Kiss of a Dark Moon (24 page)

“I can't believe you're still touted as NODEAL's best.” Jack shook his head, glaring at Gideon. “Where's the sense in that? You're the traitor. You befriended one of the most monstrous lycans the world has ever known.”

“Étienne Marshan was hunted down and destroyed years ago,” Rafe inserted.

“Not him. Darius.” Jack's lips curled as if he hurled an epithet.

A guarded look came over Gideon's face. “What are you talking about?”

“Don't deny it! I've learned a lot about you in the last year. I know you've allied yourselves with Darius.” He buried the barrel of his gun into Gideon's cheek.

“It made more sense to let him live. He isn't a danger—”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Jack's face screwed tight with disgust. “Just shut the hell up.”

“Jack,” Kit spoke from behind Rafe, her voice soft and desperate. “Please put the gun down. You don't want to shoot us.”

“On the contrary.” He swung back around, and Rafe tensed, adrenaline spiking through him at the grinding click of the gun's hammer. “It's been a challenge this last year. EFLA ordered me to only gather information, but how I longed to put an end to all of you.”

Rafe growled, the sound welling up from deep in the pit of his stomach. Kit squeezed his arm, staying his impulse to lunge at Jack. He glanced back at her, letting the sight of her face infuse him with calm.

“Jack,” she continued, her hand stroking the necklace at her neck. “I know you cared about me—”

“Do you?” One corner of Jack's mouth lifted in a cruel smirk. “Gullible girl. That necklace there at your throat has allowed me to track you. Nothing more. You think I gave a shit about you? I needed to know what you were up to.”

“What?” Angry fire lit her cheeks.

Rafe cursed under his breath. She was wearing the tracking device. Now he knew why every time they turned around some agent or lycan was in their faces. Jack had planted the device on Kit and fed the information to EFLA.

Kit snatched the necklace from her throat and flung it to the floor. “All the time I've been wearing this…”

“It was especially useful when you bailed town. I promised Laurent I would bring you down.” His gaze slid to Rafe. “You're a bonus I hadn't counted on. It seems his doubts about you were well founded.” He leveled the gun at Rafe's chest, eyes narrowing with deadly intent. “They'll probably give me Cooper's job for killing you.”

“Jack, no!”

Kit shoved Rafe hard, her newfound strength catching him off guard.

He stumbled to the side, leaving her exposed, open for the shot intended for him.

Everything slowed.

He watched the scene as though outside of himself. Saw himself stumbling, trying to right himself and turn. Trying to grab Kit and pull her down. Heard the echo of his own cry.

The sound of the gun punched the air, an explosion in his head. The force of the bullet propelled Kit back, knocking her off her feet, launching her through the air. He groped wind, trying to grab her, narrowly missing her arm.

He fell hard on his knees beside her. He caught her up in his arms, clutching her tightly, pushing his palm at the gushing wound on her shoulder.
No, no, no, no, no…

The bullet hadn't struck a fatal area, but then it didn't have to. Not if she possessed the same deadly allergy to silver that lycans did.

Blood, thick and warm, ran through his fingers, swift as water spilling from a fountain. He pressed harder, determined to stop the bleeding, determined that she live.
Déjà vu
washed over him. He'd saved her before. He would again. He had to.

Gradually, another sound penetrated. Low and keening, persistent as the tolling of a death knell.

It was him, he realized. Mourning his life mate, the one intended for him. The only one there would ever be. All these years, he had been waiting for her. Had found her, led by some strange force. He saw that now. Understood. Kit was his destiny, and he'd been foolish enough to think he could walk away from her.

“Why, Kit?” He smoothed a bloody hand over her forehead, rocking her in his arms.

He dimly registered the sounds of scuffling—splintering furniture and shouting. Another shot rang out.

Then Gideon was there, roaring in his face. “Let's go! C'mon! We have to get her help!”

He growled and swiped savagely at the hand trying to pull Kit from him.

“Listen, asshole, she's my sister! Let her go!”

His eyes clashed with Gideon March's hard, glittering gaze. Still he clung, physically unable to release her from his desperate hold. In some strange way, he felt releasing her would be tantamount to letting her die. As though he alone stood between her and death.

