Lunar Marked (Sky Brooks Series Book 4) (14 page)

I
walked into the bedroom
, the severed arm was a reminder of the violence that had just taken place—my violence. Packing didn’t take long because I never unpacked my “running away” bag. Running was no longer something I thought about anymore, but as with today, my life was complicated. I didn’t have the luxury of sleeping in my bed, in my home and consider myself safe. People came through windows and crashed through doors for a single purpose—to kill me.

I grabbed the large overnight bag and threw in a few more clothes, blinking back tears.

“I was unfair,” Steven said from behind me.

I shrugged, finding it difficult to face him without displaying maudlin emotions that neither one of us needed. I just glanced up in his direction and continued putting things in the bag. Things I wouldn’t use, but I needed to busy myself with something. “We’re fine,” I lied.

He was closer. “You’re not fine. I don’t like what is going on with you and Quell. It’s just another situation that could put you in danger.”

“You think this is Michaela’s doing?” I said, turning.

“Nah. She wouldn’t give anyone else the pleasure of killing you. That is a reward she’d want for herself. Go with Sebastian, and when this is over, we’ll discuss our living arrangements.”

That was total BS. It was a perfectly worded noncommittal—a pack favorite. He wasn’t staying, but this wasn’t the time to say it. It was his poor attempt to soften the situation. I tried to smile. I’m sure in some circles it may have been okay. The muscles on my face seemed tight with too much tension to do something as banal as smile. I just nodded continuously until he had disappeared back through the door.

S
ebastian drove
into the private parking lot and quickly got out, grabbing my bag. I had to nearly run to catch up. “Where are we? I thought I was going to the pack’s house.”

“This is one,” he said as his fingers skipped over the buttons of his phone, sending a text message.

This was very different from the massive house in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by enough greenery that its existence was hidden. It doubled as a wildlife conservation area where we could run in our animal forms without the risk of being seen by a neighbor—the closest home was nearly five miles away. It was off the beaten path; you didn’t stumble upon the house without knowing exactly where you were going.

As the elevator eased up the floors, Sebastian finally relaxed against the wall. I could feel the intensity of his attention on me, his presence, the anger and tension that had enclosed him like a wall. Periodically he checked his messages.

“Who gave you the sword?” he asked, still looking down at his phone.

“Winter.”

“Are you proficient with it?”

Who wasn’t proficient? You grab it, swing, and hit something soft. Even if you hit something hard, that person was having a bad day. A bad bloody day.

He glanced up from his phone, waiting patiently for an answer.

“What do you mean?”

“How would you fare against me?”

“I would die, like probably anyone else. That’s hardly a fair question.” It wasn’t. Two years ago Demetrius and Sebastian had a sword fight and it was as violent as it was beautiful. If one didn’t know any better, they would have thought it was choreographed. They moved through the air, lithe and graceful, swords in both hands moving with a smooth rhythm as though just extensions of their limbs. The clank of the swords had become a constant beat of violence and a determination to kill the other. It was another testimonial of Sebastian’s skills and why he held his position as the Alpha of the Midwest Pack and the Elite of all the packs in the country.

“Then I will have to teach you, so that you can.”

“Can what, beat you?” I scoffed at the absurdity of it. “Okay, and I’ll show you how to use a golf club—I’m a pro.”

He gave me a side look and then smirked.

“There’s more skill to it than you think and you’ll realize that the moment I whack the hell out of you,” I said.

He must have really thought my day was bad because he tried to laugh, but it was choked and forced. But those muscles probably never got used. After his pitiful attempt at a laugh, he was back to Sebastian Super Alpha, Mr. No Smiles, King of I’ll Kick Your Ass. “Let’s stick with that sword. You might not be able to beat me, but at least you’ll be skilled enough to make me work for it.”

Work for it?
After seeing Sebastian fight with a sword the only way I was going to make him work for it was if I had a couple of people with me. It was a generous offer, but my mind was working overtime for an excuse to decline. Winter was a tyrant of an instructor but at least she would make a joke, crack a smile, let me rest on the ground if I started to hit it too many times. I couldn’t imagine any of that would happen with Sebastian. How many times had I seen him smile? It was definitely in the single digits, and his jokes usually were at my expense. Maybe I could convince him to let Winter train me, she was skilled as well. Maybe not as proficient, but she was definitely a fierce fighter with a sword and knife. Shooting furtive glances, I was just about to suggest it.

“No. I will instruct you,” he said before I could get the words out of my mouth.

