Marked by Moonlight (24 page)

Claire nearly choked on a bite of ham. Certainly her father would shoot that idea down. He would want to float in a paddleboat about as much as he wanted a root canal.

“Sure,” he murmured, giving Claire wide berth as he moved to the fridge, further astounding her when he got his very own beer.

Claire looked her father up and down incredulously.
Who was this man?

“Miracle Whip or mayo?” Her mother held up both jars.

Blinking and wondering who these impostors were, Claire pointed to the jar of mayonnaise. “Give me the real stuff.”

Her mother lifted an eyebrow at her choice. No doubt thinking of all the calories. Claire usually chose the fat-free Miracle Whip.

“You're all bones,” her mother clucked, slathering a generous amount of mayonnaise on the bread. “Oh,” her mother added as if suddenly remembering, “the reason I've been calling you up at the lake is because your friend Maggie contacted me.”

“Maggie?” Claire echoed.

“Yes, she said that the school's been trying to get hold of you because they're using your room for summer school. She's said it's important you come clear out your things. She also said Jill Tanners was looking for you. Had some information on a kid you were worried about. A boy named Lenny?”

Claire drew a deep breath. “Lenny?”

Her mother nodded.

What information could the counselor possibly have? Whatever it was, it was worth investigating. And if she didn't go, she risked losing all her teaching resources it had taken years to accumulate. If she didn't fetch her things, it was as good as admitting she was dead. Claire wasn't willing to do that. Not yet. If she were, she might as well drive back to Darius and offer herself to him. “The building's already closed for the day. I'll have to go tomorrow.”

Her mother handed her a large bag of potato chips and placed a fat ham sandwich before her. “So how is that boyfriend of yours?”

Avoiding her mother's eyes, Claire grimaced and swiped her finger along the edge of her sandwich where the mayonnaise threatened to spill out. Licking the creamy goodness off her finger, she said, “Gideon's fine, Mom.”

Fine. Safe. As long as she ignored her heart and stayed far away from him.

Should you find yourself in the company of a strange dog, be sure to make no sudden movements.

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

C
laire was bent over, rifling through her last box, still fuming over her conversation with Jill Tanners. The woman wanted to be the first to let Claire know that Lenny was dead. No doubt gang related. She cursed beneath her breath. No one would ever know the truth. That Lenny had been a good kid, a victim.

“Claire!”

She glanced up and grimaced to see Cyril in her doorway, an expression of mild surprise on his otherwise bland face. “What are you doing here?”

“Packing up,” she replied, trying to keep the annoyance from her voice. What did it look like?

Stepping inside her classroom, he eyed the boxes. “The rumors are true, then? You've resigned?” he asked with a frown.

She smiled wryly. The teacher's lounge really should be banned. The faculty gossiped worse than the students. “I haven't resigned. They're using my room for summer school.” She couldn't help wondering what other rumors circulated about her sudden leave of absence.

As if answering her wonderings, he said, “You didn't elope and move to Europe?”

“Is that what everyone is saying?” She shook her head, lips stretching in a rueful grin. “Nothing as exciting as that, I'm afraid.”

Only more, she silently added, thinking about the turn her life had taken. She had had enough adventure in the past few weeks to last a lifetime. She paused, fingers closing around a heavy brass apple paperweight a student had given her years ago. But to say she regretted it all would mean she regretted meeting Gideon. And that, she couldn't claim.

“Ah.” Cyril nodded, looking somewhat relieved. “I should have known to take what I heard with a grain of salt, considering the source.”

“The faculty lounge,” Claire guessed.

He nodded. “You're coming back in the fall, then?”

She hesitated, unsure how to answer that. She settled for the truth. “I don't know.”

“Oh.” His shoulders slumped in disappointment. His reaction seemed out of place. For God's sake, they'd only had one date. And if he liked her so much, why had he switched his attention to Jill Tanners?

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I hate to lose you.”

She looked up sharply from the box she organized. Why did he sound like he meant more than professionally?

“Miss Morgan!”

Nina. Just in time. His intent stare was beginning to creep her out. What had ever inspired her to go out with Cyril in the first place? On their date, he had seemed as bored as she was. Yet she knew the reason. She had agreed to go out with him because she felt she should, because it had been years since anyone had asked.

Cyril frowned as Nina hugged her.

“I was hoping you'd be here.” Nina, all teenage bubbliness and smiles.

