Marked by Moonlight (21 page)

“Finished?” he asked.

She inspected the empty pizza box on the bed before nodding.

“Good.” He swiped the pizza boxes off the bed with one arm and tossed her on her back.

“Gideon!” She laughed up at him, a rich, throaty sound that rippled through the air and wrapped silken chains around his heart.

Holding her face in his hands, he stared down solemnly at her. “I've never heard you laugh.” His thumbs stroked her finely arched brows almost tenderly. “Not truly.”

“I haven't had a reason lately.”

He frowned, not liking the reminder of all that was wrong, of all that stood between them.

“Until you,” she added, gazing at his mouth. Her fingertips traced its curve, almost as if she wished to erase the frown from his face.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “It feels good.”

“It sounds good,” he whispered, tugging her hand away so that he could kiss her deeply. An emotion very much like satisfaction tightened his throat at the sinuous way she arched against him. Satisfaction…and something else.

He realized he hadn't felt this good in a long while either. And Claire was the reason.

 

The sound was soft, barely discernible—just a click. With her heightened senses, it might as well have been a foghorn blaring in her ears for all that it jarred her awake, pulling her from Gideon's warm arms and a comfortable slumber.

Someone else was in the room with them.

Her senses hummed with awareness, but she waited silently, eyes closed. The wood floor creaked close beside her. Too close. Her eyes flew open, blinking rapidly at the black hole floating directly in front of her eyes. A gun barrel. And beyond it, a grim face of stone. Cooper.

Claire eyed him. Dark haired. Dark eyed. Thin, ruthless lips set in a narrow face. He gripped the gun with familiarity, like it was an extension of his arm. Not an ounce of softness detectable anywhere. There would be no reasoning with him. No pleading. He wanted her dead.

Funny. She would have willingly placed herself before his gun last night to spare Gideon. But not now. Things had changed. She had changed. Even if she had only a few more days, those were days she could spend with Gideon.

“Gideon.” She tapped the chest beneath her cheek with her fingers.

His chest moved beneath her cheek, alerting her to the fact that he was already awake.

“Put the gun down, Cooper,” he said quietly.

Claire didn't breathe, didn't move. Her fingers curled around Gideon's bicep.

“Point that gun somewhere else.” Gideon's voice lifted, rumbling beneath her ear, the command unmistakable.

Cooper glowered at her like she was something dirty on the bottom of his shoe. She self-consciously pulled the bedding higher to cover her nudity.

“Could have seen this coming with other agents.” Cooper's cold gaze cut to Gideon. “But never you.”

“She hasn't shifted yet. Hasn't taken a life. She's still got a chance. We can save her.” His hand gripped her shoulder, more to reassure him, or herself, she couldn't guess.

Cooper gave a bitter laugh. “What chance?” His gaze swept over her, cold as winter sleet. She tightened her hold on the sheets, pulling them to her neck. One look in those eyes told her this man wasn't interested in saving her. No matter what Gideon said in her defense.

Cooper frowned thoughtfully. “I had plans for you, Gideon. Saw you taking over after me. Just never would have pegged you—” He paused to shake his head fiercely. “You seemed impervious to a pretty piece of ass. Guess I was wrong. Hope she was good.”

A growl rumbled from deep inside Gideon's chest. He tucked her more closely against him. So tight she could hardly draw air. It suddenly hit her that he was trying to make it impossible for Cooper to get a clear shot at her. At least not without risk to himself.

“You're not killing her,” Gideon announced.

“Gonna stop me, Gid?”

“If I have to.”

She looked between the two men, her chest tight and hurting as if a heavy weight had been placed upon it. They had a long history. They were more than friends. Almost family. Claire couldn't come between them.

Gideon tried again, saying, “If you would listen—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly. You've lost your edge. Too busy thinking with your cock.” His hard stare swung back to Claire. “Move away from her.”

“No.” The single word fell into the charged air, a gauntlet tossed down.

Her gaze met Cooper's over the barrel of the gun and she read cold-blooded determination in the dark depths. He wouldn't stop until she was dead. Even if it meant hurting Gideon. The hairs on her nape stood. She couldn't let that happen.

Cooper widened his stance and trained his gun on what he could see of her. His gaze swung to Gideon. “Move out of the way, or I'll shoot the silver-eyed bitch dead in your arms.”

