Kiss of a Dark Moon (2 page)

K
it scanned ahead of her, her nerves stretched taut as wire as she turned down an alley three blocks away from the bar she had just quit.

The steps behind her were undetectable amid the busy city sounds, but she knew they were there nonetheless. Just behind her. She had baited her trap. If she knew how to do one thing well, it was get their attention. After all these years, it had become instinctual to her.

She imagined the sour heat of their breath on her neck and wiped one sweaty palm against her skirt. Her pulse thrummed hotly at her throat and she fought to steady it, knowing they could sense her adrenaline. Smell it like smoke on the air. She didn't want them to detect her unease.

A quick glance up revealed a sun-streaked horizon battling the murk of impending night. Dusk. The hunting hour.

She cursed to herself when she thought of the date whom she'd left behind at the bar, sitting alone now with his glass of Chardonnay as she strolled between the twin brick walls of a shadow-shrouded alley, grade-A scum hot on her heels.

Lately the loneliness had gotten to her, and she let her friend Gus set her up with his next door neighbor's son.

Loneliness. That growing ache for a connection, like the kind her brother had found with his wife, the kind the whole world seemed capable of finding, except for her. Why should her determination to hunt and destroy lycans preclude her from leading a normal life? From finding intimacy with another human being? Her brother was able to combine both worlds. She vowed to do the same.

Whether she could find that with Dan remained to be seen. He seemed like a decent guy. At least from what she could tell after five minutes. They hadn't made it very far past introductions when she had sensed their presence.

The heels of her boots clicked sharply over the broken concrete. In the cavernlike depths of the alley, the heavy tread of their steps rose over the night, and she knew it was time to make her move. Time to show them they'd picked the wrong woman.

A hot gust of air expelled from her lips as she began to dig through her purse. Nearing a Dumpster, she slowed her steps, feigning ignorance of the three dark shapes closing in behind her.

She tensed for the fight.

Bring it, scumbags
.

Slipping one hand inside her purse, she wrapped her fingers around her gun. The cold metal felt reassuring in her hand as she flicked off the safety. Her lips moved, silently, feverishly, as she issued a quick prayer. The same prayer she always muttered. A silent plea that they not suspect, not realize
who
she was—
what
she was—until it was too late.

Faking a little stumble, she hunkered down low and reached for her boot, as though her heel had come loose. Dropping her purse, she pulled her gun free and whirled around in time to see them lunge, teeth bared in a hiss, eyes glowing a preternatural silver.

She fired. One spun from the bullet to his chest and landed with a hard thud. Caught off guard, the other two stopped, looking in shock from her to the corpse at their feet.

Without blinking, she used her advantage and fired again, dropping another one. They'd obviously never expected a woman to be armed, to fight back. It had never crossed their minds that she could be a viable threat, an actual lycan hunter. Feed and fornicate: nothing else filled their heads. To them, she was merely fresh meat.

Forgetting his comrades, the remaining lycan charged her with the speed known to his cursed species. He launched himself at her, a dark blur in the air. Before she could squeeze out a third shot, he knocked the gun from her hand. It skittered across the filth-covered pavement. Out of reach. He struck her a brutal blow, and her head snapped back, sharp pain exploding in her cheek. She staggered, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth.

Her breath escaped in a hiss of pain. Recovering her balance, she spat out a mouthful of blood and put her training to use. She spun around and delivered a back kick to his head, gratified at the sharp snap of his neck. A diversionary tactic. She could never hope to outfight a lycan. No mortal could. She only hoped to buy enough time to reach her gun.

As he staggered back from her kick, she spun on her heels and dashed toward her weapon. A hard hand clamped around her ankle. She was slammed to the ground with a cry, inches from her weapon.

He dragged her back over loose gravel and jagged concrete. Grunting, she clawed for a handhold, straining toward her gun. Ignoring the sting of her palms, she flipped onto her back and kicked the lycan squarely in the face with the heel of her boot. Once. Twice.

Blood gushed from his nose as he grappled for her flailing feet.

Still kicking, she stretched an arm behind her, groping for her weapon.

“Need some help?”

Kit looked up at the sound of the thick, gravelly voice. A stranger stood just beyond them, his face in shadow. Light poured from the mouth of the alley, surrounding him, limning his large physique. Great. Just what she needed. Some civilian to worry about.

The lycan looked, too, growling at the new arrival. She took advantage of the distraction, grinding her heel in his eye.

The beast howled and released her ankle.

“Get the hell out of here,” she spit out, shooting across the remaining distance for her gun.

“And miss the show?” the dark voice rumbled over the air.

Turning, she fired as the creature came at her again, growling fierce curses, his face a gory mess. Blood sprayed her boots and legs.

