The Killing Moon Page 8

  “Um, that doesn’t sound like a good set up.”

  His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Maybe not, but I’m just going to say it.”

  She steeled herself for it. Whatever it was, she didn’t think she was going to like it.

  “Did he rape you?”

  She pulled away.

  “Dana?”

  She got off the bed. She walked over and picked up the pillow she’d thrown at him. She hugged it.

  “I need to know. Because it makes a difference.”

  She put the pillow on the bed and covered it up, tucking the quilt back in place, making a crease under the pillow. “No.”

  He was quiet.

  She sat back down on the bed, but farther from him than before. Out of reach.

  He looked at her.

  Her gaze flicked away from his.

  “So, if it’s no, then why is it so hard for you to say that?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “It’s a personal question, Brooks. A really personal question.”

  He sighed again. “Okay.”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “I asked you to be honest, and I said I wouldn’t ask again. So, I won’t.” He got up. “I’m going to hit the snack machine. You want anything?”

  “Listen, Brooks...”

  “Yeah?”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  His brows shot up. “You can’t seriously be saying that you consented to anything while you were chained up in a basement.”

  “N-no. I don’t mean that we... It wasn’t...” She squeezed her eyes shut. “You know what, I can’t talk about it yet. Okay? Is that okay?”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “Someone should put a bullet in that man’s head.”

  “Probably,” said Dana.

  “Definitely.”

  She nodded. “Okay, definitely.” She bit her lip. “Maybe I’ll be able to talk about it at some point, but not yet. Can you wait?”

  “Yeah,” he said. He turned and went to the door. “Would you hate me if I killed him?”

  “Avery.”

  “Would you?”

  “You can’t kill him.”

  He shook his head and opened the door. When it banged closed after him, she flinched.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Six months ago, Dana shivered under the thin blanket Cole had wrapped around her naked skin and wondered if he’d ever give her clothes. She tried to wriggle her fingers, but they’d been chained above her head for so long that they were completely numb. If she was moving them, she couldn’t tell.

  Cole stood in front of her, another bowl of soup in his hands. She was getting sick of soup.

  “You going to kill me or what?” she said. She was getting fed up with all of it. She wanted this over, one way or another. The thought of being stuck in this basement for much longer made her crazy.

  Cole put a spoonful of soup in her mouth. “Funny you should ask that, because I’ve come to a conclusion.”

  She swallowed the soup. It was a little cold. She thought about complaining, but that would only mean that he’d disappear to adjust the temperature. As pathetic as it was, she liked it better when he was here. Then she wasn’t alone. “Well, you’re still feeding me. Does that mean you want me to live, or are you just fattening me up?”

  He laughed. “I’m not going to eat you, Dana. Did I eat any of the other victims?”

  He was right, she supposed. That had been another thing that marked his kills as different from typical rogue attacks. Generally, when werewolves killed, they did it out of pure animal instinct. It wasn’t uncommon for parts of their victims to be... missing. But with Cole’s kills, everything had been left behind. The bodies were severely mauled and mangled, but not eaten. “How can you manage any kind of precision like that? You kill in wolf form, that much is obvious. There’s no way you can know whether you’ll eat someone or not.”

  He fed her more soup, smiling. “I’ve gone beyond the tracker training I received at the Sullivan Foundation. I’ve found the next level. Precision is quite possible in full wolf form. You simply don’t know how to do it.”

  She made a face at him.

  He shoveled another spoonful of soup into her mouth. “That’s going to change, though. I’m going to teach you. That’s what I’ve decided. You’re special, Dana. And therefore, we should duel.”

  She choked on the soup. With effort, she managed to swallow it anyway. “Duel?”

  “Perhaps it’s best if you don’t try to talk while you’re eating,” he said.

  “Fuck you.”

  He held up a spoonful. “Are you ready for more?”

  She hated him. He had no right to do this to her. But she opened her mouth. She might be getting sick of soup, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t hungry.