Kit's brother pointed a gun in his face. “Do you want to save her or not?”

Nodding, he snapped out of his stupor, even as he wondered how they could possibly help her. Last time, instinct had shown him what to do. Not now. Now…

Nothing. Nothing occurred to him.

Sweeping her up in his arms, he strode from the living room, without sparing a glance for the corpse he was stepping over. “Where are we taking her?”

Gideon, face drawn tight with anxiety, hurried past Rafe to get the door. “To the only one who may be able to help her.”

 

Voices ricocheted around Kit like flying bullets. Hard-edged, biting commands.

“Rafe,” she whimpered, her blurred vision settling on a dark-haired hazy face above her. She inhaled, recognizing at once his musky scent, and tried to lift her hand.

Burning pain throbbed in her chest, spreading outward over her entire body. She cried out, dropping her arm.

She'd been shot. Jack had shot her. With a silver bullet.

Her veins constricted, seizing as though trying to stop the flow of poison through her blood.

“Kit! Stay with me!”

“Give her here,” a voice snapped, for all its urgency still brisk and businesslike.

The warm arms surrounding her disappeared and she was placed on a hard table. Steel at her back. Coldness seeped through her clothes and into her bones. She shivered, her teeth chattering as she tried to lift her head, searching out Rafe's hazy face.

Pristine white surrounded her. The odor of ammonia stung her nose, and she wondered if she was in a hospital. What could they do for her?

She dimly heard fabric tear. A frigid breeze floated over her and she realized that someone had cut away her clothing.

Voices continued to buzz around her, congesting the air. She tried to form words, but her lips could not move. Suddenly a yellow, blinding light glared down at her. She jammed her eyes tightly shut.

The pain in her chest intensified. Exploded as poker-hot pincers dug through her flesh, striking bone in a grinding assault.

She lurched upright, screaming.

Hard hands grabbed her from all sides. She thrashed wildly, fighting them off, hissing at the agony of it.

She recognized Gideon's voice. “Dammit, hold her!”

“Did you get it out?”

Her face turned toward Rafe's voice, like a whispered balm to her heart. She whimpered to be near him, for him to make it stop. Take the pain away.

“It's wedged—I can't!”

“You have to get it out! We're losing…” the shout faded.

All the voices quieted to a hush, drifting away like insignificant smoke…

Darkness rolled in, a fog coming toward her, devouring the room's faultless white like a hungry beast.

She fell back, the slam of her head against cold steel just another sensation. The pain was fading, too. Like everything else.

Numbness set in.

She embraced the dark, where she felt nothing at all.

S
trong, warm fingers flexed around her hand. “Kit.

Wake up.”

She moved her head, turning toward the sound of that beguiling voice, warm as fleece and spicy as rum swirling through her veins. A dull ache pervaded her body, and she moaned, longing for sleep again. She felt as though she'd been hit by a truck.

“Kit, can you hear me?

She opened her eyes. Rafe leaned over her, bright morning light haloing his dark head. His eyes gleamed down at her, burning obsidian, shining with something she had never seen before. The mattress dipped as he settled down on the bed beside her.

He lifted her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of it. “God, thank you,” he choked.

“Rafe.” She lifted her free hand and dropped it to the back of his head, threading her fingers through his silky dark hair. “Are you all right?” she asked, remembering that Jack had tried to shoot him, remembering her agony in that moment, and remembering later, as they worked to dig the bullet from her body. Then nothing else. Everything went gray after that.

“Me?” Rafe lifted his head, his expression incredulous. “I'm fine. You're the one that jumped in front of me and took a bullet. A
silver
bullet.” His eyes glinted with fury, the centers glowing like candlelight.

“Silver?”

“That's right. A memento.” He held a small chunk of twisted silver between his thumb and forefinger. “We dug it out, but it was touch and go. Appears our allergy to silver won't necessarily kill us.”

For the first time, she glanced around the room, eyeing the vaulted ceiling with its elaborate crown molding, the marble fireplace set in the wall across from the four-poster bed she occupied. The room was wallpapered in gentle stripes of blue and ivory. Not the clinical white she remembered.

