Chapter Fourteen
C HAPTER F OURTEEN
Dogs possess a keen sense of smell.
—Man’s Best Friend: An Essential Guide to Dogs
Gideon lowered himself behind a stack of crates, muscles stretched tight as he peered between a crack in the wood slats. Pulling the gun from its holster, he screwed on the silencer. Tonight would be different. Tonight they were ready. Prepared. No more surprises. No more ambushes.
He trained all his attention on that door, waiting breathlessly for Claire to emerge. Unfortunately, he was too focused. He didn’t notice he had company until he heard the shoe scrape over loose gravel behind him. He spun, dropping to his belly, leveling the gun on the slight figure at the mouth of the alley.
“Kit!” He rose to a squatting position and lowered his gun.
She stood over him, one of his guns, a ridiculously large .357, in her hands. “Hey, big brother.”
He yanked her down, glancing over his shoulder at the club’s back door. Satisfied that they were alone, he demanded, “What the hell are you doing here?” He nodded at the too-large gun in her hands. Kit took after their mother. At five feet, she barely reached his shoulder. The gun looked obscene in her slight hands.
Readjusting her fingers around the gun’s bulk, she ignored his question. “Thought you could use some backup.”
“Since when do I include you on my hunts?”
“Since when do you shelter lycans?” She stuck out her chin the same way she had done as a determined two-year-old, dead set on buckling herself into her own car seat even if she hadn’t figured out how to work the belts and clasps. “Considering you’ve taken it upon yourself to break a few rules, I figured I could, too.”
Cursing, he jumped to his feet and dragged her after him out of the alley. He wasn’t about to risk his sister’s life. Legally, she might be an adult, but he was still her brother. Hell, he was more than a brother. Since their parents’ deaths, he was her sole parent. Their grandmother had fed and sheltered them, but at sixteen Gideon had known she viewed them as a yoke about her neck. At sixty-five, she had finished raising children and only did the bare minimum parenting.
Kit tugged against his hold. Clearing the alley, he released her and shoved her ahead of him into the parking lot. “Go home, Kit.”
“No.” She propped a fist on her hip.
“You can’t stay.” He waved to the sea of cars. “Leave.” He glanced over his shoulder, hoping Claire hadn’t stepped outside yet.
“Let me stay.”
“You know why you can’t. NODEAL prohibits female agents for a reason.”
“Yeah, and it’s bullshit.”
“Menstruation makes females more vulnerable. We need agents that are not only strong but more difficult to detect.”
Kit pointed at herself. “Well, if Cooper is going to accuse me of hunting lycans and read me the riot act for something I didn’t do, then I might as well get in on the game.”
He sighed and looked up at the sky. Cooper. Gideon should have guessed. She did the opposite of whatever that man said. “He came to see you, huh?”
“Uh, yeah,” she said with heavy sarcasm, nodding as if that much was clear. “He tore me a new one.”
“He’s under a lot of stress,” Gideon found himself defending him. “Never forget how much we owe him, Kit.”
“What about you,” she accused, arching an eyebrow. “You seem to have forgotten. You’re the one breaking code behind his back.”
Her words hit home, igniting a guilty flame in his heart. He dropped his hand. “Go home, Kit,” he said flatly.
“When are you going to stop treating me like a child?” Green eyes so like his own glinted up angrily at him. “You’re not my father, Gid. If I want to do this, you can’t stop me.”
Gideon squeezed the bridge of his nose. He didn’t have time for this.
Clasping the gun in both hands, elbows bent, she faced the alley. Gideon nearly groaned, remembering that while his friends’ sisters had played with dolls, his had wanted to play cops and robbers. Just his luck she never outgrew the habit.
“I’m the closest thing to a father you’ve got. If our father were here, he’d tell you to go home, too.”
“And I’d tell him exactly what I’m telling you. I’m staying.”
Gideon stared up at the sky again, pleading for patience before shooting another glance behind him. He couldn’t waste any more time arguing with his sister. Claire needed him.
“Don’t follow me,” he warned, jabbing his thumb behind him. “I mean it.”
At the stubborn jut of her chin, he used the one trump card he held, even if he found the notion of blackmail distasteful. “You want to pay your own way through school?”