He meant it. She knew it just as she knew Gideon wouldn't budge from her side. If anything, he would shield her and take the bullet himself. She recognized that in the sudden way he tensed, his muscles taut like a bowstring.

Knowing what she had to do, she drew a deep breath, surged to her feet, and tossed the comforter over Cooper's head.

Gideon took advantage of the opportunity and tackled Cooper to the floor, locking his arms around him and pinning him down. His gaze met hers over the kicking and thrashing comforter.

“Go! Take my Jeep!” His eyes burned green fire. “Go!”

She hesitated, the pounding of her heart loud in her ears.

“Gideon,” she whispered. “I…”

At that moment Cooper heaved violently beneath him and Gideon roared, “Go! Get the hell out of here!”

Naked, she fled downstairs, through the living room, and into the kitchen. Something crashed upstairs, sounds of the battle Gideon waged on her behalf. Heart hammering, she danced in place near the door before grabbing Gideon's jacket and slipping it over her nakedness. Snatching his keys off the table, she darted out the back door and into the yard.

In the fading glow of dusk, she faltered and looked over her shoulder. She bit down hard on her lip, loath to abandon Gideon. No matter that he ordered her to go, no matter that she risked a silver bullet if she stayed, she worried about what Cooper would do to him.

The hairs on her nape tingled, a warning that was growing all too familiar.

She swung around just as twin bands of muscle locked around her, hauling her off her feet and sealing her in. Her eyes shot up to meet a pewter gaze and her stomach pitched. Opening her mouth, Claire screamed.

Dogs are destined to seek out other dogs for companionship.

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

G
ideon ducked Cooper's swinging fist and charged, throwing his shoulder into his middle and sending them both crashing to the floor. They rolled, jabbing their fists against each other, knocking into furniture and banging into walls.

Suddenly, Claire's scream shattered the evening air.

Gideon froze. His first fear was that Cooper had brought reinforcements, other NODEAL agents.

He flew off Cooper and sprang to the window overlooking the backyard in time to see Claire flung over the shoulder of the lycan from the alley last night. Darius. He would rather he looked down at a yard full of agents.

“Claire!” he shouted through the glass, fingers clenching the window's wood frame.

At Gideon's shout, the bastard looked up, winked, and gave Claire's bottom a little pat.

A growl rumbled low in Gideon's throat. Without thinking, he plunged his fist through the window, oblivious to the pain, oblivious to the thick blood streaming down his knuckles in warm rivulets. Shoving past Cooper, he took off downstairs.

By the time he arrived outside, the yard was empty. A car sounded in the distance. He ran alongside the house to the front yard, where a metallic SUV pulled away from the curb and peeled down the street. Gideon ran, legs and arms pumping. Heedless of his nudity, of the stinging smack of his bare feet on hot asphalt, he sprinted down the middle of the street, trying to read the license plate. The vehicle swerved around the corner, tires squealing, before he could note the numbers.

“Claire!” Panting, he skidded to a halt in the middle of the street. Indifferent to the setting sun warming his nude body, he stared blindly ahead. His hands sliced through his hair, clutching the shaggy locks at the back of his head until he came close to ripping them out by the roots. Throwing back his head, he hollered at the sky.

He fucked up
.

Claire was gone. In the hands of a lycan who would put her through God knew what. And in five days, she would shift. She would kill and feed.

He ran his hands over his face roughly. Claire had been right last night. He should have simply let her pull the trigger. His own desire, his selfish need for her had stopped him, sentencing her to God knew how many lifetimes as a lycan—a veritable hell on earth. And if the day arrived when some other agent did what he failed to do and actually destroyed her—she would face an eternity of damnation.

The sound of his name came to him from far away. He turned to see Cooper standing on the curb, one hand pressed against his rapidly swelling split lip. “You're naked, man.” With a grimace of disgust on his face, Cooper gestured to the house. “And bleeding. Come inside before your neighbors call the precinct.”

Gideon inspected his hand and numbly noted the blood trickling down his fingers to the street. Dropping his hand, he marched past Cooper, cutting through the lawn still warm from the day's relentless sun. “Go to hell.”

Cooper followed. “You know, I'm the one who should be angry here.”

