Authors: Nina Croft
Bound to Night (10 page)
“Jack,” she said, “what are you doing here?”
“You were followed from the house. You were never alone. We guard our own.”
“Am I yours?”
He leaned forward and kissed her again, this time on the lips. “Forever,” he said. “Now, let’s go. I’ll deal with your father.”
“No, Jack. I have to do this. I talked to him on the phone this morning. He said I was dangerous.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, you’re a telepath and a werewolf. People don’t get much more dangerous than that.” He smiled. “Except for vampires, of course.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. He said the others like me had gone crazy, been unable to control their powers. They’d killed innocent people, and I could do the same. I’m a danger to anyone I get close to.”
“And you believe him?”
“No. Maybe.” She sighed. “The truth is I’m not sure. But don’t you see, unless I find out for certain, I can’t be with you. I can’t be with anyone. Besides, he also said he had information about my family—my real family. I have to know.”
Jack looked down at her for a long moment, and then nodded. “Okay, but give me five minutes before you go out there.”
He glided through the shadows, slipping into the alley behind her father.
She waited, peering into the darkness where Jack had disappeared. After a few minutes, she stepped forward. “Dad.”
He jumped and then turned around to face her, a frown forming on his face.
“Dad,” she urged when he remained silent. “Where’s the information you promised?”
Her father glanced around to search behind him.
“I think he might be waiting for his friends,” Jack said, stepping out of the shadows. “But I’m afraid they won’t be joining you after all.” He stared into the other man’s eyes and raw power radiated from him. “Ask him, Tasha, he has to answer.”
Her eyes darted to Jack’s face. “Last night you said it was dangerous to use your powers on someone with an implant. That it could kill them.”
Jack shrugged. “Does it matter?”
She looked at the man who had been her father, searching for some vestige of the love she’d once felt. “No, it doesn’t matter. Am I dangerous?” she asked.
“No.” The word was dragged from him.
“Then why did you lie?”
“I needed to get you away on your own—kill you.”
A sense of relief washed through her at his words. It was over. At last, she could let him go. She just needed to know one more thing. “You said there were others like me. Was that a lie?”
“No. There are more.”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know. Only Frank knew.”
Tasha turned away in frustration.
“Have you heard enough?” Jack asked.
She nodded, and Jack released the man from his gaze.
For a second, he slumped against the wall. When he straightened, he held a gun pointed at Jack, but he was glaring at Tasha. “You should have died when you were supposed to.”
Tasha focused on the gun, and the power grew within her. A soft growl trickled from her throat. Jack turned toward her, green eyes piercing the darkness between them.
“Tasha?” he warned.
But it was too late. The change was flowing through her, natural, perfect. One moment she stood before them—the next, she was leaping on all fours. Disbelief flashed in her father’s eyes, followed by horror as she knocked the gun from his hand and tore into his throat in one fluid move. There was a moment of exhilaration as bone and cartilage crushed between her jaws, and the warm metallic taste of fresh blood filled her mouth. Life left him as she crouched above his body, and a faint cry of regret reverberated through her mind.
“Tasha, come.”
She heard Jack’s voice as though from a distance and peered up at the tall figure looming over her. She snarled softly.
“Tasha,” he said again, and held out a hand. She sniffed at the outstretched fingers, and a wonderful feeling flooded her.
Jack
. The name whispered through her brain.
He looked at the body beneath her and smiled wryly. “And you wondered if you were dangerous,” he mused before turning away.
Tasha glanced down once at the body of the man who had been her father, then leapt lightly off and trotted after the dark figure. She nudged his leg with her nose until he reached down and stroked her head.
“Come on,” he said, his long fingers ruffling the soft fur on her neck. “Let’s go home.”
The End
Preview Book 2
Sisters of the Moon Series
(Book Two)
Bound to Moonlight
by
Nina Croft
Chapter One
Anya’s finger tightened on the trigger.
The chill of the metal penetrated her skin, sending icy tendrils curling through her body. She waited for the cold to seep into her mind, to take her to that peaceful place. The place she always went when she had a job to do.
Tonight, peace remained elusive, and she shifted restlessly.
Dusk fell, and the last daylight faded into darkness. Anya lay on her belly, stretched out on the soft detritus of the forest floor, her sniper rifle resting on a rotting tree limb in front of her. Her nostrils filled with the scent of decay mixed with the musky smell of wild garlic crushed beneath her. Above her head, the breeze rustled the leaves in the tree canopy. Aside from that, the woods were silent. She reached out with her mind, but found no one within listening distance.