  He fed her the rest quickly, and she ate it, hating herself for how eagerly she opened her mouth for the next bite. When she was finished, he set the bowl down on the floor.

  “What do you mean about a duel?” she asked.

  He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Dueling isn’t exactly the right word, I suppose. But it works. You and I will fight to the death. In wolf form. I think it’s the only fair way to settle this. It gives you a chance, after all. I can’t seem to bring myself to kill you in cold blood.”

  Dana closed her eyes. She didn’t think he could have proposed something more horrible. She hadn’t shifted, fully shifted entirely into wolf form, since she was a teenager. The few times she’d done it, she’d positively hated it. It was painful and terrifying. And she woke up after it with no memory of the time in between, as if her body had simply been stolen from her. “I’d rather you just kill me.”

  He sighed. “Yes. That would have made everything much easier, wouldn’t it?” He cocked his head, surveyed her. “I’m not sure what it is about you. I didn’t have any problem killing the others. Why do you think it is that I couldn’t kill you?”

  “Maybe you think killing’s wrong?” She glared at him.

  He threw back his head and laughed. “What a completely close-minded, human idea.”

  “We are human.”

  He came closer and touched her cheek. “No, Dana, we aren’t.”

  She jerked away from his hand, and when she did, the blanket that was draped over her came free, tumbling down and exposing one of her breasts.

  Cole looked away. “God damn it, Dana.” His voice was a growl.

  She was healing, anyway. The places he’d clawed her had faded into pink scars. “It’s not my fault. It’s yours for not actually putting clothes on me.”

  “I can’t do that without unchaining you.”

  The cold air of the basement was giving her goose bumps. Her nipple tightened, standing erect.

  Cole turned back to look at her, taking a deep breath. As quickly as possible, he readjusted the blanket, covering her. But as he brought his hand away, it brushed the tip of her nipple.

  She gasped. She hadn’t meant to. It had just happened. She cringed.

  “I’m sorry,” Cole said softly.

  She looked at him. He was so close now, their faces inches apart. A horrible thought sprang to her mind, unbidden, unwanted. What would it be like to kiss him? She could do it right now. He was close enough. She’d barely have to move to press her lips against his. She thought of the prickle of his stubble against her skin.

  Cole didn’t move. He was still looking at her. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  Her lips parted.

  His face lurched closer to hers.

  She slammed her eyes shut.

  But instead of his mouth on her, she felt his forehead rest gently on hers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered.

  She opened her eyes and found herself locked in his gaze. His eyes were so dark.

  He shifted, his body pressed against the length of her. The blanket came free again. It fell to the ground, exposing her. All of her.

  Cole’s hands danced over her ribs, her hips
. He groaned.

  Her heart began to pound. She wanted him to stop. Didn’t she? What if he... kept going? She wouldn’t like that. Would she?

  His hands went lower, tracing the swell of her thigh.

  Before she could stop herself, a breathy moan escaped her lips.

  He closed his eyes, buried his face on her neck. His lips moved over her collarbone, feather light, light little bursts of pleasure. “Your skin,” he breathed.

  She sighed.

  His hands brushed her back, caressing the swells of her skin, sliding lower to cup the curve of her backside.

  Her pulse sped up, her heart beating excitedly, even eagerly.

  He pulled her tighter against him, his mouth on her jaw, just below her ear.

  The fabric of his clothes rubbed against her sensitive, bare skin, and the sensation made her breath hitch. She found herself leaning into him, surrendering to his touch. She began to realize that she didn’t want him to stop, that she wanted to open to him.

  He raised his head to face her. His eyes were half-lidded in need.

  She could feel herself respond to him, warmth growing between her legs, her own desires rising to match his. Her breathing was growing labored, each breath coming out as a gasp.

  “I want...” he murmured.

  “Yes.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck.”

