Blood Moon (2 page)

“I put my flannel shirt on your nephew when I found him. I just want it back, if you don’t mind.”

Thaddeus waved a hand. “It’s probably been thrown away with his other clothes. There’s a blanket behind you on the chair if you’re cold.”

“No!” Her vehement protest caused him to raise his eyebrows. She willed her voice to calm, but the flutter in her gut made it difficult. “You don’t understand. It has sentimental value.”

He watched her, disbelief clearly written on his face. “It’s soaked in blood and will likely never come clean again. What’s so important about that shirt?”

She curled her fingers into her palms. The flannel was a silly memento she should abandon, but sometimes she still thought she could catch her Mate’s scent on the fibers. It brought her comfort when nothing else could. “It belonged to my Mate. It’s all I have left.”

Thaddeus’ face paled, doubt lingering in his gaze. “You seem a bit young to have lost a Mate. You can’t be more than, what—twenty?” He motioned to one of the guards, who then retreated to the kitchen.

She studied Thaddeus then rubbed a hand over her face. “I’m twenty-six, but I feel ancient.”

The man returned, empty-handed, and she forgot to breathe. It must have showed, because he quickly reassured her. “I told Alec you wanted it back. Luckily, it was on top of the pile they were going to burn. I’ll put it in the washer for you.”

Aria relaxed, sagging into the armchair. “Thank you. I know its silly, but it’s all I have left of him.” She didn’t enjoy handing out information. The more they knew about her, the more they’d have against her.

“How long has he been gone?” Thaddeus rested his elbows on his knees, a slight sympathetic smile on his lips, which didn’t quite reach his suspicious eyes.

Aria resisted the urge to snicker. She’d been through more interrogations than she cared to remember. He was good, but not
that
good. 

She knew Pack hierarchy better than most. Thaddeus could do nothing without orders from the Alpha, and he wasn’t here. For now, she was relatively safe. The heat from the hearth’s fire worked magic on her weary body. Her limbs grew heavy. The comfort of the chair surpassed any of the places she had slept in the last few weeks. Days of little sleep and less food, along with the recent excitement wore her down. Her eyelids drooped, and she fidgeted in the seat to remain focused and alert. “A year and a half.”

Thaddeus steeped his fingers in front of him. “What was his name? What happened to him?”

Though sleepy, she would not be manipulated by his attempt at sympathy. She studied the flames for a moment, weighing her options. No one knew Lukas had been her Mate. She could tell this man, relive her memories for a short time. No blood, no foul. What difference did it make anyway? She was so tired of running that being caught would almost be a relief. Almost.

“Lukas. His name was Lukas MacLeod. He was killed trying to help me.” Her voice caught on the last word, and she struggled to keep the tears from coming again as she pictured his broken body on the floor when they dragged her out. The pain was a constant companion now, a dull ache that she had learned to live with.

The casual wariness he exhibited suddenly morphed into something else entirely. His face lit up as if he were a child with a new toy. She sat up, alert at the sudden change in atmosphere.

“You’re Garett Lagreve’s daughter.”

“What makes you think that?” She tensed, mouth dry. Everyone knew of her father, but no one had known about the marriage. No one.

Thaddeus rubbed his hands together. “Ah, now there’s a question. You’ll see soon enough.”

“You know, I never said I was his daughter.” Aria gave him a tired half-smile as she relaxed. He wasn’t making any sense.

“You didn’t have to. Your face said it for you.”

She shrugged. “Now do you see why I can’t stay long? The longer I stay, the more danger to you and your Pack.”

Thaddeus just smirked. “I see why you think that. Oh man, you think life is complicated now? Wait until you meet my Alpha.”

He sounded like the cat that got the cream. In her experience, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Sometimes what one person found wonderful required the blood of another. Haemon Thessangelos, her father’s prodigy, had demonstrated that often enough. And she’d usually been the one bleeding. 

Fear curled in her gut.

Thaddeus’ smile only grew bigger. “Don’t worry, Aria. This is one of the safest places you could possibly be. We don’t share a great love for your former Pack around here. Any opportunity to annoy them is more than welcome.”