“Where am I? I thought…I remember being in some sort of clinic?”

“That was downstairs, in Darius's lab. We moved you in here after you became stabilized. You should have mentioned him to me. Darius runs a hell of a facility.” His mouth twisted. She followed his gaze to the IV attached to her arm that led to a bag of dripping fluid stationed beside the bed. “One of the scientists in his employ even went to med school.”

She closed her eyes, relief sliding over her. She was alive. She was with Rafe. Her fingers tightened in the soft duvet cover. Life loomed ahead, full and bright with possibilities. If only she could convince Rafe that her feelings for him were genuine.

“Why? Why did you do it?” At the sound of his hoarsely muttered question, she opened her gaze to his face again. A suspicion gleam of moisture filled his eyes. She didn't need to ask to understand what he was asking.

Placing a palm against his cheek, she stared steadily into his eyes. “Because I love you.”

He stared at her for a long, weightless moment. She held her breath, hoping he wouldn't deny her again. Hoping he would see that she'd risked her life for him out of love.

“I know,” he whispered at last, as though reading her mind. “I know.”

She watched him with hunger in her heart, waiting with more patience than she knew she possessed.

His throat worked through a swallow as he shook his head from side to side. “Call me a selfish bastard, but it wouldn't matter to me if you didn't love me. I got a taste of what it would feel like to lose you. I don't want to go through that again. You've got me, you're stuck with me. I love you, and I'm never letting you go.” His expression hardened. “Now promise me you will never pull a stupid stunt like that again.”

She smiled. “What? Take a silver bullet? Piece of cake.”

With a growl, he slid his fingers behind her neck and kissed her. A hard, breath-robbing kiss that made her moan and clutch his shoulders.

“Rafe?”

“Hmm?”

She pulled back from his mouth. “Have you ever seen
The Waltons
?”

“
The Waltons
?” he echoed, dark eyes clouded with what she recognized as desire. Shaking his head, he fixed his dark eyes on her mouth intently. “Who are they?”

Smiling, she shrugged one shoulder and tugged him back down. “Never mind.”

He lowered his head, reclaiming her mouth.

A moment passed, and she murmured against his lips again, realizing that as the first of their species, there were a few things yet to discover. “What about kids? Children? Can we have them?”

“We can try,” he muttered, his hand sliding up her neck to tangle in her hair. “We can try a lot.”

M
om! Amanda won't get out of the bathroom!”

“Shut up, tattletale!”

Kit smiled and shook her head as she added another pancake to the stack. The pile stood thirty high, and she was nowhere near finished. Three of her daughters buzzed around the kitchen setting the table, exchanging knowing looks.

At that moment, Rafe walked into the kitchen with their oldest son and daughter, all three still wearing their gear and carrying their weapons from the previous night's hunt. “Get changed,” she greeted them. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

A door slammed above stairs, followed by an indignant screech. Apparently Sam had forced his way into the bathroom.

Everyone in the kitchen lifted their eyes to the ceiling at the sudden eruption of shouts.

“My money's on Amanda,” Hannah murmured as she laid out napkins.

Before Kit could reprimand her for betting on the likelihood of Sam getting pummeled by his sister, Rafe hugged her close, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. She leaned into him, inhaling deeply, his scent as dear and familiar as her own.

“Is it my turn to break them up?”

Sighing with mock frustration, she handed him the spatula. “I'll go.”

Turning, Kit headed for the stairs, her strides swift and purposeful. She called out over her shoulder, “Tomorrow night it's my turn to hunt.”

Rafe's chuckle followed her. “How about we go out together?”

Stopping at the base of the stairs, she glanced over her shoulder, eyeing him standing in the cluttered kitchen amid five of their noisy children. Already, the oldest two were filling the younger ones in on the night's adventures. Future hunters all of them, they listened with rapt interest.

“And leave the kids at home?”

He nodded, and from the look in his dark eyes, she knew they might never make it to hunting lycans until
very
late in the night.

A contented smile curved her lips. “Perfect,” she murmured.

And everything was.