Page 93 of Marked By Moonlight

“One strike—”

“No,” Claire broke in, shaking her head from side to side, horror wringing her heart. “I’m not a killer.”

“Listen to me,” Nina insisted in a surprisingly steady voice, her sad, solemn eyes so adult as they looked up at Claire. “It could be over. Quick. It’s better than—” Her voice lost its steadiness and she choked on a sob. She covered her face with her one good hand. “I don’t want to die that way.”

“Sshh, I know.” Claire stroked her long hair, the strands silk under her hand.

Nina swiped her wet cheeks with the backs of her fingers and sniffed, her voice rising strong again. “The pipe.”

Claire shook her head, strands of hair clinging to her tear-soaked cheeks. “I can’t.”

“You have to.” She squeezed Claire’s hand with her chilled one. “You owe me that. