Bound To Moonlight (Sisters Of The Moon #2)

Tasha and her husband, Jack, were now following a lead in Russia, while Sebastian had promised Tasha that he would keep up the hunt for her family. The sisters who’d been created at the same time as Tasha, from the same DNA.

They’d had a lead. Frank Latham had run the government laboratory where Tasha was born. He’d also turned up at The Facility where she’d been a prisoner since her attack by a werewolf assassin, eight years ago. They were getting close to finding him. Maybe too close, because now somebody had come after them. Three of Sebastian’s people had gone missing in the last week.

Riley returned and threw a bundle of clothes to him. Sebastian pulled on his jeans but tossed the shirt over the single upright chair before turning back to the woman. He needed to search her for anything that might give a clue to her identity, and that would be easier while she was unconscious. Crossing the room to the small cot, he crouched next to her. He unlaced one black combat boot and tugged it off. The second followed, and he dropped them on the floor.

He reached to unbuckle the weapons belt at her waist then glanced back over his shoulder to where Riley loitered in the open doorway. “Get out.”

Riley raised an eyebrow but turned and left.

Sebastian unfastened the snap and tugged her pants down over her slim hips. Her legs were long, slender, her skin pale.

The pants had no labels, nothing that could give any indication of where she had come from. She was obviously a professional. Leaning across, he flicked open the buttons on her shirt. She didn’t awaken, and he slipped his hands under her shoulder, heaved her up, and stripped the shirt from her. Like the pants, it had no labels; he hadn’t expected any.

She lay on her back on the grey blanket, now wearing only a black cotton bra and black panties, stark against the whiteness of her skin. His gaze ran over her. She was almost too thin, with each rib visible, and her abdomen a hollow dip, but the long lines of her muscles were clearly defined. She appeared at that peak of physical fitness only achieved by hard training.

He had to finish this. He slipped his hands beneath her and flicked open the clasp of her bra, tugged the straps down over her arms, and tossed it on to the pile of clothes.

He told himself he was just doing a necessary job, but he couldn’t prevent his eyes from lingering on the smooth skin. Her breasts were small but perfectly formed with pale pink nipples. He had a sudden urge to run his palm across them, see if they would stiffen to his touch. His body tightened at the thought, and he frowned. He was no sex-starved monster. There were a number of unattached females in the pack, and as alpha, he had his pick and never looked outside for lovers. Yet here he was going hot and hard at the thought of touching an unconscious woman. She wasn’t even his type—too thin, too unfeminine. He tried to ignore his reaction while he looked at her for any clue.

A red mark marred the skin beneath her right breast. It looked as though something had pressed against her skin. He sat on the cot beside her and stroked one finger along the line. Her skin felt silky soft, but at his touch, she flinched, rolled onto her side, and curled into a ball. He leaned down picked up her bra and ran his hand along the lower seam. Something snagged against his fingers. Turning the bra over in his hands, he found a small pocket attached to the cotton, and tucked inside was a foil packet containing three pills. They could be suicide pills, but why would she need three? More likely, they were some sort of performance enhancing drugs. He pushed them into his pocket. He’d get the lab to analyze them. It might give a clue to who or what they were up against.

She lay facing the wall, and he stroked a hand over the smooth curve of her spine down to where the black cotton panties covered her bottom. His finger flirted with the edge then he gave in to the urge, hooked the finger in the band, and slid them down over the endless length of her legs. He held the scrap of cotton up in his hand, but they hid nothing, no labels, no little nametag conveniently sewn in to reveal her identity. He’d known there wouldn’t be. He could at least be honest with himself. He’d wanted to see her naked and now his eyes were drawn to the pale blond curls peeking out from between her thighs.

At the sight, the fire in his belly flared hotter, his balls ached, and inside him, his wolf stirred.

Sebastian stood up quickly, shoving the panties into his pocket. He’d never considered himself a pervert and lusting after unconscious women was definitely perverted in his books. He had to get out of there. He could do nothing more until she awoke, and for some reason, she presented far too much of a temptation.