  Then he grabbed the back of her neck, and his grip was anything but gentle. His fingers dug into her skin. The pain seemed to wake her up. He tightened his hand, and it drove away her arousal. He sneered at her.

  She shrank from him. What was she doing? How could she have let herself enjoy his hands on her? He was a monster. He had hurt her. What was wrong with her? Was she losing her mind?

  “This shouldn’t be a problem, Dana. This shouldn’t be happening.” He glared at her. “I’m trying to kill you here. I’ve done it before. It’s never been this hard.”

  He was holding her head in place. She couldn’t look away.

  “You deserve it,” he said. “You repress your wolf. You refuse to do what’s natural. And for some reason, I still can’t do it. I’m playing games with myself, telling myself maybe I can teach you, show you what the wolf is. Maybe you’d understand. And it’s all because...”

  Then he did kiss her. His tongue invaded her mouth. He was thorough and urgent, but she was terrified, and she didn’t respond. She shut her eyes, very afraid.

  He pulled away. He let go of her neck.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes.

  “I don’t want you like that. I don’t want you if you don’t want it.” He thrust his hands into his hair, clutching his head. “God damn it.”

  Her fear was growing. He really was crazy. She’d known he was crazy, of course. He killed people, and he had her locked up down here. But he’d been so... subdued up until now. Now, it seemed like he was coming undone, losing control of himself. Her heart still thudded against her ribs, but in horror, not pleasure.

  He lowered his hands, and they twisted in front of him, wolf claws ripping out of his fingertips, fur bursting out. He advanced on her.

  He traced the underside of her breast with one claw. “I’m going to just do it. I’m going to kill you. I can. If I want to, I can. I will.”

  His claw slashed across her belly.

  She screamed. Blood welled up. It gushed out of her. She looked down at the blood, shaking, watching it pour down over her legs onto the floor.

  Cole’s mouth on her ear, lips against her skin. “Deep inside you. Deeper inside than any man’s ever been.”

  She made a strangled half-sob. God. When she’d wanted it over before, she hadn’t meant it. Not really. She didn’t want to die.

  His claws barely brushed her neck. “One more,” said Cole. “I’ll tear out your throat, and it will be done. I can do it.”

  He didn’t.

  She was still bleeding. The deep wound on her stomach screamed at her, the pain coming in pulsing waves, each seeming to bring more sticky, red blood.

  “I can do it,” Cole said again.

  “Don’t,” she said. She didn’t want to die. She knew it now. She wasn’t above begging for her life. “Don’t kill me, Cole. Please, don’t.”

  He moved, looked into her eyes, his expression anguished. “Fuck.”

  “Please Cole,” she said.

  “Fuck,” he said again. Then he picked up the blanket from the floor and pressed it against the wound on her stomach.

  * * *

  Dana banged on Avery’s hotel room door. “Brooks! It’s after nine.”

  “Go away Gray,” called a voice from within.

  She pounded on the door again. “Wake up. It’s morning.”

  She heard the sound of shuffling from inside, and then Avery pulled the door open a crack, squinting at the brightness. Inside his room, it was a dark cave. He’d obviously just gotten out of bed. He wasn’t wearing anything except boxers and his hair was sticking up in the back. “You’re a bitch from hell,” he muttered.

  “We agreed to be up by nine,” she said.

  He shook his head. “You mean you told me to get up by nine and didn’t listen when I said it was too early.”

  She sighed.

  “What’s the rush?” he asked. “We aren’t going to talk to the twins until noon.”

  “I thought you wanted to get breakfast,” she said. “You wouldn’t shut up about that diner we passed.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Right. Well, give me a half hour.”

  “A half hour? Brooks, I’m starving.”

  “Go without me then.” He shut the door.

  She knocked again. “Does that mean you’re getting in the shower?”

  “Go away!”

  She glared at the door.

  Another door opened, further down. “Excuse me, you think you can keep it down?”

  She turned to apologize but recognized the man who was speaking. “Hollis?”