She shook her head. “You aren’t the first to say that, but the sooner I leave, the better off you’ll be. The ones following me don’t care who gets hurt as long as they bring me back.”

“I’m leaving these two here to make sure you don’t try to run. The one who went for your flannel is Hamish, and this hulk”—he rose, clapping a hand on another blond who bore a striking resemblance to him—“is my brother Lawrence. If you need something, ask them.”

“I won’t try to leave until my shirt is returned. After that, I make no promises.”

Thaddeus turned from the doorway to the kitchen. “By then, you’ll have met the master of the house.”

Chapter Two

Aria woke with a start. The previous evening’s events replayed in her mind as she raked a hand through her hair, blinking remnants of sleep away.

Shit.
How could she have been so stupid? Falling asleep in another Pack’s den? Her fingers dug into her scalp. Unbelievable. She hadn’t made this kind of mistake in ages. Sucking in a deep breath, she willed herself to calm. If she were still in one piece when this was over, she’d definitely need her head examined.

She surveyed the room, taking stock of the exits and the men in the room. Behind her, two guards stood, shifting on their feet. No chance of sliding out the door unnoticed. Thaddeus faced her on the other side of the room, arguing in hushed tones with a tall, well-built man. The stranger’s black, short-sleeved shirt emphasized the strong line of muscles in his back and arms. Since he faced away from her, she allowed herself to admire the way his jeans molded to his body. Her gaze wandered up his spine, lingering on shoulder length waves of blue-black hair. Her fingers itched to run through the thick strands.

Enough.
She jerked her thoughts from the path they were headed. Guilt flared in the pit of her stomach for ogling the man. Since Lukas died, she hadn’t been able to bear the touch of another, let alone think about one in any physical capacity. Later, she’d deal with those implications. Now, her biggest concern was to escape.

Drawing in a deep breath, she sat a little straighter. “Listen, if you’re arguing about me, then….”

The stranger whirled around. The air in the room seemed to disappear. Her body froze.

He was just as she remembered—tall, more muscular, and a new scar ran from his hairline down under the collar of his shirt. When their gazes met, her heart clenched and shock skittered down her spine. His right eye sparkled with the same vibrant green that haunted her dreams. The left was bleached of color, nearly as white as her knuckles. Despite the differences, her entire being knew this was no trick.

Something inside her broke. Her voice shook, and his image rippled with the tears streaming down her cheeks. “What kind of torture is this? You’re dead.”

The muscles of his throat worked, but no sound emerged. Behind him, Thaddeus winked and gave her a smug smile.

“So are you.”

Oh dear God, even his voice was the same! The warmth in the deep rumble broke her tenuous control. Tearing her gaze from his, she pressed a hand over her mouth and pulled her knees to her chest. Perhaps if she held herself tightly enough, she wouldn’t splinter.

She took small, frantic sips of air, attempting to hold back the sobs pushing out of her throat. A low keening noise, high-pitched and slightly mad, warbled through the room. On some level, she knew it emanated from her, but she spent her energy on making herself small. Her fingernails bit into her jeans. The gaping wound, where her heart had been patched over so many times after Lukas’ death, ruptured. Her soul bled, and each ragged breath she heard him draw clawed the hole wider.

The whole room seemed to be consumed by Lukas’ presence. Escape was impossible, and she knew it, even as she searched for an exit. She had to get out. If she didn’t, there wouldn’t be anything left to save. 

Lukas moved across the room, crouched in front of her, his hands on either side of the chair. His mismatched, unearthly stare met hers, but she couldn’t make the tears stop.

“Leave us.”

It wasn’t right. His voice both soothed and tore at her frayed nerves. The others moved from the room. Her opportunity to run passed as they pulled the door closed with a soft click. She couldn’t have torn her gaze from Lukas if her life depended on it. Hesitantly, as if he too were afraid, he smoothed one calloused hand over her cheek, thumbing away the wetness. At his touch, her whole body jerked like she’d been struck. Every place his fingers touched tingled, and warmth began to shimmer in her soul.

“I need to hear you say the words. Are you Aria Lagreve?”