Her eyes narrowed.
He didn’t like threatening to withdraw his financial support. Even if she did change her major every semester, she was smart and he wanted her to finish school, to get the education he didn’t have. He wanted her to go places. To be somebody—not an agent chasing vengeance like him.
At the mutinous twist of her lips, he knew he had won. He pointed to the parking lot behind her. “Get in your car.”
She scuffed her shoe against the pavement, reminding him of the little girl he used to send home when she tried to tag along with him and his friends. Only she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was a grown woman with more courage than sense. Like it or not, Gideon couldn’t protect her forever. If she was dead set on becoming an agent like him, there was little he—or Cooper—could do about it. Honestly, he’d rather have her go through NODEAL training and start out with a team than set out into the world as a vigilante and get herself killed.
He released a pent-up breath. “If you leave now, I’ll talk to Cooper for you.”
Her gaze, glowing with hope, shot to him. “Promise?”
Gideon nodded, feeling the frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t like it, but Kit’s stubbornness gave him little choice. “I promise. Now go.”
“You’re awesome!” Grinning, she spun around, her fair hair tossing about her head. “You won’t regret it.”
Gideon scowled. He already did.
Claire closed the door firmly behind her, drowning out the heavy thrum of music. Rotting refuse from the Dumpsters tainted the air, and she pressed a hand over her sensitive nose. She was reminded of another alley not so long ago. Only this one was darker and smelled worse. And there was no guesswork involved. She knew what would be joining her. Had felt their eyes on her back as she exited the bar.
Her eyes scanned the narrow space stretching in front of her, searching left and right for a glimpse of Gideon. The opening leading to the parking lot yawned far ahead.
With a few quick steps, she distanced herself from the door. Inhaling, she braced herself, waiting, staring in silence at the dark steel door. She lifted her face to the night sky. The moon shimmered through swiftly moving clouds, a beautiful, frightening thing, bathing the alley in an iridescent glow. Watching, waiting, biding its time. Barely a week remained.
A heavy blare of music signaled the door’s opening. Claire dropped her gaze and watched them step out one by one. The door shut behind them, once again muffling the music and noise from the bar. Their number had grown to three. The third to join possessed arms the size of tree trunks. Her chest rose and fell a bit faster, the beating of her heart in sync with the distant thrum of music.
That familiar sensation, warning of nearby lycans, tingled at her nape, far more intense than the night before. Was it because there were three of them? Or because they were stronger, more powerful, than last night’s lycans?
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. She pulled her purse in front of her, her hands worrying the strap, letting it act as a shield.
A spark of hope flared to life, worming its way inside her fear-clogged heart. Maybe one of them was the alpha they sought. Maybe it could end here, tonight. Lenny had frequented this place. It wasn’t an impossibility that one of the three could be the alpha she sought.
The youngest-looking of the three smiled almost kindly, his teeth a flash of white against his tan face. “You look lonely, dear.” He extended an elegant long-fingered hand to her. His black Italian silk shirt rippled over his finely sculpted chest with the movement. “There’s no reason for one of our kind to ever be lonely.”
Claire’s feet shuffled back a step, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. That coaxing voice and smile mesmerized her, summoning her nearer as if pulling her by an invisible thread.
She felt his power. Recognized instantly he was the leader among the three. The strongest.
“You’re alone,” the female in red stated.
Claire nodded. “I’m looking for someone.”
“And who would that be?” she asked.
At this, Claire hedged.
“Who turned you?” the leader asked, his voice smooth as silk.
Claire’s gaze locked with his, recognizing at once that he understood. He knew she sought the alpha responsible for her curse. “A boy named Lenny.”
“I don’t know him. Careless of him to turn you and then leave you to your own devices. Lycans are careful at initiating into our pack.”
“Yes,” the female chimed in with a sneer. “We don’t let any trash off the streets join us.”
“Come, Bianca,” the leader chided. “Be hospitable. Our lovely friend here is one of us now and she appears to be in need of guidance.”
“I’m not one of you.” Claire slid her hand inside her purse and curled her fingers around the gun.