You can join Ethan at the freak table.

“Am I really that easy to read?”

“You might as well hold up a sign,” he said as the elevator opened and he stepped out and unlocked the only apartment on the floor.

I looked around the large penthouse and decided without a doubt that this was where I was going to stay forever. Floor to ceiling windows surrounded half of the room and provided a great view of the city, a small corner with a built-in desk to our left, large kitchen with stainless steel appliances to the right. The hardwood floors didn’t look like they’d ever seen traffic and I felt bad walking on them with my dirty shoes that I was sure had traces of blood on them. I inhaled the air; unlike the pack’s retreat this place had never had blood spilled in it. It was too clean for anything to have occurred here. But like the retreat’s, the three sofas were large and sturdy. The only other thing in the open space was an oversized coffee table placed on a rug with geometric shapes that complemented the eggshell-colored walls. There weren’t any pictures or art on the wall. It was plain, but nice—very nice.

“How long have you had this place?”

“It’s not mine, it’s the pack’s. No one knows about it. I don’t want you at the retreat until I find out who was behind this.” He glanced in my direction. “You looked like you were about to be sick earlier. You needed some space from everyone. You’ll be safe here.”

I shrugged and tried to smile, as I recalled the image of the man’s severed arm. “I get that way when I dismember a body. It’s one of my quirks. That damn conscience is a horrible son of a bitch.”

“He tried to kill you—anything that happens after that is warranted.”

I had to look at him. The sincerity of his words, the coolness of his demeanor, were testaments of his beliefs in what he said. If you attack them, whatever happens is justified. Mercy wasn’t an option. On a primal level instinctively I got it, but trivializing violence and the potential loss of life was just difficult despite the inciting incident. Just when I felt comfortable around him, considered him “just another guy,” he ripped away that naïveté with the subtly of a bull rampaging through the streets.

Walking farther into the room, I looked around again. It was breathtaking. I felt out of place in my bloodstained clothes. Although I knew it was just my imagination, the smells of violence and sweat seemed to linger on me. Fresh air was exactly what I needed, and I couldn’t believe the place didn’t have a balcony.

“This isn’t much of a hideaway or safe house.”

“Really? You don’t feel safe here? How is someone going to get up here? How can they get to you?” he asked with a smirk, the keys to the elevator still in his hands.

“The window.”

He chuckled. “You think that someone is going to scale the building and then throw something through double-paned glass? And then what? The place has a ward; no one can just
travel
in here. On the off chance that someone does find you here, point out the vulnerable spots? There aren’t any. Where can they get to you? The highest point on the buildings surrounding us still doesn’t give access to this apartment.”

Calling this place an apartment was being very generous with the usage. I’ve lived in an apartment before, and this wasn’t an apartment. Even
luxury condo
seemed too simplistic of a description.

I had stopped thinking about vulnerable spots and focused on the fact that the pack had a lot of businesses, and they worked hard to keep a steady flow of income. Everyone gave 12 percent of their income, but I knew what I contributed and there wasn’t any way anyone with that amount of money was going to purchase an
apartment
in the city that took up the entire top floor and had its own private entrance.

As the silence persisted, I stared out the large window, aware of the glances Sebastian shot in my direction. “You’ll only be here a couple of days. We need to place another ward and to change your windows to something that can’t be broken. I want to change your doors as well and make a few other modifications.”

“Cool, my own fort.” The changes were needed, but it still bothered me. I didn’t want Sebastian and his extreme paranoia to be the decorators of my home. I didn’t want it to become like Winter’s. Yes, it was nice and quite beautiful, but the well-made furniture was sturdy enough to be placed against the door to barricade it. A storage ottoman had weapons on top of the blankets stored in it. Expensive knickknacks were sharp or glass that could be easily broken to be used as weapon. Large floor vases placed strategically around the room were too decorative for their purpose, which was to hold the gilded scabbards poking out of them. Her home was like all their homes and lacked warmth. Instead, there was a sterile feel like a hospital ward, or better yet, a prison.

Walking around the room, I studied it in great detail, taking in the books on the shelves, clearly there for decoration only, the expensive appliances and furniture. I couldn’t help but ask, “What exactly do we do?”

“Well, you try to be witty but it’s seen as snarky 70 percent of the time, and the rest of the time you manage to get yourself into situations that require a lot more manpower and money to fix than the ones that anyone else in this pack gets into.”

Forget being the Alpha, you need your own comedy special. You are hilarious!

