Marked by Moonlight (19 page)

With a howl of rage, Claire caught one of the flying wrists and gave it a vicious twist. The female hissed and brought her other hand crashing against Claire's face.

Surging against her, Claire flipped the female off her. Snarling, she jumped into a crouching position, readying herself.

“Enough, Bianca,” the leader's voice declared.

“She killed Marcus. She has to die.” Bianca jerked her head in the direction of Claire's gun. “Let's give her a taste of her own poison.”

The lycan crossed his arms over his silk shirt and murmured, “Then we would have two dead instead of one.”

“She killed her own kind,” Bianca snarled, body flexing beneath the red leather as if she would spring on Claire again. “She has to die.”

Claire's stomach churned and her eyes darted back and forth between the two lycans discussing whether she lived or died.

“I don't think so.” He rubbed his chin. “She is new. Confused. She hasn't been properly schooled.”

“She used a silver bullet, Ian.” Her manicured hand motioned to Marcus's corpse in disgust. “She knew what she was doing. She must pay.”

“There are ways she can serve the pack. She's breeding. In a year she can give back a life for the one taken.”

Bianca growled her disagreement. “The decision isn't yours.” In a flash, she was up and heading for the gun, muttering over her shoulder, “You can't stop me.”

A definite edge entered his voice as he softly threatened, “Pick up that gun and you deal with me.”

Bianca halted and looked over her shoulder.

The air changed, altering imperceptibly. Claire waited breathlessly, observing the silent exchange between them. Indecision flickered across Bianca's face. Her gaze drifted longingly to the gun before sliding back to Claire. “You just want to mate with her.” The words spewed from her red lips like venom.

“Now, now, kitten,” Ian chided, his tone conciliatory. “Benedict will decide—it's his right.”

Because he was their alpha? Claire's pulse jumped hopefully against her throat. Could this Benedict be the one?

“Fine.” Bianca glared at her, making it clear she would never be fine. Not as long as Claire lived, anyway.

“And Bianca.” Ian waited until he had her full attention again. “Benedict will agree with me. So put aside your petty jealousies. She will be one of us.”

Bianca's lips peeled back from her teeth in a sneer. “No one will forget she killed Marcus. I won't.”

Ian flicked his wrist and released a little sigh. “Marcus wore too much cologne. Besides, she is far prettier.”

Bianca strode past Claire, managing to sneak a kick to the ribs with the pointed toe of her boot.

“Watch the hooker boots, would you?” Claire hissed.

Bianca's eyes narrowed to slits, the silver glowing like light spilling from a shutter.

Suddenly, the music from inside the bar grew louder, announcing a new arrival. Claire glanced up at the heavy clang of the club's back door, praying to see Gideon, but her hopes were dashed when she met another silver-eyed gaze. Her heart plummeted to her stomach. Where the hell was Gideon?

The newcomer assessed their tableau before his gaze settled on Claire with unnerving intensity. Dressed all in black, his face was hard as granite, his square jaw unmoving, framed by hair as black as his clothing.

He studied her for a long moment before commanding, “Come.”

“She's ours.” Bianca declared. “Don't interfere—”

He flashed a broad hand in the air, silencing her. “Step away if you wish to live.” His speech was oddly formal.

Bianca blinked at this edict and looked to her companion uncertainly.

“Who are you?” Ian asked.

“Someone you don't wish to challenge,” he answered, never once looking to Ian. His steady gaze stayed on Claire with searing intensity.

“And why is that?”

“My name,” the newcomer paused, finally looking to the nervous pair, “is Darius.”

A change swept over the two lycans, an anxiety that had not been there before. She could taste their fear, coppery and metallic as blood in her mouth.

“Leave her and go,” Darius repeated, his voice a rasp of sound on the air.

Ian and Bianca exchanged looks. Finally, a touch of defiance to his voice, Ian announced, “Darius is dead.”

The one claiming to be Darius smiled. A strange smile. Like it didn't belong on his face. Like it hurt his cheeks to do so. “Is that what is being said?”

“Does she belong to you?” Bianca demanded. Ian grabbed her arm and gave her a warning glance.

“Let's just say I'm making her my concern.”

“She killed one of our pack.” Bianca shrugged free of Ian's hand and pointed to the corpse, heedless of her cohort's silent warning. “In accordance with pack law, we demand recompense.”

“Very well.” Darius's voice was cold, curt, void of emotion, his unfamiliar accent enunciating each word crisply. “I shall recompense you by letting you live.”

Bianca's mouth parted in a small O of surprise. Apparently Claire wasn't the only one breaking pack customs.

Darius motioned at Bianca. “Rein in your bitch lest you lose two members of your pack this night.”

Bianca looked prepared to argue, but Ian clamped a hand down on her arm, saying in a tight voice, “Shut up, Bianca.”

“There's only one of him,” she hissed, trying to wriggle her arm free. “He can't be who he claims.”

“I'm leaving.” Ian's guarded gaze never left Darius. “Come with me, or stay here and find out if he's really who he says. Just know you'll likely die for your efforts.”

Bianca nodded reluctantly and allowed Ian to lead her away. Claire's mouth was suddenly desert dry as she faced this new threat, suppressing the urge to pursue the departing lycans and press them for more information about Benedict. An instinct she was fast learning to heed told her not to turn her back on Darius. His icy gaze bore into her, relentless as a blizzard snowfall.

Her gaze flew to her gun several feet away, muscles tensing, ready to dive when his voice stopped her cold.

“You'll never make it in time.”

She lifted her gaze to his, shocked to see that his eyes had begun to glow. Brighter than silver. Like two beacons of light scorching her to the spot.