She was alone.
For a moment, she savored the feeling. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the rough bark of the tree limb. In the solitude of her mind, she finally acknowledged the truth that had been plaguing her for so long. She didn’t want to do this anymore.
The sound of a door opening snapped her from her thoughts. She raised her head, her movements slow and careful and sighted down the length of the rifle. The scents and sounds of the forest faded around her as all her senses focused on the figure that emerged from the open door.
She recognized him immediately. Sebastian Quinn. Her target.
The man they’d told her was responsible for the death of her sister. The sister she had never known. Would now never know.
The shot would be easy from here. She’d expected him to be wary; after all, she’d captured three of his people over the past week. Instead, he appeared relaxed, standing on the steps in front of the house as though he were posing for her.
She studied him through the scope. She’d seen photographs, but they hadn’t done him justice. Pale blond hair fell over his forehead, framing the face of a dissipated angel. His long, lean body was dressed in faded jeans and a dark blue shirt that perfectly matched his wicked blue eyes.
He raised his head and sniffed the air. His eyes narrowed, and he swung around, his gaze seeming to penetrate her hiding place.
He knew she was here.
Without conscious thought, she reached out to his mind and instantly froze. She probed again but slammed into an impenetrable barrier. He was shielded. Why hadn’t the Agency told her? Did they even know?
For a brief moment, she considered taking the shot, but pushed the idea aside. The mission had been compromised. Besides, she would give away her location, and she’d bet he had people watching from the house.
Anya looked down the scope one last time. Across the distance, his eyes captured hers, and she blinked to break the contact.
Wriggling backward on her stomach, she stayed low until she reached the cover of the dense trees. She came up on her knees, glanced back over her shoulder, and knew that he had sensed her movement. He stared straight at the spot she’d been hidden, a fierce grin spreading across his face.
He spoke briefly into a cell phone then started to strip off his clothes.
What the hell was he doing?
She knelt transfixed as he tore off his shirt and tossed it to the ground. His skin was golden, sleek muscle over bone, broad shoulders, and lean almost concave belly. His hand went to the belt at his waist, and Anya scrambled to her feet and ran. She raced through the forest, weaving between the huge gnarled oak trees, her boots making no sound on the soft ground. Branches snatched at her clothes, scratching the exposed skin of her face, and still she ran.
In the distance, an owl hooted and a wolf howled. Anya lost her concentration, stumbling over an exposed root. She righted herself as a second wolf answered. Flinging herself behind a tree, she leaned against the rough bark. Panic flared, and she pushed it down, forced her breath to slow, concentrating her mind.
There were no wolves in England, not outside of a zoo anyway. They must be using hounds to track her, but they sounded far away. She had time. She just needed to make it to the wall surrounding the property, and she’d be free.
She opened her mind. There were no people close, and some of the tension drained from her. Stepping forward, she peered into the thick darkness between the trees, trying to orientate herself. She realized she still clutched the rifle in her hand. She hefted it across one shoulder and crept through the forest.
Five minutes later, she stood beside the tall wall that ran around the entire perimeter of the compound. She reached out to touch the rough stone, a sigh escaping her lungs. Now she was safe, she could admit how rattled she’d felt. The night had not gone well, and her handlers would not be pleased. But there would be another chance.
She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and whirled around. Too late. A huge, grey object slammed into her. Dropping the rifle, she crashed to the ground and rolled, her hand going instinctively to the pistol at her waist. She came straight back on her feet, the pistol gripped in her hand, adrenaline surging through her veins. And she stopped.
Wolves surrounded her. For a moment, her mind refused to accept what she saw. Her fingers clenched around the gun, searching for a target, but they were all around. Her eyes darted everywhere, hunting for an escape. She had a full clip in her gun. She could still get out of here.
A silver wolf stepped forward from the pack and padded toward her, tail held low, muzzle peeled back in a snarl that revealed razor sharp canines.
Raising her pistol, Anya stared into its face. In that instant, she recognized the flash of humanity in the dark blue eyes. Shock ripped through her, and she hesitated. She could have shot a man with ease, but not this wild, beautiful creature. She released her breath and lowered the pistol to her side in defeat.
Something hit her from the side. She fell back, her head cracked against the stone wall, and the darkness swallowed her.
About the Author
Nina Croft grew up in the north of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a volunteer in Zambia, which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of 9-5 work. She then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever possible) with work (whenever necessary) but has now settled down to a life of writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern Spain. Nina’s writing mixes romance with elements of the paranormal and science fiction.
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