Blood Moon (22 page)

Maybe the rogue was insane and he was
trying to attribute rational behavior to someone who wasn’t
rational?

He didn’t believe that, he
decided. Everything the bastard had done so far had been carefully
calculated and carefully executed. He also didn’t believe that this
was just a jaunt to snatch a particularly appealing piece of ass
because he didn’t believe for a moment that the rogue was content
to merely eek out an existence on the outskirts of
his
territory. He
intended to take over Dante’s territory. If he had wanted to merge
his pack with Dante’s, he would have approached him in the accepted
manner. His behavior was a clear indication that he intended to go
straight for the top—him—and try to wrest the position from
Dante.

Somehow, the woman had to figure into
his plans, regardless of how unlikely it seemed to him at the
moment.

He shook those distracting thoughts
off as his ears detected a breath of sound. Running footsteps—No,
jogging. There was no scent of fear, only a faint whiff of
uneasiness. He lifted his head, breathing in the scent, identifying
that elusive ‘something’ that made the blood boil in his veins, but
this time anger joined the lust.

The fool of a woman was
out
exercising
in
the park at dusk?

A tourist, he wondered? She hadn’t
heard about the attacks? Or was she just one of those fools who
believed nothing could actually touch her?

* * * *

Shilo McKenzie noticed the gathering
gloom with a touch of dismay. She’d been certain she had plenty of
time to make a circuit of the park and get back to her hotel
room—or at least out of the park and back into the crowded city
streets—before it was dark. She hadn’t considered, though, that the
huge, spreading oaks that dotted the park and made it such a
pleasant place during the day also created a premature dusk beneath
their canopy. The sun had barely set and already the shadows were
deepening, creating, with the aid of the shrubs that abounded
within the park, dark little alcoves for predators to
hide.

By her best mental calculations, she
was still a good fifteen minutes from the gates of the park,
too.

She picked up her pace a little,
although she was already a bit winded.

She’d wanted a challenge to ease the
stiffness from too much time indoors, but she had underestimated
the length of the trail she’d decided to follow and overestimated
her general fitness level.

She didn’t actually get
worried, however, until her ‘spidey’ senses began to tingle. It
wasn’t much of a ‘gift’. She wasn’t even certain it
was
a gift. Reason could
have well produced the sense that something just wasn’t right—after
all, it was almost dark, and the area was deserted—but she’d
learned over the years not to ignore that sense.

Doubt instantly threaded through her.
She hadn’t seen another soul in at least fifteen or twenty minutes.
Run faster? Turn around and head the other way?

The urge hit her to turn and run as
fast as she could. On the other hand, she was a lot closer to the
gates of the park if she kept going as she was.

She was already out of breath, though.
If she put on a burst of speed, could she outrun whoever, or
whatever, it was that she sensed?

Sucking in a deep breath, she made her
decision unconsciously and switched from a jog to a full out
run.

Something huge and dark and menacing
leapt from the patch of bushes she’d suspected held a predator,
landing on the path before her. She skidded to a halt, too
breathless to scream.

It was too late, she realized, to do
anything but stand her ground. If she’d turned around when she’d
first thought about it, she might have had a prayer of outrunning
the lycan beastman blocking her path. Now, she didn’t. Sucking in a
deep breath, she did the only thing she could as the lycan uttered
a low, challenging snarl and charged her. She focused every ounce
of her being into her hands and lifted them, praying her true gift
wouldn’t desert her now in the hour of her need.

She felt it sizzle along her arms,
felt her heart rate triple as she strained to gather everything she
had for one burst strong enough to stun the thing. She almost
waited too long to discharge.

With a blood curdling snarl, the
half-man, half-beast launched himself at her. Even as she hurtled
the burst of energy at him, however, she heard a second,
challenging snarl and realized she was fucked.

There were two of them!

BRIDE OF ATLANTIS

by

Madelaine Montague

Chapter One

“Just so you know, I killed your
father,” Eric whispered in her ear.

Expecting love words when she’d felt
him lean against her, felt the warmth of his breath along her neck,
Alexis Stanhope was too stunned by her new husband’s confession to
move. The scene she’d only moments before been staring at in
wonder—the full moon dancing off the waters of the Caribbean in the
wake of the cruise ship—vanished and she saw only the vision of her
father, laying prostrate on his kitchen floor, blood pooling around
him.

She could not seem to grasp what he’d
said. “You were in Seattle. How…? How could you have…?” Her lips
felt stiff. The words tangled on her tongue, as if she was speaking
for the first time.

“Cleverly,” Eric said, taking a step
back and striking her so hard between the shoulder blades that she
tipped over the ship railing.

For several seconds she teetered on the
balustrade, too shocked and too petrified with terror to do more
than gasp, unable even to scream as she scrabbled for a hold on the
slippery railing. The beautiful sequined sheathe she had worn for
its elegance trapped her, allowing her no room to maneuver, despite
the slit down the back of the skirt, so that she was scarcely able
to do more than wiggle like a worm caught on a hook.

Then she felt him grasp her legs,
flipping her completely over the railing. Several nails broke as
she lost her grip and then she was plummeting toward the yawning
sea, falling in slow motion, staring in shocked disbelief at Eric’s
grinning face as it grew smaller and smaller with distance, as the
waves seemed to rise up to catch her.

