Bound To Moonlight (Sisters Of The Moon #2)

A temptation he didn’t need and didn’t want. He couldn’t afford to see her as a woman, only as an enemy who had come here tonight to kill him. Furthermore, an enemy who very likely possessed the information he needed to find his missing pack members.

Long ago, he had sworn an oath to protect the pack, and he would get that information by whatever means possible. His squeamish feelings could not be allowed to get in the way. He had no illusions it would be easy. She was obviously well trained and tough, despite being a woman.

He turned to go, but at the last moment, he returned to the bed, tugged the blanket from under her, and covered her naked body.





Chapter Three





Anya shot bolt upright on the small bed.

Where was she?

Her head pounded. She reached up a trembling hand and ran it over her scalp. There was no blood, but a lump the size of an egg accounted for the pain. Then she remembered. She’d crashed into the stone wall. Just before…

She screwed her eyes up tight, but behind her closed lids, she still saw those blue eyes staring at her out of a wolf’s face. Could she have been hallucinating? She hadn’t been due a pill for hours yet, but maybe her health had deteriorated. Dr. Latham had said they had it under control, but maybe he didn’t want to scare her.

The room was almost dark, but even in the dim light, she could make out her surroundings. She was in a cage, and for a moment, she had to fight the panic that flared to life inside her.

She swallowed and looked around, searching for anything that might help her escape. The cage held the narrow cot she was lying on, a table, and a single upright chair. The floor was bare concrete, and a surveillance camera in one corner of the ceiling stared down at her. Were they watching her even now?

Silver bars enclosed all four sides, and the cage stood in the center of a square windowless room, with a single steel door opposite where she lay.

Her fingers tightened on the scratchy grey blanket clutched in one hand. Beneath it, she was naked. They must have stripped her, but they wouldn’t have found anything to lead back to the Agency.

She’d been active for five years now, but this was the first time she’d been taken. She forced her mind to go over the training, but she could feel the fear clawing at her insides at the thought of what they might do. Through the training sessions, she’d pretended to be so tough—she had never broken, but afterwards she’d always thrown up, and the memory still had the power to make her stomach heave.

Her handlers had told her this was a ruthless, well-organized group into everything from gunrunning to drug dealing. No way would they let her go. A wave of regret washed through her. She didn’t want to die before she’d had the chance to live.

Her clothes lay in a pile on the floor. She reached to pick them up, just as the outer door opened. Light flooded the room, her hand fell back to her side, and she blinked.

Sebastian Quinn stood framed in the doorway. She reached out with her mind but crashed into the same wall she had hit earlier. He was shielded; she couldn’t read him. Where would he have obtained the technology?

He strode into the room followed by a second man. She glanced at him but her eyes were drawn back to Sebastian.

Unlocking the cage door, he stepped inside then handed the key to the other man who locked it from the outside and left the room. The cell suddenly seemed much smaller. She knew he was six-foot-one, but in the confined space, he appeared larger. Of course, she’d seen his file, but nothing could have prepared her for him in the flesh. She’d trained with men, fought them, even killed them, but none had ever had this effect on her. It was odd that she should get her first hint of real desire from a man destined to kill her.

“Get up,” he ordered, his tone icy cold.

For a moment, she considered ignoring the command. Then she swung her legs around and stood, dragging the blanket with her. Her head felt as though it would split, and she swayed then stiffened her spine. She glanced across at her clothes then back at the man standing before her. “Can I get dressed?”

He seemed to consider the question, but finally lifted one shoulder in a careless gesture. “Go ahead.”

Relief flooded her. Nakedness was a tool many used in interrogations, women especially felt vulnerable. She’d been trained to cope, but she didn’t want to be naked in front of this man. Still, she suspected it would be pointless asking him to turn around, so she dropped her blanket and reached for her clothes.

Her panties were missing. She glanced at him. He pulled the scrap of black cotton from of his pocket and tossed them to her then sank onto the single seat and watched as she pulled on her clothes.

She picked up her bra. Her pills were gone, and her heart stalled. Did he have them? Anya pushed her panic aside. If they killed her, she would hardly need her medication.

One problem at a time.

She finished dressing, feeling much calmer once she was covered and sat down on the bed to pull on her boots.