“Yeah, I know what
I
do, and your response was neither needed or appreciated,” I said in a saccharine voice, shooting him a grin when he scowled at my response. “But what does the Midwest Pack do for money? Seriously? How do we afford to charter planes, have safe houses, and have a staff of people that work just for us?”

“We don’t sell body parts on the black market, no human trafficking, nor do we work in blackmail or whatever other things are going through your head. I think too much television has given you a very active imagination.”

“Nope, books. The wild things I read, TV can’t even begin to compare.”

Sebastian regarded me for a long time but I had no idea what he was thinking—I never did. The indecipherable look remained his mask. When he finally spoke, his tone was soft and gentle. “When I took over the pack there were things that needed to change. Safety was my priority and I never wanted to be compromised by money or the lack of it. Nor did I want us to be reduced to being muscle for hire for others. So I changed things. As creative as your imagination is, and I don’t want to begin to delve in the type of ideas that goes through it, your concerns are unwarranted.”

His smiled faded, and he had the same look they all gave when they had grown tired of interaction. They were not a social bunch. He gave me a passing look. “The shower is that way.”

I guess the conversation was over, but I didn’t move—I’m not sure why. Then his brow raised. Just like Ethan, nothing was just a mere suggestion but rather a command expected to be followed. Sadly, the expectations extended further than just in the pack. He turned away and went to the desk, ending all hope of more conversation.

A
rainfall showerhead
is something I never thought I needed, but as I stood under it and the refreshing warm rain washed away the blood and grime it quickly made it onto my list of must-haves. But that was the only thing that it wiped clean. The memories were there, haunting. Who wanted me dead? And what type of depraved person needed proof of it? I had to agree with Steven, it wasn’t Michaela. She would never deprive herself of such macabre fun. The act of violence that ended with the loss of life was a pleasure she would never give to another person. Violence was the prelude to her masterpiece—death. She enjoyed it far too much.

Who wanted me dead? I was starting to think the list of people who wanted me alive might be shorter.

W
hen I came
out of the shower, Ethan was propped on his elbows on the bed, dressed in a pair of jeans and a relaxed t-shirt that hugged the muscles of his chest and stomach. Hair mussed, the similarities between him and Josh were very apparent. Securing the towel around me tighter, I ran my hand through my hair, wishing I had spent a little more time detangling it.

He eased off the bed and approached me with slow careful steps as though he was moving toward a deer or a timid creature he was afraid would scurry away.

“Where is Sebastian?” I asked.

“Gone.”

“It’s just us?”

He stroked my hair, his fingers running along the length of it and then lingering playfully along my jaw.

Move. I should move.
And I had every intention of doing so, but I couldn’t.

He smiled, and it reminded me of his wolf: sly and devious. “Why, is that a problem?” he asked.

Yep.
But instead I shook my head. “No, it’s fine.”

He nodded. “Good.”

I took a step back, opening up space between us, and he moved closer, eliminating it.
“Como você está?”
How are you?

“Fine.”

“Diga-me o que aconteceu.”
Tell me what happened
.

“I already told Sebastian.” Each time was like reliving it again. I’d already been through it once, twice when retelling it to Sebastian. I’m sure the third time wasn’t going to be a charm.

“Now tell
me
. You might remember things a little clearer.” He slipped his arm around my waist.
“Por favor.” Please.

I started off in Portuguese but the word finding was getting difficult. Within minutes I was speaking in English and switching back and forth, but he seemed to be able to follow.

“Sebastian was right, it was a very amateurish attempt,” he said.

“Since I haven’t had a lot of people try to assassinate me, I’m going to take your word for it.”

He chuckled, and whatever space I managed to steal between us, he grabbed back. Light, tenuous fingers moved over my shoulder before brushing strands of hair from my face. I couldn’t deny the pleasure of his touch, the warmth that enveloped me, the gentle prick of electricity that slinked over me when he was this close, nuzzling his nose against the crook of my neck. I wanted to say something, to do something, but instead I stood there aware of Ethan and the intensity that surrounded him. The warmth of him shrouded me.

He kissed me lightly, his supple lips gently pressed against mine, entreating a response, and as always—I responded. My attraction to him was instant as a commanding finger entwined in my hair pulling me closer, his breath warm and light against my lips. Experienced fingers pressed against my side, gentle, seductive, awakening feelings that existed between us on a carnal level. We were pleasure, hedonistic and beguiling. It was what I needed, and freely I gave into him. The day became a haze and everything seemed to consist of just me and Ethan.