The lycan collapsed at her feet. Without hesitating, she kicked the heavy weight away and snatched her weapon from the ground. For a moment she watched the lycan's silver eyes fade, recede to a very mortal—very
dead
—brown. Just another corpse, another homicide for HPD to chalk up to the ever-increasing crime rate.

“Impressive.”

Chest heaving with serrated breaths, she rose to her feet and faced the stranger, knowing that her first guess had been wrong.

Not a civilian. Another hunter.

Dread filled her as she lifted her gaze to the man. Most of the agents in the area knew her—or
of
her. And most objected, buying into NODEAL's policy prohibiting female hunters. No doubt this guy worked for NODEAL, the National Organization Against Ancient and Evolving Lycanthropes.

Great. Cooper would hear all about tonight. Specifically, the three-to-one odds. And that meant Gideon would, too. They would tear her a new one for taking such risks. She'd been in bad jams before—and had always made her kills. She would just remind Cooper and Gideon of that very thing.

Brushing loose gravel from her stinging palms, she trained her gaze on the dark figure. Demon-dark eyes gleamed out from his shadowed features. He stepped closer, bringing his face out of shadow. She sucked in a breath.

Inky lashes much too long for any man to possess framed those dark eyes, which watched her intently, making her suddenly self-conscious. Annoying. She normally didn't get self-conscious.

Scooping up her purse, she shoved her gun into it. “You don't need to be here. As you can see, I have it under control.”

“Right,” he replied, his well-carved lips twisting. A hint of an accent, rich and throaty, laced his voice, the origin indecipherable to her ears.

Eyeing him warily, she fished her cell phone out of her purse and left a quick message on Cooper's voice mail, supplying the location, time, and body count. Even officially unsanctioned to hunt, she gave him a status report after every kill. He was a stickler for keeping their database up-to-date. A single lycan kill couldn't go unrecorded.

The agent continued to watch her, his dark gaze oddly intent. Dropping her phone into her purse, she tossed out “Thanks again.”

Turning, she strode away even as she felt his stare drilling into her back. Stepping onto the sidewalk, she glanced regretfully at the door of the bar, then back down at herself. She was splattered in blood; her palms and knees a scraped mess. Resuming her date was out of the question. If Dan was even still waiting. She grimaced. Another botched attempt at a love life.

Watching for cars, she crossed the street, heels clicking, eager to put as much distance as possible between herself and the other hunter.

At her vehicle, she fumbled for her keys, imagining that those sinfully dark eyes were still trained on her, burning through her, making her hot and cold at the same time. He
was
handsome. Understandable that she might lose her composure a bit. The skin at her nape prickled and feathered with unease.

Finding her keys, she noticed that her hand shook. Adrenaline loss, she reasoned, pushing the Unlock button. Certainly it had nothing to do with the lycan hunter.

“Where I come from we do not have female hunters.”

Spinning around, Kit pressed her back against her car, surprised at how close he stood, caging her in. She must be slipping. She had not even heard him move in behind her.

“Hey, back off.” Her hand moved to the bulk of her purse at her side, ready to pull out her gun.

He dipped his face close to her neck. His warm breath misted her neck. “Little girls who smell of vanilla get gobbled up.”

“Is that a fact?” She tried to sound calm even as her heart raced. “And where are you from?”

His mouth lifted in an ominous smile that did strange things to her insides, but he did not answer, only stepped closer.

Kit's mouth went dry. Unsure how to respond, she watched his lips lose their smile as he leaned in, his face ruthless and unforgiving, beautiful as any marble sculpture. Those dark eyes of his dropped to her mouth, and her belly tightened. Mesmerized, she couldn't move.

Every instinct said that he was going to kiss her, and a part of her began to suspect she was stupid enough to let him—until she felt the cold steel of a gun against her ribs.

K
it's pulse jackknifed against her throat. “Who are you?”

“Rafe Santiago.”

“Rafe,” she echoed, trying to appear calm at the feel of the gun in her side. “Never heard of you.”

“But you've heard of EFLA.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Yeah.” She swallowed back the immediate foul taste that rose in her throat.

The European Federation of Lycan Agents was hard-core. More rigid than NODEAL, its American counterpart.

So he was one of them. She saw it in the cold determination of his gaze, dark as fathomless waters. An EFLA agent. Ruthless in his resolve to hunt lycans and uphold the codes of his organization. Codes that condemned
her
and all she did. All she stood for. “You're with EFLA.”

EFLA did not tolerate female hunters in its ranks—or rogue agents of any kind. And by definition, she was both. Cooper had once told her that EFLA would have killed her at the first rumor of her activities. Her and Gideon.

“Your guess would be correct,” he replied in an exotic accent that made her think of warm vineyards and dark seas. Deceptive that such a cold-blooded killer—only cold-blooded killers could work for EFLA—should possess a voice like that. Deceptive and dangerous.

