Page 76 of Marked By Moonlight

The shadows on the walls lengthened, taking on frightening dimensions. Like the monsters of her childhood dreams. Only the barest amount of moonlight filtered past the tree branches outside her window. With one hand beneath her cheek, she watched as the shadows grew and stretched. She stayed as she was, curled on her side as the night deepened, wondering if Darius’s sour-faced housekeeper would return for the tray of food she had left at lunchtime.

Initially, Claire had vowed not to eat, not to touch a morsel of food brought to her. Pathetically, her resolve had not lasted beyond breakfast. She had managed to turn up her nose at the fresh fruit and steaming oatmeal, but not the heaping mound of creamy pasta salad strewn with shrimp and sun-dried tomatoes. Claire couldn’t resist. Nor could she leave the thick wedge of chocolate cheesecake uneaten. Only further proof that the lycan instinct overpowered her will. Her stomach rumbled and Claire couldn’t help wondering when dinner would arrive.

As if in answer to her thoughts, the door opened.

Claire lurched from the bed, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as she braced herself. She still wore Gideon’s jacket but had wrapped a chenille throw around her bottom half in an attempt at modesty.

The housekeeper stood in the door’s threshold, her sherry brown eyes glittering with malice. Not lycan eyes. That was some comfort at least. “Time to shower,” she announced gruffly. “Follow me.”

Claire followed. Willingly. Locked up since yesterday, she felt sticky and welcomed the prospect of a shower. It would feel good to be clean again. Even better if she had fresh clothes.

Thinking that it wouldn’t hurt to have an ally, Claire hurried to walk beside the stern-faced housekeeper. “What’s your name?”

The woman stared straight ahead, the slight thinning of her lips the only indication she even heard the question.

“I’m Claire,” she volunteered.

After a long moment, the housekeeper offered her name. “Helen.”

“Helen.” Claire stopped her with a hand on her arm and searched the woman’s apathetic face for some hint of emotion. Her cold, flat gaze never even blinked. “You know what he is, don’t you?”

Helen quirked her eyebrow in silence.

Claire pressed a hand to her chest. “What I am?”

“Yes,” she answered coldly.

“Then, you know I need your help.”

Stone-faced, Helen stepped around Claire and continued down the hall. “That’s what Master Darius is doing. Helping you.”

Claire scowled and fell in step beside her. “No, he’s not.”

“He’s saving you from hurting others… and from damnation.” Helen stopped and pushed open a door, gesturing inside. “You should be thanking him.”

“You’re brainwashed,” Claire accused. “You know what will happen when we’re locked together—”

“Have you taken a good look at Darius?” Helen’s eyes raked Claire coolly, critically. “You could do a lot worse.”

“Of course,” she mocked. “I should drop down and kiss his feet in gratitude.”

Loyalty burned with bright fervor in Helen’s eyes. And something else. Not just loyalty. “Watch how you speak about Master Darius.”

With a jolt, Claire realized the middle-aged woman was in love with him.

As if realizing she had revealed too much, Helen straightened and said defensively, “He saved me. Twenty-five years ago. I used to be a real looker then.” Her eyes swept over Claire scornfully. “Better than you. I begged him to turn me, but he said he would not corrupt an innocent.”

Helen’s coldness suddenly made sense. She was jealous. Of Claire.

The housekeeper went on, “One night walking home from work a lycan got it into his head to take me home with him. I was to be his dinner. But first I was his toy—” She shrugged abruptly, as if it were a simple ordeal, but Claire knew it had to have been traumatic. “Darius saved me,” Helen finished. “I owe him everything. I chose to devote my life to serving him.”

Claire studied the older woman’s face, easily detecting a former prettiness buried beneath the sagging skin and age lines. She also saw something else. Heartache. The pain of unrequited love. She released a deep sigh. No wonder Darius appointed this woman his watchdog. She was his disciple. As loyal as they come. Claire would get no help from her.

Sighing, Claire walked past Helen and entered the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Once inside the spacious cream-tiledroom, she turned on the shower, dropped the chenille throw, and removed Gideon’s jacket, instantly missing his familiar scent. Steam gusted out of the shower, but as she turned to step inside she caught her reflection in the mirror.

The sight startled her. Those eyes—she refused to think of them as hers—stood out starkly against her pale face, a haunting reminder of what she had become. Of what she was becoming. Her hair was a wild tangle about her shoulders and body. And her body… well, it looked different. Thinner, leaner. Amazing considering everything she had been eating lately.

She splayed a hand across her rib cage in awe. She’d never been exactly overweight, but her ribs had never jutted out from her skin before. She angled her head, inspecting herself further in the fogging mirror. It wasn’t only the weight loss, she decided. Her body seemed toned, muscles sharply defined. A certain vitality hummed from her skin. Not a bad thing, she concluded, then frowned. No, not bad. But nother. Not Claire. It had to be the lycan, readying her body as the full moon drew nearer.

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