His brow furrowed. “You're—” he broke off as if suddenly seeing her—truly seeing her. “You're not damned yet.”

Claire opened then shut her mouth, seeing no reason to deny the charge.

“A lycan with a soul,” he murmured. “For how long, I wonder?”

“There's nothing to wonder about. My soul's not going anywhere,” Claire vowed, sliding one step closer to her gun. “So you can forget about me joining—”

Zing.

She barely heard the gun's muffled echo, suspected she wouldn't have noticed it if she didn't know the sound so well, but she did. It was a sound she would never forget.

Claire spun around in time to see Bianca fall and Ian throw himself at Gideon. She lunged for her gun with a strangled cry, sure that at any moment Darius would stop her, but she still had to try, had to help Gideon.

She ran the length of the alley, stopping several feet from the struggling pair and leveling her gun. Still, a clear shot eluded her. Squinting one eye shut, she took aim at the moving pair.

“Come on,” she muttered under her breath, her heart rising in her throat as every second passed, “give me an opening.”

The gun was suddenly plucked from her hands.

She yelped and tried to snatch it back.

“A friend of yours?” Darius asked mildly.

He didn't wait for her answer. Stepping in front of her, he took aim. She launched herself at him, raining blows upon the broad expanse of his back, desperate to protect Gideon.

A second shot punched the air, its soft zing a stab to her heart. Claire jumped off Darius, exhaling thickly as she watched Ian crumple to the ground. Not Gideon. Relief washed through her, consuming her, blinding her to all other concerns. Forgetting about Darius and what he would do when he realized he had missed and shot one of his own, she raced ahead.

Gideon was alive. That was all that mattered. She grasped him by both arms and looked him over. “Are you hurt? Did he bite you?”

Gideon shrugged free of her arms, assessed himself, clearly checking for any open wounds where Ian could have infected him. “I'm fine.”

His gaze lifted beyond her and before she knew it, he thrust her, stumbling, behind him. Apparently he had noticed they weren't alone. Gideon's gun lay a yard away and Darius held hers in his hand. Unarmed, Gideon stepped back, taking her with him, hands splayed on either side of her hips.

Darius studied them, following as they inched down the alley. “What are you doing with her, lycan hunter?” He nodded his dark head at Claire peeking around Gideon. “She's not for you.” His eyes lingered on her for a moment, his gaze oddly intimate, possessive.

“How does he know you're a lycan hunter?” she whispered into Gideon's ear, flattening her palms against the rigid muscles of his back.

“I can always spot a lycan hunter,” Darius answered. “A useful survival skill.”

Claire swallowed and wet her lips nervously. Gideon tensed beneath her hands.

Darius continued conversationally, gaze trained on her. “They have a distinctive smell,” he explained. “Haven't you noticed your keen sense of smell?” He tapped the side of his nose and shook his head indulgently, a light smile curving his lips. “I have much to teach you.”

“Like hell,” Gideon swore.

“What do lycan hunters smell like?” Claire couldn't help asking, intrigued. Gideon had only ever smelled wonderful to her. Man and soap and fresh cut wood.

“Claire,” Gideon warned in a low voice. “Would you mind keeping quiet?”

“They've got a certain stink to them,” Darius answered, his voice laced with undeniable amusement. “The sour smell of righteous honor.”

His hands tensed, squeezing her hips even tighter.

Silence fell as Gideon and Darius assessed each other.

Finally, Darius repeated his question, all amusement gone from the clipped velvet of his voice. “What are you doing with her, lycan hunter?”

“Keeping her from becoming like you,” Gideon returned.

“Ah.” The fathomless silver pools of his eyes reflected nothing. And his face, carved of stone, was equally impassive, but his voice held a certain amount of contempt as he asked, “And you think you can succeed?”

At this, Gideon said nothing. She glanced at the back of his head, frowning as she waited for him to say that they could succeed. That they would. After all, what was the point of all this if he didn't believe she had a chance?

“And you, my little dove?” Darius's glowing gaze drilled into her. “You think this killer of lycans will save you?”

Claire opened her mouth but no words came. How could she claim what Gideon himself could not?

“Interesting.” He tossed the gun down with a noisy clatter. “You are both full of confidence. I'll leave you to it.” His gaze hovered on her a moment longer. “Maybe we'll meet again.”

“Don't count on it,” Gideon replied.

Smiling vaguely, Darius turned.

“Wait!” Claire cried, rushing around Gideon.

Darius looked back over his shoulder, a dark brow arched.

“I was infected by a boy.” She held her breath, searching his face, hopeful. “His name was Lenny.”

“And you want to find him?”

“No. He's dead.”

“Ah. You want to find his alpha, then.”

She nodded jerkily.

His silver gaze shifted to Gideon, then back to Claire, assessing, measuring. “I don't know anything about a boy named Lenny. Or the alpha you're looking for. What you're trying to do is impossible. You'll never find and destroy the alpha you seek before the next moon. You'd best adjust to the fact that you're a lycan now.”

“A monster?” she cried, his words filling her with a keen sense of hopelessness. “Never!”

“A monster,” he echoed, cocking his head to the side. “Yes.” A humorless smile curved his lips. “I am that. And so are you.”

That said, he stepped back through the club's door, his words ringing in her ears.
You'd best adjust to the fact that you're a lycan now.

Claire stared at the door he had disappeared through. “Why would he let us go?”

“I have no idea,” Gideon muttered, his expression troubled as he stared at the door Darius had disappeared through.

“He called himself Darius.”

“What?” Gideon's gaze shot to her face with startling intensity. “Are you sure?”