She glanced down at the gun trained on her. “Why bother distracting that lycan from his fun with me, then?” Considering what he was—what
she
was—he could have justified finishing off both of them.

A corner of his mouth turned up. “I'm not a sadist.”

“Just a killer,” she shot back, darting a pointed glance to the gun he held on her.

Something flashed in his eyes. The glassy cold there shuddered like a flame flickering in the wind, letting in a spark of emotion. Then, just like that, it was gone. Cold calculation returned to his gaze. His throaty, exotic voice rolled over her like a drag of silk on naked flesh. “Well, we're both killers, aren't we?”

She snorted. “Somehow I don't think we're the same.”

His gaze skimmed her, slowly sliding up the length of her boots and stopping again on her face. “No. We are not.”

She drew a deep breath and tried not to feel stripped, vulnerable and exposed under his stare. “So what's next?” She held herself tense, poised for a fight. “Are you going to shoot me?”

“Would it be so easy?”

“You can find out.” She tensed.

His lips twitched. Moments passed. The sound of cars rushing along the nearby interstate hummed over the air. She held her breath, debating her next move, staring into his eyes, trying to read him, to determine how far he would carry out his duties to EFLA.

He eased his gun off her. Cocking a brow, he stepped back and discreetly tucked the gun beneath his jacket.

“We're not alike,” she continued. “I kill only things that need killing. Monsters.” She shot a pointed glare in the direction of the gun he had tucked away. “Not humans. Especially humans who destroy lycans.”

“Even humans require killing now and then. When justified. NODEAL would agree with that. Just ask your brother. And his wife.”

So he knew about Gideon and Claire. Knew that she had been infected by a lycan and that Gideon had failed to kill her, as NODEAL required. He must also know that Gideon had saved Claire.

“You see how I roll.” She waved a hand to the alley were the three corpses lay rotting. “You think I give a rat's ass for NODEAL's policies?”

His lips twitched as though he wanted to laugh. But his expression didn't change; it remained stony as ever.

His words replayed themselves in her head.
When justified
. She stared hard at his face. The impenetrable mask didn't crack. Not a lash blinked over those liquid dark eyes. Was he implying that killing her would be justifiable? Because she dared to hunt lycans? Why should it matter so much to NODEAL or EFLA who performed the messy task of killing the bloodthirsty creatures, as long as it got done?

“Maybe you should reconsider how you play the game. I don't go jamming guns into innocent people,” she continued. “Especially if they're dedicated to the same cause I am.”

With a tilt of his dark head, he stepped close again, too close. “And are you so innocent?”

She tried to speak, but whatever words she thought to say were trapped in her throat.

Clearly he did not consider her a legitimate hunter. Like all the rest. NODEAL or EFLA, it made little difference. They didn't respect her. Didn't consider her one of them. Sexist bastards. You'd think they would be happy to have another hunter working the streets.

The size and strength of the lycan packs were only growing worldwide. Fortunately they didn't infect indiscriminately. But they bred—and fed, as the rising number of missing persons and unsolved murders each year attested. Every lycan dead made only a tiny dent in the lycan threat against humanity.

Their behavior had grown bolder over the last decade. Kit harbored suspicions; she feared they were no longer satisfied with discreetly existing among the human population. The packs were becoming organized, perhaps even forging alliances. Mankind could be on the brink of war with a species whose very existence they'd chalked up to myth.

Area NODEAL agents knew that Kit hunted the same streets they did—officially unsanctioned, true. But they knew Cooper condoned her activities. And they steered clear of her because of that. None of the three dozen agents comprising the Houston NODEAL division would ever dare pull a gun on her.

But the man before her was different. He didn't answer to Cooper. NODEAL, with its bureaucracy and codes, was bad enough. EFLA was another animal entirely. Staring at the imposing man before her only confirmed that. Everything about him screamed danger. Warned her to get far away from him.

His dark eyes glinted with light, slid over her slowly, thoroughly. “You think yourself as dedicated to hunting lycans as I am? As capable?”

“I don't know anything about you,” she hedged.

“But you know about EFLA.”

She gave a jerky nod.

He lifted one shoulder. “Then you know all you need to know about me.”

“Enough,” she agreed. Enough to know she should not stand here talking to him another minute. For whatever reason, he had not shot her. But that didn't mean he wouldn't.

His gaze roamed over her, like a deadly serpent slithering through grass. “Where's your brother?”

The question startled her, telling her right away that he knew her. Or rather
of
her. This was no chance meeting.

The tiny hairs on her nape prickled. “Why?” she demanded, unease tripping down her spine, urging her to flee from this man who seemed to know everything about her.

Except she never ran from a fight. Especially from some hunter out of the Dark Ages who didn't believe women could hunt lycans—and that any who dared to should be benched. Permanently.

