Page 57 of Marked By Moonlight

She surged to her feet, her silver eyes shadowed with raw emotion. “I’ll be in my room getting a few things.”

Alone, he stared at her door, contemplating whether he should knock and check on her. Then he shook his head, hardening his heart. Distance, he reminded himself. It was the best thing. For both of them.

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

A dog’s instinct never fails.

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

The gun felt heavy in her hands. Heavier than the one she had purchased—the one she had intended to use on Gideon when she thought him a dangerous lunatic. Strange how things had changed in such a short time. She no longer thought him a lunatic. Just dangerous. And mostly to her heart.

“Standard NODEAL issue. Forty-four revolver. Custom-made silencer,” Gideon explained, stroking a finger along the barrel. “Cock the hammer with your thumb.”

Claire pulled the hammer back, the grinding click an oddly satisfying sound, empowering. A good feeling. Just what she needed for the night ahead.

They were venturing out to Woody’s. It was strange, but she felt tonight was it. The night they would find the alpha. The night she would be returned to herself. But perhaps that was just desperate hope.

“Then you just pull the trigger. Your aim doesn’t have to be great, just make sure you hit your target. The silver will do all the work.” Gideon nodded in approval as she repositioned the cold,hard steel in her hands and aimed at the wall of his living room. “Looks like you have some experience handling guns.”

Claire shrugged. “A little.” She didn’t bother telling him about the gun she had purchased. Ever since leaving her apartment they spoke only when necessary. He had made it clear they weren’t friends—not lovers—merely cohorts united for a like purpose. It didn’t matter that she wanted more, that she wanted him. It was an odd sort of irony. He couldn’t let himself want her, because she might not live out the week. But she wanted him all the more, desperately, because of that same fact.

Gideon took the gun from her, flipped the lever on its side, and with a flick of his wrist demonstrated how to open the cylinder. He pointed at the flat faces of six silver bullets before turning the gun and emptying them into his palm. His movements were deft and practiced, those of a man long accustomed to handling firearms. “If you empty the rounds tonight, reload—immediately. Never be caught with an empty cylinder.”

Claire nodded. Gideon tossed the bullets in his hand. “Customized Colombian silver bullets.” They clinked together lightly. “Okay. This is the hard part.”

Her gaze shot to his grim face, arching a brow in silent question.

Seizing her hand, he dropped the bullets into her open palm. “Reload.”

Claire hissed in pain and dropped the bullets that scorched her flesh. They clattered noisily to the wood floor, spinning and whirring in wide circles at her feet. She stared down at her open palm, at the angry red welts rising on her skin—exactly six in number.

“Pick ’em up.”

“They burn.”

“You’re a lycan. Silver burns. Now pick them up.”

“What about gloves—”

“You’ll look strange wearing gloves in ninety-degree heat, andyou can’t take the time to put on a pair of gloves when you need to be quick and reload.”

Claire sucked in a deep breath and pressed her wounded palm against her denim shorts in an attempt to reduce the sting. Flexing her other hand around the gun, she squatted and stared down at the innocent-looking cylinders, bracing herself to pick them up.

“If you can’t load the gun, you can’t defend yourself,” Gideon said above her. “You might as well quit right now.”

Quit. He meant die.

Swallowing, she poised her hand over one bullet. With a deep breath she grabbed it, ignoring that it felt like fire on her fingertips. Trying not to fumble, she slid it into one chamber. Her hand dove for the next one, afraid that if she stopped she would never finish. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and the smell of burning flesh seared her nostrils. After the fourth bullet, she looked at her hand. The fingers were badly blistered. Tendrils of smoke drifted above her palm and she gave a strangled cry, horrified at further evidence of her descent into a nightmare from which she could not wake.

“Move,” Gideon growled next to her ear. She hadn’t even noticed when he dropped down beside her. “Don’t stop, damn it. Move.”

Tears blurred her vision as she finished loading the last two bullets. She forced herself to grip the gun in her throbbing hands. Lifting her chin, she glared at him defiantly, her chest lifting in pride. “I can do it.”

“Good,” he announced in a flat voice, his look frustratingly blank. “Just be ready to do it again tonight.” He turned and left. Her heart sank as she listened to his fading footsteps.

Claire sank onto the couch and set the gun beside her. Outside, the sun dipped behind the treetops. Another day gone. Tonight would be the night. It had to be. She flexed her sore hands openand shut. Already the pain was starting to ebb, the lycan ability to heal working its magic.

Only the pain in her heart lingered.

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