“What are you still doing here?” Claire asked. “Yesterday was the last day of school. Shouldn't you be out having fun?”

Nina motioned to the bulging backpack slung over her shoulder. “I still had to clear out my dance locker.”

Claire nodded.

Nina's gaze roamed over the boxes surrounding Claire's desk. “You're not coming back?”

“No.” Claire shook her head, then quickly amended, “I mean, I don't know yet.” She finished placing the last of her curriculum binders into a box.

Cyril lightly coughed, reminding her of his presence. He shot an annoyed glance at Nina, clearly wanting Claire to get rid of her.

He must have gotten the clue that Claire wasn't going to chase the girl off, because he finally announced, “I guess I'll be going. Enjoy your summer.” He hovered in the doorway for a moment, hands deep in his pockets, almost as though expecting her to stop him.

“You, too,” Claire replied with a light wave of her hand.

As he left, Nina plunged back into chatter. “So you are coming back, right?”

Claire hefted one box into her arms. “Maybe.”

Nina motioned to the boxes. “You're carrying these to your car? I'll help.”

They took the ramp downstairs rather than risk missing their footing on the steps. Nina chatted happily at her side about her summer plans as they stepped outside, the afternoon air pungent with the smell of baked asphalt and rotting vegetation.

“I'm going to lifeguard at my neighborhood pool. Can you believe they're going to pay me to get a tan?”

“I think you actually have to do more than tan while you're on duty,” Claire said in amusement as she set the box on the trunk of the car and unlocked the door.

“Yeah, I gotta stop little kids from dunking each other.” Nina shrugged. “No biggie.”

“And don't forget you have to whistle every half hour for adult swim time,” Claire teased as she picked the box back up.

Nina laughed. “Yeah, that's right.”

Claire set the box into the backseat, shoving it to the far end to make room for the others to come. She pulled her head from the car's interior, a flip comment about lifeguarding twisting into a gasp as agony exploded in the back of her head.

Clutching the base of her skull, she first assumed her head hadn't cleared the door frame, that she had accidentally bumped it. But as she staggered back from the car, she was struck a second time from behind.

Nina.
Her instincts about the girl had been wrong.

A third blow brought her to her knees. She grabbed the car door. Her hands latched onto it, trying to pull herself up. She was almost to her feet when a quick, sharp pain penetrated her shoulder, dropping her to her knees again.

Convinced she had been shot, Claire clutched the back of her shoulder, expecting to feel blood. Instead, she pulled something from her flesh.

She held a needle in her hand, staring at the steel tip in bewilderment until she began to sway. The syringe slipped from her open palm and she watched it fall through the air, her vision growing cloudy, then black as it dropped.

She never saw it hit the asphalt.

 

Claire struggled against the black, pushing past it, fighting the heavy twin weights of her eyelids. Gradually, she felt the cold stinging her cheek where it pressed into freezing concrete. Her eyelids parted to discover a tilting, shifting, careening world of gray. Jamming her eyes shut, she waited for the dizziness to pass. Moments later, she tried again. Blinking several times, she rubbed her eyes until her vision cleared.

Claire pushed herself to a sitting position. Four dull gray walls surrounded her, one dirty window positioned high up, out of reach. A chalky concrete floor stretched out beneath her, disappearing into shadows. She wiped drool from her chin with the back of her hand and inhaled deeply, but there was only the stink of mildew and stale air. She looked up. The window allowed in a single beam of early morning light where tiny motes of dust shivered, trapped.

Morning?
She brushed her fingers against her aching head and forced herself to recall how she got here. She had been loading things into the backseat, talking to Nina, when someone struck her from behind. Claire closed her eyes tight, drawing in a hissing breath.
Nina
. Gideon had been right.

Biting her lip, she looked up at that lone window. If she even managed to reach it and break the glass, she could squeeze maybe one leg through the space. Someone chose this jail cell deliberately, with great care. Most Texas homes didn't have basements.

A groan sounded nearby, startling her, alerting her that she wasn't alone. Tensing, she squinted into the gloom. A crumpled form lay at the bottom of the wooden stairs, a dark stain against the floor. Claire inched closer, making out the black hair pooling on the floor in an inky puddle.

“Nina?”

Claire hesitated. She crawled toward the girl, the cold concrete hard and unforgiving on her knees. Her hand stretched out, finding her pulse. Erratic but strong.