She drew a deep shuddering breath, captured his hand against her face and rubbed her cheek over the palm. “No.”

Pain and anger flared in his eyes. His features hardened, and he tried to pull his hand away. She stopped him, reaching out with one shaking digit to trace the scar along his cheek. “When you died, I was Aria MacLeod. We were following tradition, doing the human ceremony as well as the shifter ritual, remember?”

Lukas’ features softened slightly. “You were supposedly killed a year ago, when you tried to escape from Haemon.”

She pulled her hand away, unsure of herself and the man crouching before her. They were not really the same people anymore. When they parted, she’d been rebellious, but very sheltered. The last eighteen months had changed many things about her.

“I did escape, several times. And he nearly killed me every time I made the attempt. But I’m not dead. At least, I don’t think I am.”

An awkward pause fell between them, and slowly, like a mirage shimmering in the desert, the reality of the situation came to her—Lukas didn’t die the night they were almost married. She shuddered and renewed tears snuck from under her lashes, until the impact of the thought ripped at the tenuous hold she had on her emotions.

Lukas was alive.

He had been all along.

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees; her tears froze into biting pinpricks of cold on her cheeks. Beneath her cotton shirt, the necklace she wore turned to a block of silver ice between her breasts. Lukas’ breath fogged between them, but his face remained passive. The only show of curiosity was an arched brow. There had been a time when he could have hidden nothing from her. She was not the only one who had changed.

“Where have you been?”

Lukas winced. Inwardly, she flinched as well. She hadn’t intended her pain to be quite so easily read.

His gaze turned away and his face twisted; in anger or shame, she wasn’t sure. Questions hung in the frosty air between them, her words making the chill worse. Her magic flared out, without her control or consent, in times of high emotion. She thought she’d gotten the power under control, but apparently, it still needed some work.

The hard planes of his face forced her to sit still even though shock began to recede. Too much stood between them, and yet she wanted nothing more than to feel his arms around her, as if they’d only been apart a few days. Instead of a year.

But the time for that kind of forgiveness had passed. Torture, hunger, paranoia and fear had reshaped some parts of her personality. At times like this, she feared she’d never be capable of opening herself to anyone again. Even to him.

Lukas had been the last thing she expected. It was the most amazing and most painful experience she could ever have imagined. She drew a deep breath and looked away from him. Trying to keep the accusations out of her voice, she started again, “I thought you were dead.”

A wry grin twisted his lips. “I’m not.”

She crossed her arms, pulling in the power around her. “Haemon took me to see your body. You were covered in blood and that scar on your face was a fresh wound. I couldn’t detect any life in you.”

“That’s because I
was
dead.”

Aria frowned. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain things a little more clearly.”

He sat back on his haunches, releasing the arms of the chair. “I’m not entirely sure what happened that day. I only know that I was no longer in this world, and just when I was headed off to the next, I was pulled back and returned to my body. I was in so much pain, I barely remember a silhouette over me and then I passed out. When I woke up again, I was in my father’s house.”

The air in the room grew warmer. Slowly, she reigned in more of her power and regained some control over her wild emotions.

“That’s where the scar came from. And the eyes, I would imagine.”

He didn’t answer right away, and she could see he chose his words carefully. It seemed Lukas had turned his gaze inward to something beyond her reach—something she didn’t think she wanted to see.

“Yes. When anyone dies and is brought back, they tend to return…transformed. Part of that was waking up with the freakish changes.” His lips sketched another smile, but pain and something else slightly disturbing flirted with the tense lines around his mouth. “Those have taken everyone, myself included, a long time to get used to.”

Aria stared at the bricks over the fireplace. While she wanted to wrap her arms around him, doubt niggled the back of her mind. He must have known there’d be a chance she lived, but she squashed the joy ruthlessly. Why hadn’t he looked for her? “Freakish or not, I’m glad someone was there to help.”

“So am I.”

His hand hesitantly covered hers. “For what its worth, Aria, I did look for you. But by the time I was sane enough, there wasn’t much left to do.”

“Sane enough?” The hoarse whisper that escaped her lips made her wince. Bad enough he could still read her face so easily. Even her voice couldn’t be trusted with him.