“Is that what you think?” The leader’s kind smile turned almost cruel then. “Pity. We shall have to convince you, then.”
“Join us.” Bianca stretched out her hand. Claire stared at that slender hand with its perfectly manicured nails and a strange sense of detachment settled over her.
Something cold and evil glittered in the female’s steel gaze. Malevolence shadowed the curve of her mouth, and Claire knew there wasn’t anything friendly about her.
The newest member to the trio growled his impatience. “Enough talk.” He smoothed a hand over his slicked-back hair, fingers sliding down the dark length of his tight ponytail with an anxious energy. “Let’s take her and show her what it means to be a lycan.”
Claire’s skin crawled as she watched him run his tongue over fleshy lips. Take her. She knew he meant more than coercing her to join their pack. Instantly, Claire marked him the wild card. The impatient one.
He started toward her, his silver gaze glowing brilliantly, startling and otherworldly against his swarthy face.
Gideon, where are you?
Unwilling to wait any longer, she slid the gun from her purse, flexing her fingers around the textured grip, cold and abrasive in her hand.
The beefy lycan paused, staring in confusion at her gun before his lips peeled back into a feral grin. He shook his head slowly, wagging a long, thick-nailed finger.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he said as if they played a game, as if she weren’t serious, as if she didn’t have every intention of blowing a hole through his black heart if he took one more step. “First rule of the pack is to stick together.”
“I’m not of your pack.”
“A lone female—breeding as you are,” the leader inserted. “You have to belong to a pack. It might as well be ours. Accept what you are. There is no other choice. You are one of us. You can’t undo it.”
His words hit her hard, as no blow could.
The brawny lycan continued his advance.
“Stop.” Her thumb pulled back the hammer, the grinding click loud on the air. “I mean it,” she warned, her finger curled around the trigger.
She aimed at his chest and shook her head side to side in determined avowal. “I swear to God I’ll shoot.”
The leader’s voice continued, rolling over her, seductive and mesmerizing, softening her will. “Everything’s confusing right now. We can make things easier. Come with us. We’ll show you how incredible life can be.”
“I’m not one of you,” she muttered in a harsh whisper. Jamming her eyes shut, she squeezed the trigger. The gun bucked in her hands. The acrid smell of cordite stung her nostrils.
She peeked one eye open, then the other. The brawny lycan stood frozen, rooted in place just inches from her. He looked down at his chest and back to her face in shock.
She watched as he toppled to the ground. She felt no rush of victory. Only shock. She had killed someone—no, not someone. She had destroyed a lycan. Yet it was hard to remember the distinction as the silver faded like a wisp of smoke from his eyes, leaving a very mortal shade of brown behind.
A flash of movement caught her eye. Too late. She didn’t have time to lift the gun and aim before the shrieking female charged her. Claire landed on her back with a teeth-rattling jolt. Her gun clattered against the pavement, skittering several feet away. Pinned, she couldn’t budge as razor-sharp nails attacked her neck and face, scratching and slicing in a flurry of motion. Saliva dribbled down onto her face from the crimson lips snarling above her.
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 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 and warned Ian, “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 attention 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 lost 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 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.”
Gideon’s 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?”
“Yeah, why?”
Gideon snatched up both their guns. After reholstering his gun and stuffing hers into his jacket pocket, he grabbed her hand and dragged her into the parking lot.
“Gideon,” she demanded, running to keep up with his long strides and trying not to sound panicked. “What’s going on?”
“Remember that lycan I told you about? The old one?”
Claire thought for a moment before recalling the twelve-hundred-year-old lycan he’d mentioned. “The one rumored to be dead?” she asked, a tight knot forming in the center of her chest, making it difficult to breathe.
“Yeah. His name’s Darius.”
A shudder ran through her and she nearly tripped over her feet. His hand tightened around her fingers and he increased his speed, pulling her along faster.
“But if that’s him, why would he let us—”
“I don’t know, but we’re not going to test his charity tonight. He’s a killer. We couldn’t even fathom the number of lives he’s taken over the centuries.” Gideon looked left and right as if he expected Darius to pop up from behind a parked car. They headed deeper into the parking lot, Gideon’s strides swift and angry.
