses kicking into high gear as he studied the slight shadow as it drifted before the window. The blood rushed in his veins and Kit March's face flashed across his mind. The wavy blond hair framing her face had looked soft as a child's, adding to her whimsical, otherworldly appearance. Her elfin features reminded him of the tales of sprites and fairies his mother had whispered him to sleep with years ago.

His brother, Sebastian, almost always fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, but Rafe used to lay awake, his mother's soft voice weaving a spell about him, making him believe in romance. In the power of love. That good always defeated evil. Because it was right. Because it
should
. He had believed in such nonsense until the summer of his twelfth year. The summer his mother had been forced to reveal the truth.

The shadow moved from the window, and seconds later the light vanished like a candle snuffed out.

Kit March was not what he'd expected. Her vanilla scent still swirled around him, wrapping him in a seductive fog.

Hell, he had not really thought about her as a person. He had never thought of
any
of them as individuals. Damned inconvenient to start doing so now. They were a job. A mission he dispatched with cold precision. They departed from his life almost as quickly as they entered it. He made certain of that. He had to. But for some reason, he felt in no rush to get rid of Kit March. Something stopped him from closing in on her now—while she slept, at her most vulnerable. She intrigued him, and he wanted to know more about her.

He stared up at the darkened room, the unmoving blinds covering the window. Ten thirty and she was already in bed? Alone.

He thought about the date she had left at the restaurant. Sacrificed in pursuit of a kill. A story he knew well. He had lived it for years. The job came first. Always.

Still, he couldn't imagine her suffering an empty bed. Her small size might make her look delicate and subdued, but a moment in her company had dispelled that notion. She was tightly wound, a fireball of energy, with green eyes that gleamed with light, like a shock of sunshine on dew-dappled grass. Passion hummed through her.

Watching her in action tonight, he'd seen that she could handle herself. And yet she walked a dangerous line. Strong women fell victim to lycans all the time. One slip and she could become a lycan's plaything. A risk he could not take. For her sake—and the world's.

With that thought, he dragged a hand over his jaw, determined to forget how she intrigued him, and committed to remembering his purpose.

Sebastian would never let a pretty face distract him. In many ways, his brother was stronger than he.

Rafe drew a deep breath. He would convince Kit March and her brother to give up this hunting business and lead a quiet life. A safe life away from NODEAL, EFLA, and cities where concentrated populations of lycans thrived. And if she refused…

Make no mistake. He would do what he had to do.

A subtle change in the air made him sit straighter in the seat. He scanned the neighborhood, the house, the window of the room where she slept. The skin of his face grew tight and itchy as awareness slid over him with the insidiousness of creeping fog.

He was no longer alone on the street.

 

She moved silently over the dark street, walking a brisk, determined line to the parked vehicle, ready to tell whoever lurked there to get the hell off her street.

She kept her gun tucked at her side, close to her bare thigh, all the while scanning the street, making sure none of Gideon's neighbors were out and about.

He lived in an older, more established neighborhood in Houston's university section. Most of the residents were elderly. Quiet and retiring, in-bed-by-nine types. Still, it wouldn't do to frighten some blue-haired old lady out walking her dog.

Finger poised over her trigger, she stopped at the driver's-side window and found the seat…empty.

The hair on her nape tingled. She pivoted, gun clasped tightly in both hands.

“Looking for me?”

Kit spun around, leveling her gun squarely on Rafe Santiago. “You.”

He swiped the gun out of her hand. She reacted, throwing a punch. He caught her fist in his hand the moment before her knuckles made contact with his face.

“You need to work on your approach. I heard you coming like a herd of elephants.”

“I wasn't going for discretion,” she bit out, struggling to wrench her fist free of his bruising grip. “I came out here to tell you to leave me the hell alone. Take your stakeout somewhere else.”

“That's not likely to happen.” His fingers tightened around her hand. Hard enough to make her wince.

“No?” She cocked her head to the side and gave up on freeing her hand. Instead, she threw her head forward and crashed it into his face, willing to endure the headache, knowing he would suffer more.

He dropped his hold on her fist.

She jumped back a step and backhanded him across the face. The sharp sound cracked through the air.

His head snapped back, but he did not so much as stagger from the blow.

She waited, balanced on the balls of her feet, watching as he rolled his head around to face her once again, blood trickling from his nose.

She stifled a pang of guilt. Remorse was weakness, and she couldn't afford to be weak.

So he wasn't her standard target. Even mortal, he was still a pain in her ass, and needed to be dealt with.

Smiling, he wiped the blood away with the back of his hand, staring at it for a moment before licking it clean.

Her stomach clenched at the act. So primitive, so male.

“Impressive. What else have you got?”

“Oh, there's more where that came from.”

“Let's see it then,” he invited, with annoying calm, beckoning her with a mocking wave of his hand.

