Bound to Moonlight (3 page)

Chapter Four

Anya reached up with a trembling hand and touched her lips.

What had just happened?

For a minute back there, she’d thought he was going to kiss her.

Who was this man, who threatened her with torture one moment then the next touched her with a gentleness she’d never experienced before. At the memory of that touch, her eyes stung, and she blinked, feeling the unexpected dampness on her lashes. She never cried. What would be the point?

She backed up and sank down on the cot, rolled onto her side, and curled into a tight ball as though she could shut out the world. But he would be back soon, and she needed to decide what to tell him. If anything.

The Agency was all she knew. All she had ever known. They had created her, brought her up. She owed her very life to them and without the medicine they provided for her daily, she would die.

All that was true. But recently, she had come to hate her very existence. She had spent all her life at the Agency, but sometimes, out on a mission, she would watch people go about their lives, and the craving to be part of the world had grown inside her until it was a constant companion.

But she wasn’t a person. She was a thing the Agency had made in a test tube then trained as a weapon. She belonged to them. But she didn’t want to kill for the Agency anymore. She’d found it hard even when she had believed she fought on the right side. Now she no longer believed.

She wished she could read Sebastian’s mind. The Agency had told her he headed up a group of mercenaries. A group who would do any job for the right price. Somehow, that didn’t ring true anymore. Why would a mercenary be shielded? It must mean he knew of the work the Agency had been doing with telepaths.

She’d long suspected that the Agency was carrying out other research. From time to time, she’d catch flashes of strange minds imprisoned in the cells beneath the building. She hadn’t understood who or what they were; only that they were something other than human, and she’d tried to close her mind to their pain and suffering. Was that when her doubts about the Agency had begun?

Her mind flinched away from thinking about what she had seen in the forest. Now she forced herself to confront the truth.

Sebastian Quinn was a wolf. A werewolf.

Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t also be a mercenary, or that he hadn’t been responsible for the death of her sister—hadn’t blown up the Facility where her sister lived. But what if it had all been lies?

She rolled onto her back and rubbed a hand across her temple trying to ease the throbbing in her head. It should be getting better, but she suspected that more than the bang on the head affected her. The muscles of her arms and legs ached and each breath caught in her lungs. Worry nagged at her mind; she had no notion how long she had before the symptoms overwhelmed her. She needed her medication.

Closing her eyes, she tried to come up with a plan. Sebastian wanted his people back. She didn’t even know if they still lived, and she wouldn’t give him the Agency’s location, not until she was sure who the bad guys were.

He needed the information, and Anya had no doubt he would follow through with his threats. The dull ache in her head flared into pain. It was obvious that to Sebastian Quinn, she was nothing more than a means to an end. Why did that thought have the power to hurt her?

Maybe the best she could hope for, was to die from her illness before he got round to torturing her.

***

The ringing of the phone brought Sebastian out of his light doze. It rang again and he picked it up.

“It’s Tasha,” the woman on the other side said. “What’s happened to Jonas?”

Sebastian could hear the distress in her voice, and he pressed his fingertips against his eyes, trying to clear his mind. “How do you know about Jonas?”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Shock tore through him. “Dead?”

“You didn’t know?”

He remained silent for a minute, thinking it through. Tasha was telepathic, and through her ties with the pack she could feel the other pack members, sense their emotions, if they were stressed, afraid—dead.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I felt him last night—such pain—then nothing. What’s going on, Sebastian?”

“They took him a week ago. He was the first, then Travis and Maria.”

“I haven’t felt them. I think they must be alive. Who took them?”

“We don’t know, but we captured a sniper in the woods last night. We’re hoping she can tell us something.”

“You want me back?”

He thought about it. If his little sniper came from where he suspected, then she’d be shielded, and Tasha would be able to tell them nothing. On the other hand, if she wasn’t shielded, Tasha could extract the information with ease and without the need to hurt Anya.

“Come back,” he said.

“Okay, we’ll be with you by tomorrow night.”

