Bound To Moonlight (Sisters Of The Moon #2)

Jack stared back, the darkness still glowing behind his eyes, and Sebastian tensed his muscles ready for the attack. Then a shiver ran through the vampire, the muscles of his face relaxed, and he looked away.

Sebastian released his breath. He pressed his hand to his side; his palm came away stained crimson.

Jack crossed to where Tasha lay on the floor and crouched down beside her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I don’t think Sebastian is though.”

They both turned to look at him.

“It’s nothing. I think.” He stripped off his shirt. The bullet had entered through his back, close to his waist and exited through his front. He wiped the blood away with his shirt. The wound was bleeding copiously, but he didn’t think anything important had been hit. “I’ll be fine once I shift.”

He moved to the table where Anya lay, still unconscious.

“I’ll take her,” Jack said.

“No, I will.”

He scooped her up, ignoring the twinge in his side and held her close against his chest. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”





Chapter Ten





She wasn’t dead.

It was becoming a recurring thought on waking. Anya lay completely still. Afraid to try to move in case she couldn’t. Afraid to open her eyes in case she saw something she really didn’t want to see.

What had happened? Latham was going to take her brain. Cut her up. Her eyes flew open, and she stared at the ceiling.

“Anya?”

She recognized the voice. Sebastian Quinn. Rolling her head to the side, she stared into his eyes. He looked back, searching her face.

“You’re awake,” he said. “How do you feel?”

She thought about it for a moment. “I feel okay. What happened? I thought…” she trailed off. She’d thought Latham had killed her. She’d felt the prick of that last injection.

“We got there in time. You were dead, but we gave you an adrenaline shot. It brought you round.”

“Why?” she asked.

He frowned. “Why what?”

“Why did you bring me round? Why did you save me?” She paused for a moment, but she wanted no more lies. “I took your people. One of them died.”

“You saved the other two.”

“I was sent to kill you. I would have shot you that night.”

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. I don’t think you wanted to kill me.”

Fury and guilt battled inside her. “Do you think that mattered? No, I didn’t want to kill you. I never wanted to kill anybody.”

“So why did you?”

She took a deep breath and faced the truth. “Because I wanted to live.”

He sat back in his chair and sighed, ran a hand through his already rumpled hair. “We’ve all done things we’d rather not do, in order to survive.”

She looked at him, curious. “Have you killed?”

“I’ve killed to protect myself and to protect my pack. It’s really no different.”

Anya searched his face, found compassion and pity. She didn’t want his pity. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, but pity came nowhere close. He was so beautiful, even the exhaustion stamped clear on his features couldn’t detract from that beauty. She remembered that first sight of him; how it had pulled at something deep inside her.

She dragged herself up so she leaned against the headboard. Weakness still lingered in her body, but that would be from the drugs Latham had given her. Her head felt fine, her mind clear, no dull, throbbing ache that would show she needed her medication. How much time did she have?

“How long have I been here?” she asked.

“Around four hours.”

She had a while yet. Maybe they had taken Latham. Maybe he would tell them how to make the drug. “The doctor who was there when you found me—what happened to him?”

“Latham? He was killed.”

She closed her eyes, clutched the sheet in her fingers, and fought the despair that threatened to overwhelm her.

“What is it, Anya?”

She felt the mattress depress as Sebastian sank down beside her. At the touch of his hand on her cheek, her eyes flew open. He was close, so close she could breathe in the musky scent of him. He cupped her cheek with his large hand, tilted her head so she had no choice but to look at him. “Anya, tell me.”

She swallowed. “I need medication. I have some sort of genetic disease. If I don’t get the medication every day, I die.”

“We know about the pills, our doctor is working on it now. But he also took a sample of your blood. And Anya, he’s pretty sure you don’t have any genetic disease.”

“What?”

“He found traces of poison. Some sort of strychnine derivative he couldn’t identify. He thinks you were poisoned deliberately.”

“Why?”

“Probably as a deterrent to stop you from running, and a way to solve the problem if you did, or if you were captured. As long as you got the antidote each day you were fine.”