Her fingers curled into a fist at her side. “Why do you want to know about my brother?” She fought back the worry from her voice. It would do no good to sound concerned, to reveal that he had rattled her.

Officially, Gideon had quit NODEAL two years ago. Unofficially, he still hunted. But he hunted his way. More often performing rescue missions than the strict killing sprees of his past. He no longer relished the hunt, the kill. Meeting Claire had changed that. Changed him. He focused on saving lives rather than terminating lycans. Another reason for the growing gulf between them. That and his marriage. He had found someone with whom to share his life. Someone who fulfilled him more than the taste of revenge ever had.

He'd gone soft. Something Kit vowed would never happen to her. She would never forget her goal in life: To rid the world of lycans. To make them pay.

“He's quite the legend. Perhaps I only want to meet him.”

She narrowed her gaze on him. “Why are you really here? Aren't there enough lycans to hunt on your continent?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Of course. Though I must say you Americans could use some of EFLA's talent. Lycans are growing at an alarming rate here.”

“So you want to help us out, is that it?”

“I'm just…visiting.”

Kit snorted. Visiting. Right. She didn't believe in coincidence. Or that he was out for her brother's autograph. This was no random meeting. In her line of work, random didn't exist.

“Visiting,” she echoed, her hand moving for the car's door handle. “So instead of touring the Space Center, you decide to troll the streets for lycans? Coincidentally the same lycans I'm hunting?”

He smiled, transforming his face in the process. She no longer stared at a face carved of stone, rigid and imposing in its male beauty. He now looked human. Approachable. Something in her chest tightened, twisted at the sight.

“I'm not interested in tourist activities, Katherine.”

She flinched. No one called her Katherine. At least she didn't remember anyone ever calling her that. There was a time in her life where her memories were dim. Before the age of eight. Before her parents died. The harder she tried to remember those days, the more elusive they were, running ahead of her, fast as smoke on the wind, forever beyond her reach.

“How do you know my name?” she demanded.

“I know a lot about you. And your brother. It's my job to know such things.”

Her lungs contracted as she remembered all Cooper had ever told her about EFLA—things that made NODEAL look about as fierce as a hall monitor in junior high. Was he here to investigate her? And Gideon? Did he know about her brother's alliance with Darius?” A shiver rolled down her spine. That could be bad. Very bad. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to meet you.”

Her fingers tightened around the door handle. Still, she could not retreat. Curiosity outweighed her trepidation. “How do you know about me?”

“A female agent? Come, Katherine—”

“Kit,” she broke in.

“Kit.” He nodded once. “EFLA has known about you for a while. We've been following your activities with great interest. We've documented every kill you've ever made. Impressive. We're amazed you're still alive.”

Was he here to remedy that?

“Well, now you've met me.” Lifting the handle, she opened her car door.

“Maybe we could go somewhere. We must talk—”

“I don't see what we could possibly have to say to one another.” Sliding into the driver's seat, she tried to shut the door.

His hand caught it. Glaring at the tanned, elegant fingers, she tried to tug the door shut, grunting from the effort.

“How about that NODEAL is a thing of the past. And Cooper is on his way out.”

She ceased tugging on the door and stared at him in alarm. Her palm grew sweaty where it clutched the door's arm rest. Her job—hunting in relative freedom—depended on Cooper's looking the other way. Without Cooper, NODEAL might actually stop her from hunting. Or try to, anyway.

“I thought that might get your attention.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It's been in the works for some time now. EFLA and NODEAL are merging.” He paused, adding, “With EFLA at the helm.”

“Shit,” she muttered, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest, as though an invisible fist had grabbed hold of it. All her hopes of being a paid, sanctioned agent vanished at his announcement.

“Your fun is over.”

“It was never fun to me, never a game,” she snapped, thinking of her parents, thinking of all she had lost because of the soulless fiends walking the earth.

Heart racing, she knew she had to go. Had to talk to Cooper. Had to get in contact with her brother. With another grunt of effort, she managed to slam the door.

“Thanks for the information,” she said through the window, her words ringing hollowly.

“They sent me for you.”

Her fingers stilled around her keys. Her mind reeled. Still, she did not look his way again, avoided drowning in the fathomless pools of his eyes. Dark puddles without reflection. The eyes of a killer. An assassin.
Her
assassin. Not at this moment, perhaps. But eventually.

She stared straight ahead. He continued talking, his voice loud and clear through the window's glass. Undeniable. “I'm here to stop you.”

She swallowed through her suddenly too tight throat. “And my brother?”

“Him, too. Where is he, Kit?”

So he knew Gideon was out of town, but evidently not where. A shaky breath shuddered past her lips: mingled relief and gratitude that Gideon and Claire had chosen now to take a vacation.

Gideon's absence was probably the only reason this man wasn't bothering to kill her now. He needed her to get to Gideon. It was not an advantage she was about to give up.