Page 35 of Marked By Moonlight

“Oh,” she mumbled around a mouthful of hot, salty fries. She fumbled in the bag for his burger, unwrapped half of it, and handed it to him, avoiding the overwhelming temptation to take a bite.

“So,” she asked, biting into an onion ring, “how does one become a lycan hunter?” Silence stretched, so she pressed. “I mean it’s not exactly the kind of job you find in the classifieds.”

“I’ve been training since I was a kid,” he offered.

She ate another onion ring, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she sighed impatiently. “What? Is it the family business or something? Was your father a lycan hunter, too?”

“No. Just another victim of its curse.”

Her gaze shot to him, the onion ring in her mouth suddenly dust. “He was infected? Like me?”

His jaw knotted again. “No, my mother was. My father merely her dinner.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, nausea churning her stomach. “That’s why you do this.” It was personal.

Cursing, he jerked a hand from the steering wheel to run through his hair, tousling the sun-kissed locks. “Christ. I don’t talk about this. With anyone. I don’t know why I am now.”

“Maybe you need to talk about it,” she suggested.

He slid her a bitter look. “Let’s get a couple things straight. Just because I’m helping you doesn’t mean we get friendly. Wedon’t chat and share life histories.” His gaze cut to her, penetrating, demanding nothing less than total agreement. “We’renotfriends. Get it?”

“Yeah.” Claire understood. Even as his words undeniably stung. It should have occurred to her sooner. In the event they didn’t break the curse, killing her could be awkward, difficult, if they formed a friendship. “So how many like me have you helped before?” she asked.

He slanted her an unreadable look. After a long moment, he finally replied, “None.”

“None?”

“Look, my job is to destroy lycans. That’s the code. Whether you’ve fed yet or not doesn’t matter. You’re infected. Every agent in the country—hell, the world—would snuff you out rather than let you draw another breath.”

“Codes? Agents?” She shook her head. “What are you, the FBI?”

“Underground societies. I’m an agent for NODEAL, the National Organization for Defense against Evolving and Ancient Lycanthropes. Europe has EFLA, the European Federation of Lycan Agents.”

“Werewolves are that rampant?”

“Like damned locusts. And their numbers have been growing. Especially in the States. There’s been a lot of rumbling in the ranks. NODEAL’s considering merging with EFLA. They’re better at controlling their lycan population.”

“That many people are being infected by werewolves?”

“Actually, no. Lycans are very discriminating. They prefer to breed within their packs. A single lycan female can successfully procreate for a generation or two.”

“If they’re so discriminating, then why was Lenny infected?”

He frowned, staring straight ahead at the two-lane highway.“I don’t know. Rogue lycan, perhaps. Or maybe the kid got away before they could finish him off.”

Fighting back the brutal image that evoked, she swallowed down the tightness in her throat and asked, “So what else can I expect?” Besides turning into a monster and feeding on human flesh?

He was silent a long moment. “Heightened senses—taste, touch, smell, sight. You’re stronger. Faster. Quick to anger. Quick to react.”

She nodded. Her temper had certainly been hair-trigger lately. And her senses had been sensitive. To a distracting degree. She had tried to dismiss it. Rationalized it away, pretended not to notice.

“You’re the one living through it. You can probably better describe it.”

Moistening her lips, she volunteered, “I eat a lot.”

“You’re burning more calories now.”

Her head swiveled to look at him. “What?”

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