Page 5 of Marked By Moonlight

“Miss Morgan. Help her.” The boy squeezed Gideon’s wrist in a final surge of strength, lifting his head to glare at him fiercely. “Before she changes. Save her.”

His fingers slipped from Gideon’s wrist, and his head fell back to the pavement. “Finish it.” The kid’s voice was hollow as his gaze lifted to the sky.

Gideon complied. With another muffled zing, the kid lay dead. He stood and looked down at the wasted life. Although he had delivered the fatal blow, he suffered no guilt. Gideon had destroyed him, but the kid had been murdered some other time, in someother place, by an embodiment of evil that walked the earth even now, hunting its prey.

He unscrewed the silencer and holstered the gun. Then he pulled free the knife and wiped it clean before returning it to the sheath beneath his jacket. Grabbing his phone, he hit the name he wanted to call. One ring and a brusque voice picked up.

“March here. Got another one. Holcomb and Delcorte. Between a Laundromat and a nail salon.” Without waiting for a reply, he ended the call. Those terse words sufficed. The body would be disposed of without sending the local police into a frenzied search for a mad gunman.

As he walked out of the alley, a small bundle caught his eye. He bent and picked up the handbag and rummaged through it. Flipping open the wallet, he quickly scanned the driver’s license behind the protective plastic cover. His hunt just got easy.

Claire Elizabeth Morgan stared back at him, a plain face framed by hair so neat and perfect it could have been a plastic wig.Frigid, he couldn’t help thinking, suddenly reminded of the nuns at St. Ignatius, where he had attended school until his parents’ deaths.

He scanned the rest of the information at a glance. Age: thirty-one. Hair: brown. Eyes: brown. The address was clear across town, in the burbs. What the hell had she been doing here? He snapped the wallet shut and stuffed it into the purse. The night was still young.

Might as well get it over with.

CHAPTERTWO

The birth of a pup can be a tricky thing; it must be monitored closely, especially the first night.

—Man’s Best Friend: An Essential Guide to Dogs

Gideon located the light switch in the apartment. As light flooded the small space, he took a good look at the home of Claire Morgan: age thirty-one, street sense nil. The tidy living area’s sparse furnishings reflected a modest life. From the worn, floral print couch to the brass-hinged old chest that functioned as a coffee table, everything pointed to the humble, unassuming nature of its sole inhabitant.

A green-eyed cat blinked at him before jumping down from the couch and disappearing into the bedroom. Gideon’s lips twisted in amusement and he wondered how ol’ tabby was going to welcome her new mommy home tonight.

Family pictures lined the walls. He surveyed the photos, immediately picking out his quarry posing with family members. Dad, mom, grandparents—he identified these easily, pausing to more closely inspect Claire’s husky father. The man’s hard eyes demanded a second look. In every picture, he gripped his wife’s shoulder or arm—but not lovingly. More like he was afraid shemight bolt from his side at any moment. Gideon inspected the rest of the photos. No boyfriends. At least no one important enough to grace a frame. Good. It improved her chances of returning home alone.

He could do what he had to and leave.

Of course, she could have called a friend or family member and be staying the night with them. Depending on the severity of her injury, a loved one might insist on looking after her. Yet she’d been able to walk away. Her injury could not have been too great and no matter the severity, she would recover. Sooner than humanly possible. Her newly altered DNA possessed tremendous regeneration ability.

Two strides took him to her bedroom. A captivating scent assailed him. He lingered in the doorway, inhaling. Gardenia and something else… faint and powdery. He flipped on the light and beheld a room as clean and orderly as the living room.

Several small burgundy and plum-colored pillows were tossed at the head of the neatly made bed, a splash of color against the ivory comforter. A small desk sat against one wall, an obsolete computer on top of it. Stacks of papers littered the surface, the only visible sign of disorder.

Curious, he stepped closer and selected a paper off the top of one stack, an essay of some kind with her name in the header. The neat comments in the margins undoubtedly belonged to her. The depth of her feedback told him she had a lot of time on her hands.

He shook his head and began to feel the pricking of his conscience. Most of his prey lacked identities, but a very definite picture of Claire Morgan began to form in his mind.

He shrugged off the uncomfortable pang of conscience.

His eyes landed on a photo on her desk. With a heavy heart, he picked up the heavy wood frame. The wordsWorld’s Best Teacherwere inscribed at the top of the frame, and behind the gleamingglass smiled a group of kids. The kid from the alley was there, one arm draped over Claire Morgan’s shoulders.

Gideon gazed at the two of them for a long time, willing the image of the boy with the bright, hopeful smile and the woman with the timid eyes to disappear—if not from the photo, then at least from his mind.

“Shit,” he muttered, dropping the frame back on the desk, wishing he had never set eyes on it.

Claire Morgan had been in that alley to help a student. Of that he felt certain. How could he snuff out little Miss Mary Poppins?

He reminded himself that her goodness no longer existed. She was one of them now. He shouldn’t look at her differently from any other kill. He hunted. He destroyed. It had never been complicated before. It didn’t have to get complicated now.

But she hasn’t taken blood yet.There was still a chance. His thoughts turned down another path, one rarely ventured. Could things have been different if someone had given his parents a chance?

Shaking his head, he dragged his hands through his too-long locks. He couldn’t risk it. There was too much to lose. Too many lives at risk as long as she lived. He lowered himself to the wicker chair in the corner of the room. A ragged, one-eyed teddy bear nestled amid the pillows of her bed stared back at him, reminding him of his kid sister’s old bear. The one their parents bought her their last Christmas together.

“Ah, hell,” he swore as something long dead stirred to life in his gut. It was too late. Things just got complicated.

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