Irritation zipped through her, feeding her a shot of needed adrenaline.

She came at him, taking a quick jab at his face.

He blocked her fist, smiling that arrogant grin.

Growling, she came at him again. And again.

Each time, he either ducked or blocked her. They moved off the street into a yard. A dog barked somewhere nearby, its frenzied yaps imitating her every strike and punch.

After several more attempts, she paused, panting from both exertion and fury.

Oh, he was good. Her eyes narrowed on him.

He cocked an eyebrow, waiting.
Waiting
.

He was toying with her! Blocking all her blows, but never coming at her or trying to hit her.

“Fight back,” she snarled, diving at him.

He ducked and circled her. “I would hate to bruise your face.” Laughter gleamed in his dark eyes, which shone down at her in the night.

“Don't hold back! Fight, dammit. Fight! It doesn't matter that I'm a woman.”

“No?”

She charged him with an angry bellow, swinging wildly.

He stepped to the side. Before she knew what had happened, he gripped her arm behind her back. Propelling her forward, he slammed her against a tree. Her cheek ground into rough bark.

“Watch your anger,” he advised.

“Go to hell!” She kicked behind her, digging her heel into his shin.

He tightened his hold on her arm almost to the point of pain. “Your temper works against you.”

“There you go,” she spat out, trying to look around at his face. “I knew you had it in you. Knew you could hurt a woman. Nice play at chivalry, though.”

He pressed his body against her back, every hard line of him sinking against her softness. His hold on her arm loosened.

“I'll give it you. You are pretty tough.” His breath feathered her ear. She shivered, jerking as he brushed a hair off the side of her face. “For a woman,” he added.

“For a man,” she flung back, heat licking her cheeks, indignation firing through her.

“I suppose,” he agreed. “Most men would find you a force to reckon with.”

But not
him
? That was his implication. And it burned a bilious trail down her throat.
I'll show you
.

Swallowing her anger, she let herself relax, soften. Thrusting her hips back, she subtly brushed herself against him.

“Most men do,” she agreed, dropping her voice in pitch, nearly choking on the provocative words.

His breath caught behind her, the sharp sound rising the tiny hairs on her nape. He released her arm, and she brought it around, splaying her palm against the trunk. She rubbed her ass against his hardness.

She smiled as he pushed himself against her. Then her smile slipped when she felt a certain hardness grind into her ass. Her belly tightened at the feel of him there.

Before things got too far out of hand, she rolled herself around, her back against the tree.

He remained as close as ever, a wall of heat flush against her, staring deeply into her eyes, unsmiling. The hard ridge of him prodded her belly.

“Is this what you do when you're in a tough jam? Tease and give a guy a hard-on?” The centers of his dark eyes glowed brightly.

No. She'd never been in such a bad scrape that she felt the need to use her body. Never before him, anyway.

His gaze slid down. She followed his eyes, not realizing until she felt his hand on her breast that he meant to touch her. He rolled her nipple through her T-shirt, squeezing it until it grew hard and distended.

She gasped at the perfect pain of it. Her belly clenched, and she grew wet. Shifting her legs in attempt to ease the ache between her thighs, she bit her lip to stop from crying out.

“How far would you go, Kit March? Hmm?”

That light at the centers of his eyes intensified as he worked his fingers harder over her nipple. A knot grew in her belly, twisting and tightening. A cry escaped from between her teeth.

He pressed his mouth to her neck, breathing warm air over her flesh. “I, for one, would be very interested to know.”

She lifted a hand to cling to his arm. “Please,” she gasped, fingers digging into his hard bicep. This was crazy.

“Please what?”

Rip off my clothes. Put your mouth where your hand is. Take me. Pound into me right here against the neighbor's tree.

“Stop,” she hissed as he turned his attention to her other aching, neglected nipple. His fingers rolled it into a hard, tight bud. “I said stop!”

And then he was gone. His heat. His marvelous hands.
Him
.

She blinked. Gone. Vanished, it seemed.

His hand, his wicked touch on her breasts. As abruptly as it had begun, it was over.

She blinked again. Breath coming fast and hard, she moved away from the tree. Crossing her arms over her chest, she surveyed the neighborhood, craning her neck and looking all around. Nothing. No sign of him.

A humid breeze shook the trees as she stepped out of the neighbor's yard and into the street.

She squeezed her arms tighter over her throbbing breasts, trying to erase his touch. No use. She still tingled and ached, wanted to take her own hands to herself in a simulation of what he had done to her.

His Hummer sat unmoving along the curb, but he was nowhere to be seen. She strained her ears, listening for him, but heard nothing. No sound of running feet.

The night hummed around her, alive. She glanced up at the moon. Almost full. Only a sliver remained. Despite the evening's heat, she shivered. Bending, she scooped up her gun from the street.

How could he have just disappeared?

She eyed a dark line of nearby shrubs for several moments before returning to the house.