Sebastian wanted them back as soon as possible, but Jack was a vampire; it would be dangerous for him to travel during the day. “Don’t take any risks,” he said.

“We won’t.”

“Let me know if you feel anything from Travis or Maria.”

He put the phone down and stared into the darkness. He hoped tomorrow night would be soon enough, but if more of his people died because he was too squeamish to torture an assassin, he would never forgive himself.

He considered again handing her over to someone who would be more than willing to do what was necessary to get the information, but he couldn’t do it. His whole being rejected the idea of anyone harming her. Hell, the idea of anyone even touching her.

Anyone but him.

She was his.

The thought brought him up short. Over fifty years ago, he’d killed the old alpha and taken on the role of leader, and in all that time, he’d never put an outsider before his pack. He couldn’t believe he was even thinking about it now. Why did she affect him so strongly?

He glanced up as Riley entered the room. He came to stand in front of Sebastian.

 “The prisoner—she’s ill—there’s something wrong with her.”

Sebastian frowned. “What?”

“How the hell should I know? You told me not to go in there.”

 “So how do you know she’s ill?”

“Looks like she’s got a fever. The room’s cool, but she’s sweating, and she seems to be unconscious.”

“Could she be faking it?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.”

Riley’s tone was terse, and Sebastian’s eyes narrowed on him. “Do you want to tell me what’s got you all pissed off?”

“Yeah, I do. That woman tried to kill you last night and she may know the whereabouts of Maria and the others. Why the hell aren’t we making her talk?” He ran a hand through his short hair. “Look, I understand. She’s a woman and you don’t want to do it. Hell, I don’t want to do it, but I will if you can’t. The pack has to come first.”

“Jonas is dead.”

Riley closed his eyes, and Sebastian gave him a moment to compose himself. Riley and Jonas had been close. When he opened his eyes, they were dark with pain. “Are you sure?”

Sebastian nodded. “Tasha felt it.”

“What about the others?”

“Still alive.”

“For now.” Riley’s expression hardened. “We need to make that woman talk.”

Sebastian knew it, but he wouldn’t give a job to anyone else that he wouldn’t do himself. His gut clenched, but he knew Riley was right. “I’ll go see her now.”

He let himself into the room. Through the bars of the cage, he could see her where she lay on her back on the small cot, unmoving, her eyes closed, her pale face glowing with a fine sheen of sweat. Every few seconds, a tremor ran through her body.

He hurried to unlock the cage door. She didn’t open her eyes as he crossed the cell to sit on the mattress beside her. He stroked a finger down the softness of her cheek and found the skin burning hot. He laid a palm on her forehead and at his touch, she rolled onto her side, curling against him as shivers racked her body.

She burrowed her head into his thigh. He sat for a minute considering what to do. She wasn’t faking it and he didn’t think it could be anything to do with the bang to the head. Which left the pills. Was she ill?

He tapped her on the cheek. “Anya, wake up.”

She didn’t respond, and he shook her slightly. Her eyes blinked open, dazed and unfocused.

“I’m so cold,” she mumbled.

Wrapping the blanket around her, he gathered her in his arms, then picked her up and held her cradled against his chest. He kicked open the cage door and strode out.

As he passed Riley on the staircase, the other man raised an eyebrow.

“She can’t tell us anything if she’s dead,” Sebastian snapped.

“Hey, I didn’t say a word.”

Sebastian ignored the comment. “She needs a doctor. Get Connor on the phone. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just strode past the other man, carried his burden to his own room, and laid her gently in the center of the bed. He went to the cupboard and pulled out two blankets and laid them over her, then stood looking down.

She was unconscious again. In the bright sunlight, her skin appeared even paler, tinged with the pallor of death. He swore. Pouring a glass of water from the jug on the bedside table, he sank down next to her. He pulled her up so she was leaning against the wall, then took the foil packet of pills from his pocket.

He tore one free. The tablet was small, white and bore no markings to identify what it could be. Sebastian had no clue what they were, and if they did turn out to be suicide pills, then he’d be killing her. But he sensed she was running out of time, and he suspected the pills were the only thing that might save her life. He shrugged and put his hand to her lips. They were dry now, and he slipped a finger inside and pried open her mouth.