Gideon yanked the back door open and stalked inside, going straight for the bottle of whiskey on the pantry's bottom shelf. “Put it in a letter.”

“How about putting some clothes on?”

Gideon glanced down at himself.

“Probably need stitches,” Cooper added, nodding to Gideon's hand.

Unscrewing the cap, Gideon downed a mouthful of liquid fire and continued to ignore the man he felt like pummeling to the floor. It wasn't Cooper's fault, he reasoned. He had no one to blame except himself. He felt hollow, dead inside. The whiskey burned its way down his throat, warming his belly.

“So, that's it?” Cooper crossed his arms. “You're going to get shit-faced now?”

The disgust in Cooper's voice was only a measure of what Gideon felt for himself. He wrenched a paper towel from the holder and wrapped it around his hand. It would have to do. He wasn't taking his sorry ass to the emergency room.

Bottle in hand, he took the stairs two at a time, trying to ignore the fact that Cooper followed.

He snatched his jeans off the floor, feeling Cooper's glare. “She wasn't damned yet, hadn't taken a life,” he snapped, sliding into his jeans.

“Doesn't matter. You know that.”

“That's how you see things. I disagree.”

“Since when?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say since Claire, but he held back. He didn't want Cooper to know he'd fallen for a lycan.

Yet it seemed Cooper had reached his own conclusions. “Since you tripped and fell into bed with her?”

He pinned Cooper with his gaze. “Careful, Cooper.”

Cooper stared at him for one long moment before rolling his eyes. “Shit. Even better. You're in love with her.”

Gideon pulled his shirt over his head and stuck his arms through the sleeves in rough, angry movements, not bothering to answer. He didn't know what to say. Didn't know if it was true. Did he love Claire? It certainly explained why he couldn't bring himself to kill her.

“Where are you going?” Cooper asked as Gideon tugged on his socks.

“To find her,” he answered simply.

“You need to get that hand stitched up,” Cooper repeated, his voice grudging, as if he hated to reveal that he cared.

Gideon glanced at his hand as he took another swig from the bottle. Blood already soaked the paper towel, but it didn't matter. He'd live. Claire, on the other hand…

His gut clenched. “Your concern is touching, but I've got shit to do.”

“You mean find her?”

“That's right.”

“Did you get the plates?” Cooper asked.

“No.”

Cooper shook his head. “You're not using your head. How are you going to find her? You might need a little more to go on than a silver Tahoe.”

True. Gideon didn't know anything beyond the legend of Darius. But he couldn't just sit around and wait. “NODEAL has records. I can run through the profiles in the database—”

“No,” Cooper cut in. “You can't.”

Gideon cocked his head.
No?

“You're suspended, Gideon,” Cooper decreed, his mouth a hard, unsmiling line. “Until further review. You're denied access to the database.”

“I have to find—”

“Oh, we will find her. We'll find both of them. NODEAL will take care of business. Like always. Only without you,” Cooper assured him, nodding. “Your involvement in the organization ends here.”

Gideon flung the whiskey bottle across the room. It shattered against the wall with a loud crash. Glass rained down on the floor. The amber liquid would undoubtedly stain his white wall, but he couldn't rouse any concern.

“Was her fate ever in doubt?” Cooper asked quietly. “Did you really think you could save her?”

“How would I know? I've been trained to destroy. Not help.”

Cooper inhaled slowly. “She's not your mother, Gid.”

“No, my mother's dead. And damned,” Gideon snarled. “No one tried to help her. Oh, except you. You were there, ready with a bullet.”

“Maybe I didn't save her soul. But I always took comfort in the fact that I helped you and your sister. I thought that meant something.” Cooper lifted one shoulder in a shrug and pushed off the door. “Use the time off. Think things over.” He tapped his head. “Like what you want to do with the rest of your life. Because your days at NODEAL are over. There's no way the board will keep you on.”

“I don't give a shit about the board. I don't need their sanction to—”

“Gideon,” Cooper's hand grasped his shoulder, his eyes hard. “We don't tolerate rogue operators.”

Gideon shrugged free of his hand. “I will find her.”

Cooper shook his head. “You'll fail. Maybe even get yourself killed in the process. Then I'll find her and destroy her.” Cooper's dark gaze drilled into him. “And until then others will die.” He jabbed the air inches from Gideon's chest. “All because of you.”