Lying in a haphazard fashion at the base of the stairs, one arm at her side, the other flung above her head, Nina didn't appear much of a threat. She resembled a limp rag doll, forgotten and discarded where she had been tossed. Claire eyed the steep incline of stairs. A closed door loomed at the top, sealing her in from the rest of the world.

Skirting Nina's inert body, she clutched the rail and climbed the steps. At the top, she closed her hand around the doorknob. Locked.

She jiggled the knob and beat on the steel-framed door with her palm, crying out until she grew hoarse and her hand stung.

A small voice chirped from below. “Miss Morgan?”

Claire spun around. Far below, at the base of the stairs, she noted a slight movement. Nina was awake. A single hand lifted, fingers outstretched as if searching for a lifeline. The movement must have cost her because she cried out in pain, her hand dropping.

Claire hurried down the steps in a flurry of pounding feet. “Nina!” She dropped to her knees and gently rolled the girl onto her back. The arm stretched above her head plopped down on her chest lifelessly. Nina's pretty face twisted in pain. Her mouth opened wide in a silent scream and her eyes glazed over, losing focus before fluttering shut.

“Nina!” Claire tapped her cheeks. “Come on. Stay with me.”

Her eyes remained shut as she rasped, “I think my arm's broken.”

Claire eyed the arm across her chest. It rested at an awkward angle, oddly limp. Scanning the rest of her slight body, Claire asked, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Nina's lips barely moved as she spoke. “My whole body hurts…from the stairs.”

“Stairs?” Claire's gaze traveled up the steep incline of steps. “You fell down the stairs?”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Pushed.”

“Pushed?”

A push down those stairs could have killed her. If she only suffered a broken arm and a couple bruises, she was lucky.

Claire hesitated to touch her in fear of aggravating her injuries, but she wasn't exactly able to get to a phone and call for help. She might have no choice but to move her.

She smoothed a palm over Nina's forehead. Despite the basement's chill, the skin felt clammy. “What happened, Nina? Who pushed you?”

“Hit you. And stabbed you with a—”

“Sshh, I know.” Claire leaned close to Nina's mouth to better hear, asking, “Do you know who it was?”

Just then the door above opened and a beam of light shot down on them. A dark figure stood at the top of the stairs, outlined by the light.

Finally, the figure stepped down, revealing his face.

“I believe you're asking about me.”

 

Gideon splashed water on his exhausted face and lifted his gaze to his reflection. Bloodshot eyes stared back at him, the haggard lines of his face hardly recognizable.

He had not slept during the last three days. He had returned to Woody's countless times and scoured other clubs, all known hangouts of lycans. No sign of the bastard anywhere. Or Claire.

He pulled the hand towel off the bar and rubbed it vigorously against his face. Tossing the towel on the counter, he headed downstairs. Opening his fridge, he went for a power drink, hoping the sugar and caffeine would revive him. After gulping down a bottle, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door. Ready for another day of searching. Even if the odds were against him, it kept him from going mad with thoughts of Claire…suffering at the hands of Darius.

He blinked against the morning sunlight and slid his sunglasses in place. The dark sedan parked across the street immediately caught his notice. Lips tightening, he crossed the street in long strides. With a flick of his wrist, he tapped a knuckle against the driver's side window.

The window rolled down in response.

“Tom,” Gideon acknowledged. “This is how it is now?”

The agent shrugged one shoulder and grimaced. “Just following orders.”

“Right,” Gideon grunted. Turning on his heels, he marched to his Jeep, more convinced than ever that his days at NODEAL were over. He wanted nothing to do with a group that discounted his years of loyalty and service, that trusted him so little, condemning him for trying to save a single innocent life.

His throat constricted and an invisible hand squeezed around his heart. Pain like he had never known, not even when his parents drowned in their own blood, washed over him as he realized Claire probably wished he had followed NODEAL's exacting codes.

 

“Cyril?”

His lips stretched into an oily smile. “Good morning, Claire. Sleep well?”

Blood rushed to her head as she looked up the steps. His eyes glowed unnaturally, like highly polished silver. Instantly, she knew he was more than a lycan. He was the alpha she sought. What she had failed to see before became glaringly clear.

The dropout rate had increased since Cyril's arrival. And now she knew why. Those “at risk” kids were the perfect targets. No one blinked an eye when they went missing. They were the perfect food supply.