As she started to struggle, he put his arm around her shoulders and held her tight against him. She bit down on his finger. He swore and pulled free. Her eyes were open now, dark with pain, and she twisted so she could look into his face.

“Are you torturing me?”

“Not yet.”

“I hurt. Am I dying?”

“Not if I can help it.”

She smiled then, a slight curve of her lips that didn’t banish the fear from her eyes. “I don’t think you can.”

 “Sweetheart, I can do anything I want to.”

“I’m not your sweetheart. I’m not anyone’s sweetheart.” Her tone was sad and defeated. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

He had an urge to take her in his arms, hold her, tell her everything would be all right. But how could he? He’d never been any good at lying. Instead, he said, “Open your mouth.”

“What?”

“Open your mouth.”

This time she did as she was told, and Sebastian placed the pill on her tongue. He picked up the glass of water, put it to her lips, and she swallowed convulsively.

For a minute, he held her close, her cheek resting on his chest. Then he slipped his arm from her shoulder and laid her back on the bed, tucking the blankets around her.

Her eyes opened and captured him with her dark gaze. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“I’m not. I’m saving your life so you can tell me what you’ve done with my people.”

“Your people—are they wolves, like you?”

He nodded.

“What’s it like to be a wolf?”

Sebastian was silent for a minute as he thought about the question. He’d not become a werewolf from choice, and for many years he’d bitterly regretted what had been done to him. That was far in the past now, and he’d long ago accepted, and come to love what he was. He leaned back against the wall and tried to put his feelings into words. He talked of how it felt to be wolf, of the magic that bound the pack together, of racing through the forest under a full moon. Finally, he fell silent and glanced down. Anya was sleeping.

He rose to his feet and stared down at her, wondering what the hell he was doing? He’d never felt like this in his life before. All his instincts screamed at him to protect her.

Unable to leave, he dragged a chair close to the bed and settled down to watch her sleep.

A light tap sounded at the door. Sebastian glanced up, sensing the restless energy of the man waiting outside the room—it looked like the doctor had arrived.

“Come in.”

Connor hovered in the doorway. Six-foot-four of pent-up alpha werewolf in denial.

Five years ago, Sebastian had saved the doctor’s life after an injured werewolf he’d been treating had shifted and savaged him. Connor had never seemed particularly grateful.

Now, he came when his alpha called and he shifted at full moon when he had no choice, but otherwise he did his best to ignore the fact that he was a werewolf.

Sebastian had been there himself, and he knew Connor was fighting a losing battle. His wolf was too strong, one of the strongest Sebastian had ever encountered.

“I heard you captured an assassin,” Connor said.

Sebastian nodded at the unconscious woman and Connor’s eyes widened. He crossed the room, put his bag on the floor, and sat on the bed beside her. He studied her for a moment then turned to Sebastian.

“You want her to live?” he asked, his expression blank. “Or just well enough to talk?”

“Both,” Sebastian replied. Then he took a deep breath. “Can you do it?”

 “I have no clue what’s wrong with her. If you just want her to talk, then I could give her a stimulant. It would get her lucid enough to make sense.”

“Will it work?”

Connor shrugged. “I can also give you something to increase her sensitivity to pain. That way, you might get her to talk before the stimulant kills her. Or you might not.”

It sounded as though that option gave no guarantee they would get the information they needed, and relief flooded Sebastian. “And the alternative?”

“We try and work out what’s wrong with her.”

Sebastian handed him the two remaining pills. “She had these on her when we captured her. I’ve given her one and she seems to be resting easier.”

“Maybe we should wait and see then. In the meantime, I’ll get these analyzed. If I can work out what the cure is, I can take a guess at the illness.” He tore off one pill and handed the other to Sebastian. “I’ll check her over and take a blood sample as well, but the tests will probably take too long, so these are our best bet. If it looks like they’re working, give her another when she wakes up.”