Gideon looked Cooper square in the eyes. For years, he had revered him, emulated him, wanted to be just like him. Only very recently his wants had taken a drastic change.

“I'll find her,” Gideon vowed. “She's my responsibility.”

Cooper turned into the hallway.

Gideon's voice stopped him at the top of the stairs. “And Cooper—stay out of my way.”

Wordlessly, Cooper disappeared down the stairs. Moments later the back door slammed.

Alone in his room, Gideon stared unseeingly at the amber liquid running down his wall and dribbling to the floor. He didn't doubt that if he didn't find Claire, Cooper would. That's what he did best—hunt lycans.

Gideon couldn't let that happen. He was responsible for her. Curling his bloody hand into a fist, he made a decision—hard as it was. No one would destroy Claire but him. Even if in destroying her, he destroyed himself.

Cooper or any other agent would do it mechanically, coldly, without compassion. Just another assignment. Since that first night the job belonged to him. Claire belonged to him. As much as he belonged to her.

No more. She deserved compassion at the end. She deserved to be held in someone's arms when she died. In the arms of someone who loved her. Yet as he grabbed his holster, hope niggled in the back of his mind, a stubborn ember that wouldn't cool and die.

Maybe. Just maybe there was still a chance.

 

Claire leaned forward in her seat as the vehicle slowed. She clutched the dashboard in both hands, watching as a uniformed guard waved them through wrought iron gates. Turning around in her seat, she stared back at the guardhouse fading in the distance. The gates clanked shut, the sound echoing in her ears.

As they drove up a winding drive she couldn't help noticing several dogs, rottweilers and Doberman pinschers, roaming the grounds. How would she ever get past them?

“You can't escape,” Darius announced as if he could read her mind.

She tugged at the bottom of her jacket, trying to cover more of her naked thighs. Gideon's familiar scent reached her nose, creating a deep pang in her heart. The sound of him calling her name from the street still rang in her ears. She hoped he was all right, hoped Cooper hadn't hurt him.

Darius parked in front of a sprawling limestone mansion with a Spanish tiled roof. It loomed at least three stories high. He came around to open her door for her and she bolted, prepared to take her chances and try to outrun the dogs. She had to try. Once inside that house, she might not get another chance.

She didn't make it far before he yanked her back by the collar of her jacket and flung her over his shoulder. Claire found herself staring at the ground again, the bones of his shoulder digging uncomfortably into her stomach.

He carried her through the front door. A man held the door open for them, watching blandly as Darius hauled her upstairs like a sack of potatoes. On the stairs, a maid clutched a broom and dustpan in one hand and stepped aside as they passed, eyes averted in deference. No one seemed the least bothered to see her slung over Darius's shoulders.

“Help!” she cried out.

He carried her down a long hallway lined with portraits that looked museum quality. She studied the burgundy runner as she bounced on his shoulder, wondering if he led her to the rest of his pack.

He entered a room and tossed her on a bed. She shot to her feet and scanned the rest of the room, searching for others. Her eyes met nothing save a well-appointed room with bars protecting the window.

Sighing in relief, she pulled Gideon's jacket tighter around her only to catch another whiff of him. Her heart constricted at the clean masculine smell laced with that faint hint of freshly cut wood.

Squaring her shoulders and taking comfort in Gideon's scent, she faced Darius. “What a lovely jail. You'll have to give me the name of your decorator.”

“I want you to be comfortable,” he said politely, gesturing to the room with an elegant sweep of his hand.

“So that your pack of wolves can ravish me in luxury?”

“There are no other lycans here to save us.”

“I'm not like you,” she shot back, motioning at him with a desperate wave.

“I know.” His gaze raked her. “That's why I want you.”

Her bare toes curled into the plush carpet and she inhaled deeply, steeling herself against that hungry appraisal, more terrified by that one look than all his manhandling. There was no mistaking the carnal interest blazing in those icy eyes.

He advanced on her slowly, like a cat stalking its prey. “I couldn't forget you. You're different. You're not like the others—”

“What about your pack?” She moved back a step for every step he took in her direction. “Werewolves aren't monogamous. You want me, but that means I would have to—” She struggled to say it. “Mate with the others.” She shook her head vigorously. “No thanks.”