“I don’t think he’d let us go just to come after—”
“The way he looked at you—” Gideon broke off, shaking his head. “I’m surprised he walked away.”
“Maybe we should go after him.”
“Let him go.”
“Why? Those other lycans mentioned a Benedict. I think he’s their alpha. Maybe Darius knows—”
“No, Claire. He may have shot one of his kind, but he’s not inclined to help us. And I don’t like the way he looked at you. Next time he may not let you go.”
“So what, then? Another night and no leads?” she demanded. “I’m going after him.” Spinning around, Claire stalked back down the alley.
Gideon’s hand clamped down on her arm, whirling her around. His green eyes glittered. “You want to give him a go at you? Is that what you want?”
A deep growl rose up in her throat. “Exactly. I’m a creature of passion, remember?” she mocked, wrenching her arm free and stepping back. Blood pumped through her veins thick and fast. He made a grab for her arm again and, without thinking, she brought her palm cracking against his cheek. His head jerked from the force of her blow.
Her hand flew to her mouth, drowning out her gasp. Even in the murk and gloom of the alley, she made out her handprint, white and stark against the swarthy skin of his cheek, evidence of her rage, a proclivity for violence that gripped her in its throes.
His furious gaze roamed her face, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his gaze settled on her mouth, heat swept over her. Claire started to tremble, the familiar wanting sinking deep in the pit of her stomach and spreading outward. Helpless, she leaned in.
He grabbed her by the back of her neck and hauled her against him, slamming his mouth over hers. She parted her lips, groaning at the sweep of his tongue inside her mouth.
His hands dropped to clench her hips, wedging her against him, his erection a hard ridge prodding her belly. She ground against him, wanting that hardness elsewhere, buried inside her.
A soft voice intruded. “Want me to shoot her for you, Gid?”
Claire spun around to face Gideon’s sister, aiming a gun that looked much too large for her slight hands.
“Kit,” Gideon groaned. “Put the damned gun away before you hurt someone.”
Kit lowered the gun. “I know how to use it.” Her green gaze narrowed on Claire. “And I know who to use it on.”
“Kit,” he growled in warning.
“No, Gid,” she snapped. Facing Claire, she demanded, “What the hell are you doing? Besides putting my brother at risk? Take some responsibility. If you care at all for my brother, you will end this before he gets hurt.”
“Kit, that’s enough,” Gideon barked.
Claire stared at the young woman’s face, feeling the truth of her words like a razor blade to her flesh.
“This is why I was late getting to you,” he explained, waving a hand at his sister. “She showed up and wouldn’t leave. She wants to hunt lycans,” he quickly explained.
“And he won’t let me because I’m a woman,” Kit retorted. “Have you ever heard of such crap—”
“Because you’re too young,” Gideon insisted.
“I’m twenty-four! Not some teenager.” Kit waved her gun in a small circle, sending Gideon and Claire ducking.
“Give me that thing.” Gideon snatched the gun from her hand.
Claire shook her head, wondering how she ended up in the middle of a sibling squabble.
Gideon tossed a wary look over his shoulder, no doubt still worried about Darius. He pointed to a Cyber Green Volkswagen bug parked next to the Jeep and growled, “Get in your car and go home, Kit. I don’t want to worry about you for at least another twenty-four hours.”
She scuffed her shoe on the ground, kicking up a cloud of dirt. “Don’t forget your promise to me.”
“I won’t forget. I’m just not going to do anything about it tonight. It’s not safe. Now get out of here.”
Apparently satisfied with whatever promise Gideon had given, Kit ducked inside her car. Claire followed suit and climbed inside Gideon’s Jeep.
Another night with no leads. No information. No closer.
Gideon slid in beside her. She glanced at the rigid lines of his profile. Her heart ached with the need to touch him. She smoothed her hands over her jeans to keep from reaching out. He didn’t want her touch. Didn’t want closeness from her of any kind. Moonlight spilled through the windshield, gilding the hair at his brow a silvery blond. Her gaze followed the light to its source, to the ticking time bomb in the sky. There is no other choice. You are one of us. You can’t undo it.
The small flame of hope that she nurtured deep in her heart sputtered out.