Page 68 of Marked By Moonlight

“Want something to eat?” Gideon asked when they entered the kitchen.

She shook her head. Surprisingly, even food didn’t appeal to her. Ever since the lake house she had resisted voicing the one question burning in her mind, too afraid he might reconsider helping her. But that didn’t matter anymore. She had to know the truth. Lifting her face to stare him directly in the eyes, she asked, “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” she repeated, her voice insistent. She dug her nails into her palm, waiting for his response, determined to have it.

Gideon flexed his hands into fists beside him.

“Claire, I—” He stopped abruptly, leaving whatever he wasgoing to say unfinished as he shrugged out of his jacket with jerky, agitated movements.

She watched as he laid his jacket over the back of a chair, her gun clearly outlined in the pocket. She buried her hands in her pockets, curling her fingers into tight fists. Turning, he stalked out of the kitchen without a word, ignoring her question.

Claire followed him into the living room. “Other agents would have. Hell, your sister would have.”

He stopped in the middle of the living room and turned to face her. “I intended to destroy you.”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as she sank to the couch. “That night in my apartment. You were there. You were going to kill me, then.”

He stared out the front bay window that faced the street, nodding. “I had the gun in my hand,” he said quietly, touching his fingers to his mouth. A mouth that even right now she would like to press against her own, to kiss until the nightmare faded.Insanity.That was the only word for it.

“I put the barrel right to your head.” He tapped his temple with his index finger.

“You should have ended it then.” Before things got so carried away.

Claire drew a deep, shuddering breath at the image of him standing over her as she slept, a gun pressed to her head. She would never have known what hit her. Never have even seen his face. Never have felt the things she did for him. Kit’s words blew through her like an arctic wind.If you care at all for my brother, you will end this before he gets hurt.

She lurched from the couch, throat thick with emotion. What was she waiting for? Some lycan out there to rape her? For Gideon to gather his nerve and destroy her? She swallowed past the thickness in her throat. She cared for him too much to do that to him.

He took a step toward her. Claire lurched back and held up a hand to ward him off, afraid that he would touch her. If he did, she’d fall apart, crumble right in front of him. Shaking her head, she released a short laugh that sounded strange and brittle. “I bet you wished you had.”

“You have no idea what I feel,” Gideon growled. “Until you, I was fine. I never questioned what I did,” he exploded, green eyes flashing like emeralds in sunlight. “But you’re different. You’re…”

Claire dropped back onto the couch and lowered her shaking forehead into her palm. “Please, Gideon. Stop.” She couldn’t hear it. Couldn’t bear to hear him say he cared for her when she knew it couldn’t go anywhere. She had to protect him—and the world—from herself.

“No,” he broke in. “I won’t.” In two strides he stood before her, wrenching her to her feet. “I’m not soft. I’ve killed others. Too many to count. And I’ve watched those I loved destroyed right before my eyes… my mother, my father.” His eyes scanned her face, and she gasped at the pain visible there. “If I need to, I will kill you.”

Claire couldn’t help thinking he sounded as though he were trying to convince himself and not her. And right then, she vowed it would not fall to him. He’d suffered enough pain in his life. She would not add to it.

She pressed her lips into a firm line. The waxing moon outside demanded she do something. She had no intention of waiting. No more lying to herself. Those lycans tonight had known the truth. So did Kit.

His green gaze clashed with hers. Tension crackled on the air like electricity, palpable and frightening.

She wiggled free of his hold. “It’s late.”

His hands groped air. For a moment, she thought those hands would grab her and pull her back into his arms. And a part of herdesperately prayed he would. She wanted to feel his hands on her again. One last time.

Instead, they dropped listlessly to his sides. “Good night, Claire,” he said, his voice flat, lifeless.

Her throat constricted and she nodded mutely, unable to return his good night. Not when it really meant good-bye.

She fled before she could collapse in a pile in front of him. Upstairs in her room, she stared at the couch. There was no sense pulling out the bed tonight. She wouldn’t be sleeping. Sinking onto the couch, she rested her head on the pillow, nuzzling it with her cheek, seeking what comfort she could as she waited. A few minutes passed before she heard his solid tread on the stairs. He stopped at the top and she held her breath, heart aching, imagining him standing there, imagining him looking at her closed door. Silently, she begged for him to enter, to give her one more memory, a taste to take into eternity with her.

At last he moved on, his footsteps receding down the hall to his bedroom. She would wait a little longer. Until she was sure he slept. He would never hear her creep down the stairs. Never realize what had happened until it was over.

In the still of the kitchen, Claire stepped toward the chair where her gun slumbered peacefully in Gideon’s jacket, waiting. She slid her hand inside the pocket and wrapped her fingers around cold, hard steel. Now that she had reached the decision, she was anxious to get it over with. She wanted it to be over. While she still had the courage.

As she pulled the revolver out of the pocket she wondered if gunmetal ever felt anything but cold. Her thumb pulled back the hammer. Her finger curled around the trigger like a ribbon furling itself. She studied the black steel in her hand.What am I doing?The answer came back quick and firm.Ending it.For Gideon. For herself. For the world. It was the right thing to do—the responsible thing, even if it went against every instinct of survival she possessed. Deep in his heart, Gideon knew that. She had seen the truth etched in the hard lines of his face. She would spare him the burden of shooting her.

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