  Hollis Moore laughed. “Hey, Dana. I’d recognize your shrill morning yell anywhere. What the hell are you doing here?”

  She walked over to him. “My job. Are you stalking me or something? Chomping at the bit for that interview?”

  He was still grinning. She’d forgotten how infectious his dimples were, or how charming his curly mop of hair was. “I’m covering the Beverly Martin incident. And if you’re still here, that means there’s more to it than the SF’s letting on.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, God, don’t start.”

  “I do want to interview you, though,” he said. “I just got my clearance to see Cole Randall. Thank you very much.”

  “It’s for my boss,” she said. “I’m not actually excited to be sharing information about the worst thing that ever happened to me with the entire world.”

  “Not even if you’re going to be a hero?”

  “You didn’t promise that.”

  “You’re right, I didn’t.” He closed his hotel room door. “So, from what I hear you want to go to breakfast. Coincidentally, I was heading out to that diner I think you were talking about. We should share a table, don’t you think?”

  She wasn’t sure. She’d just woken up, and Hollis was sometimes a lot to take. He was very good at lulling her into a sense of complacency—making her feel very comfortable. That was one of the reasons he was a good reporter. But because of that, she always had to be on her guard around him. Anything that slipped ended up in print. Well, actually not print, because Hollis worked for an online newspaper, but it was the same thing in the end. “I don’t know. It’s a little early to be grilled by a journalist.”

  He held up his hands. “No questions. No grilling. Unless they have a grill at the diner.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, come on, Dana. We’ll just eat. Get caught up. I missed you.”

  She sighed. “All right. Fine. But no questions.”

  He spread his hands. “Would I lie to you?”

  Yes. He definitely would.

/>   * * *

  Hollis winked at the hostess at the diner. “What about that booth over there? The one in the corner?”

  “You want to sit there? We usually keep it for large parties. It seats six.” The girl looked barely twenty. She cast a nervous glance at the manager, who was only a few feet away, talking with one of the servers.

  Hollis flashed her one of his dazzling grins. “If he gives you any trouble, tell him I was an ass about it. What do you say? Can we sit there?”

  The hostess shrugged, blushing a little under his gaze, and tucked two menus under her arm. “This way.”

  Dana followed them to the corner booth, shaking her head. That was Hollis for you. He always got what he wanted, and he somehow managed to make you feel like you were in on a scheme with him. He was infectious but irritating.

  Once they were seated, he began paging through the menu. “So, I’m guessing that my chances are slim to none that you’ll talk about Cole Randall in this diner.”

  “You’re guessing right.” She opened the menu herself. This was one of those Greek diners, the kind with a ten-page menu. Too many options. She found the breakfast section, which loudly proclaimed, “We serve breakfast all day!” She flipped through it. Only two pages. That wasn’t that bad.

  “Yeah, I figured. But I’m dying of curiosity here. What about this moratorium on dating? Think you can explain to me why you can’t be with anyone at all? Like a bullet point version?”

  “I’m trying to look at the menu.” She glared at it.

  “You should have that,” he said, pointing to a mushroom and swiss omelet, number thirty-four on the menu. “And then I’ll get pancakes, and we can split them both, so we each get half.”

  See? He was doing it again. Even ordering food was a tag-team event for Hollis. Anything to make her feel like they were working together. “I want meat.”

  He grinned at her. “Right. To feed your wolf, yeah?” Hollis was a vegetarian, but he found her meat-eating tendencies intriguing, since he attributed them to the fact she was a werewolf.

  She sighed. “Can you shut up for three seconds?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Did being tortured by a madman put you in a perpetually bad mood?”

  “Hollis!”

  He chuckled to himself, clearly enjoying the fact he’d gotten her riled up. “Fine. I’ll be quiet.”

  For about thirty blissful seconds, she was able to peruse the menu without interruption. She narrowed it down to corned beef hash or steak and eggs.

  “I’m going to have French toast,” he said.