She struck the water almost fully
erect, feet first.

The chill of the water seemed to loosen
the grip shock had held over her vocal cords.

Subconsciously, she knew a cry for help
was useless. Late as it was, music still spilled from the ballroom
and casino where inebriated guests laughed and talked at the top of
their lungs to be heard above the music. The thrum of the engines,
the crash of churning water added to the clamor. It was doubtful if
she would have been heard had she screamed before she went
over.

Now, it was worse that
useless.

And yet she couldn’t go to her death
without telling the man who’d betrayed her how she despised him for
his cowardly attack.

“I’ll divorce you!” she screamed
furiously.

Dimly, she heard, or thought she heard,
a laugh, and the words, “Too late.”

Despite the fact that she struck the
sea feet first, she didn’t cleave the water cleanly. Her feet took
most of the shock, but her bent knees and upper torso took the
impact in sufficient force that a shock wave traveled through her
entire body, as if she’d struck pavement.

The horror, however, overshadowing even
the stunning pain, was that she continued to fall, on and on,
almost forever it seemed.

Blackness engulfed her before her
instinct for survival took over and she began to struggle against
the water pulling at her, slowing her descent, and finally
climbing. Her arms burned with the effort. Her lungs were on fire.
Her head felt as if it would explode from the pressure of holding
her breath.

Something brushed her leg.

She screamed a silent scream, losing
much of her captured air, swallowing a gulp of briny water. The
fright galvanized her flagging strength, however, and she struggled
harder to reach the surface, her need for air rapidly overshadowing
all other fears.

The water around her lightened … or her
eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. She wasn’t certain
which, but this time, when ‘it’ brushed against her, she saw, or
thought she saw, the shape of a man.

Eric?

Had she been mistaken? Had he come
after her?

The shape moved away, but she was too
desperate for air now to spare a thought for searching.

She could see the surface of the water
above her. The moon’s glow rippled over the restless waves, causing
the water to sparkle like silver and gold gems.

For some moments, hope buoyed her
flagging strength, but no matter how she struggled, she seemed to
come no closer. Her arms moved slower and slower. A different sort
of blackness swarmed around her. She couldn’t hold her breath any
longer.

She inhaled water as something grasped
her and propelled her toward the surface as if she’d suddenly found
a jet pack strapped to her. She thought the speed might be her
imagination, but she was moving so fast that she cleared the
surface of the water by several feet before she crashed down once
more.

She went under, bobbed up, treading
water like a half drowned puppy, flopping her arms and slapping at
the water awkwardly, dipping under the water again and again before
bobbing to the top once more.

Minutes passed before she could control
her coughing and gagging. Finally, she managed to draw one pure
breath of air and then another. Slowly, her drowning panic subsided
until other considerations began to filter through her
mind.

Frantically, she looked around for the
ship.

When she finally saw it, she was
certain her eyes were playing tricks on her. It couldn’t have gone
so far … could it?

It was hopeless.

They’d sailed on without
her.

No one had seen Eric’s cowardly
assault.

No one had heard her scream as she’d
fallen overboard.

No one except the man who’d pushed her
… her husband of five days.

Some freaking honeymoon!

* * * *

Alexis had no hope of catching the
ship. She knew that with a terrible certainty. It was miles away
now. Slowly, she turned in a circle. As far as the eye could see,
there was nothing but water and more water.

She was going to die here.

Something broke the surface of the
water only a few yards from her, leapt toward the sky, then crashed
down so hard that water rolled over her.

She screamed then laughed a little
hysterically.

It was a dolphin.

It must have been the dolphin that had
pushed her to the surface.

Well, if he wanted the ‘trash’ out of
his pond, he was going to have to push her a hell of a lot further.
They’d left their last port of call hours earlier. They weren’t due
to dock at home port for hours more. She was miles and miles from
land in any direction.

She heard a splash again, this time
behind her, and whirled toward the sound.

The head of a man emerged from the
water less than two yards from her.

She was so stunned she could only stare
at him.

Irrationally, hope surged through
her.

It died almost instantly as she
realized she had already looked for a ship, a boat--anything. She’d
seen nothing but the vanishing cruise ship. If he was actually with
her, and not some figment of her imagination, then he was only
company to drown with. He’d probably fallen off, or been pushed
off, the same vessel.

She looked at him pityingly as he moved
toward her and finally realized that he was probably nothing more
than a figment of her hysteria, or hopefulness incarnate. In the
bright moonlight, she saw that he was exceptionally handsome, with
the perfection of features one expected only to find in models or
movie stars.

The light from the full moon sparkled
in his long, flowing hair. It looked, she decided almost
whimsically, like spun moonbeams.

She felt oddly unmoved by her good
fortune.

Wasn’t it every woman’s dream, after
all, to be rescued by a handsome young hero?

But then, he was far too gorgeous to be
real, wasn’t he? And, in any case, it seemed unlikely that he was
going to rescue her.

Obviously, her mind was playing tricks
on her, filling her with hope when there was none.

Or maybe it was just her eyesight? A
trick of the moonlight? If he was real then he could not be as
perfect as he appeared.

Then, too, unless he possessed uncommon
swimming skills, it wasn’t likely that he would end up being her
hero.

“Speken ze duetch?” He asked as he
stopped a few feet from her, tilting his head
quizzically.