Call of the Highland Moon (The MacInnes Werewolves #1)

Call of the Highland Moon (The MacInnes Werewolves #1) Page 45

“An odd sort of strength,” Gideon hissed, “to hide behind a woman.” All his questions were lost in a gathering haze of rage as this intruder, this cowardly assassin continued to touch, to hold what was not his. Instinct began to override reason. His mate was threatened … protect thy mate …

The insult hit its mark. “Fool,” sneered the Gray, blood-colored eyes narrowing in anger. “I might have let you watch her die. Now that pleasure will be mine alone.” He tossed Carly’s unconscious body aside then, as carelessly and roughly as one might discard an unwanted doll. Carly gave a soft moan of pain as she hit the floor, though she did not, even then, stir. It was a sound that shot directly to Gideon’s heart.

“You’ll pay,” he snarled, intense emotion shifting his shape and form almost instantly, his Wolf form seeming somehow larger, charged with an energy he had never before experienced. And in his singular focus on the destruction of the beast before him, he did not care.

There was a flicker of something like uneasiness in the Gray’s eyes for a split second before his bravado reasserted itself. He took a wide-legged stance, claws at the ready, arms beckoning. “You learn quickly, Guardian. Unfortunate, then, that it’s too little, too late. Come. You’ll only add to my feast.”

Power shuddered through Gideon as he launched himself at his enemy, slamming into him with such force that their two bodies, now entwined in a deadly, bloody embrace of claws and teeth, nearly went through the wall altogether. He fought like a true animal. There was no thought for the hot flashes of pain he earned as he tore with his hands, his feet, at the one who had robbed him of Carly, his one chance at love, his mate, forever.

After all he had seen, he was still surprised at the strength of this un-Wolf who called himself a Drakkyn, a word Gideon had never before heard uttered and yet somehow resonated in him with a dull fury. Whatever he was, the Gray had muscles like stone, flesh that refused to yield to claw under any but the most punishing blows while lashing out with incredible speed and power of his own. Still, Gideon fought with more fire than he’d known he had in him. It would be small comfort to them both, eventually, Gideon supposed. But this was to him no less than the most important Honor Battles that had ever been fought by his kind, because the honor at stake was not just his own, but Carly’s as well.

The Gray lashed upwards from beneath him, striking deep into Gideon’s underbelly. Strangely, it was this blow, one that Gideon could feel had come a breath away from doing mortal damage, that gave him the last punch of strength he needed. The expression of hideous glee at the wound he’d just inflicted froze on the Drakkyn’s face as Gideon reared back with a deafening roar and ripped his claws through bone and muscle. The force was such that the Gray’s head came off of his body before either one of them had time to understand what was happening. Gideon felt a surge of relief as the creature’s crystal amulet shattered against the far wall. The shards steamed and hissed for a split second before simply evaporating into thin air. The body beneath him jerked once, twice. And then was still.

Gideon remained frozen atop the carcass as reality swam slowly back in, the red haze of his blood lust dissipating like mist in the morning sun. It was over.

All at once the adrenaline pumping through his system could no longer mask the toll the night’s fighting had taken on his body. Gideon collapsed to his side, shaking uncontrollably as his system struggled to shift back into human form and rid itself of what was left of the huge well of inner energy he had somehow tapped into. There were long, deep wounds across his belly, his back, still oozing as they started the long, slow healing process. But he felt nothing, noticed nothing except the glitter of pale gold where Carly still lay motionless in a limp heap beside her dresser.

Through his tremors, the warm and welcoming darkness beckoned him into its healing depths to rest, to sleep. Still, Gideon somehow dragged himself, bloodied, battered, to Carly’s side to coil protectively around her.

“Stay with me,” he whispered as he nuzzled at her neck, into her hair, inhaling her sweet essence. He licked at the angry red of the Gray’s bite in the futile hope that the healing agent in his saliva would do more than just soothe her broken skin, banishing as well the wild poison that would even now be infecting her system, changing it … claiming it.

“Stay with me.”

But in his own personal darkness, Gideon was alone.

Chapter Fourteen

WHEN CARLY FINALLY SURFACED, IT WAS WITH ONLY one thought in mind: she hurt.

It was like swimming up from the depths of the ocean after a long, cool dive. Except the closer Carly got to breaking through the surface of the water, the less she was sure she wanted to. She was lying down. She felt this now, and that she was between fresh, comfortable sheets that might have been cool but for the fact that, somehow, she was baking, and from the inside out.

She heard her own frustrated moan as she kicked at her coverings, trying to get away from the thousands of excruciating pinpricks of heat flickering under every inch of her skin. She wanted to shout, to cry out for someone, anyone to call for a doctor, she was sick, someone needed to fix this. But her tongue felt thick and dry. It was as though someone had stuffed a wad of cotton into her mouth that had subsequently sucked every blessed drop of moisture from not just her mouth, but her entire body.

As if in answer to her fevered prayers, a cold, wet cloth was pressed to her head, her mouth. Tiny droplets of moisture cascaded like liquid heaven down the desert of her throat.

“Hush, love. Not too fast, I’ve got more for you. I’m here. Hush …”

It was the sound of that voice, like the rough scrape of nails against softest velvet, that had Carly’s eyes flickering open, though it took some effort. They felt like they’d been glued shut.

“Gideon?” It took her seconds to focus properly, and when she did, her head began pounding with a dull, nauseating intensity. The light in the small room was dim, at least, the glow coming from a small, antique-looking hurricane lamp perched on the night stand beside her. The light it cast was just enough for her to make out the foot of the wrought-iron bed she lay in, the soft quilt in muted browns and greens that covered her, the large, comfortably worn dresser and mirror that took up most of the wall opposite her. All this, and the fact that the dark and faded blue sky outside the one window indicated it was either dusk or dawn.

Carly shivered in spite of the intense heat that seemed to be radiating outward from her very core. She had no idea where she was, when it was … and the longer she kept her eyes open, the more the unwanted bits of memory kept emerging. Each provided her with a flash of illuminated misery before joining another, the pieces arranging themselves to form a more and more coherent whole, like a jigsaw puzzle from hell.

They had fought … Gideon had left … but then … but then …

At the nasty twinge in her right shoulder, Carly remembered it all, and what it meant. Her vision began to darken and waver, and it was almost a relief. She would rather not know any more, she decided. She would rather just drift away and wrap herself in sleep so she wouldn’t have to be involved in what was happening to her.

But again, his voice drew her back, low and hypnotic, a beacon in the encroaching darkness. She couldn’t help but heed it.

“No, Carly, love. Stay with me.”

Those words … had he spoken them before? There was something about them, something to do with what had happened after all of the awfulness. But her thoughts seemed mired in jelly. And if she were being honest with herself, there was nothing about any of that that she wanted to remember. If only she could forget.

The cool cloth bathed her forehead again, and this time Carly found the strength to turn her head slightly toward the hand that held it. Her tired eyes traced the large, familiar outline of it, up the muscular forearm sprinkled with dark hair, and finally came to rest on the only face, at this moment, she really wanted to see.

“You’re … you’re here,” she rasped, hating the raw feeling in her throat, the scratchy quality of her voice. She knew what was wrong with her, had perfect recall when it came to the teeth, neatly and precisely sunk into her shoulder. The bite had been, in an odd sort of way, gentle … and Carly knew that had been by design. It had wanted to watch her suffer. It … she’d gotten a look at it, the last solid memory she had, as a matter of fact, before waking up in this room. The thing that had bitten her hadn’t been like Gideon, or the werewolf that had initially attacked. It had been something else, like a man caught between animal and human at the exact halfway point, but also more. Something demonic. And whatever ran through its veins to make it what it was, was now in hers.

Not wanting to think about it, about what all of that meant, Carly focused on Gideon’s presence. There was a nearly overwhelming rush of emotion that flooded her overtaxed senses when she locked eyes with him.

“Of course I’m here,” he said with a small half smile, betrayed by the worry reflected in the dark honey of his gaze. “Not going to throw me out, are you?”

As if. Carly was fairly sure she was no longer possessed of the sort of wherewithal it would take to banish Gideon MacInnes from any aspect of her existence, even if he hadn’t looked as exhausted as he did. And he looked, actually, like he’d been through hell. It made Carly wonder just exactly what she’d missed since she’d succumbed to the comparatively pleasant oblivion of unconsciousness. There were shadows under his eyes, dark and haunted. His hair, even for Gideon, with his constant mussing of it, was a mess. It looked as though he’d shoved his hands through it so many times that it had finally just decided to stand up in odd directions permanently. For her? she thought, a faint hope kindling within her before she ruthlessly shoved it aside. He’d said that his father had been taken. There were bigger things going on in Gideon’s life than her. He’d made that abundantly clear on his way out the door.

Yet even now, after all that had happened, she was entirely focused on his presence, hungry for it no matter how much she commanded herself to shut it off, to let it go. His weariness should have showcased some sort of flaw, at least, something she could console herself with as a token of his imperfection. Instead, though, Gideon seemed even more impossibly perfect than before, the wear stamped on his features only enhancing the rough masculine beauty of him. Even more appealing than a pagan god, Carly decided resignedly, was a pagan god fallen to earth and in need of saving. She thought morosely of exactly how she must be looking right about now and suppressed a sigh.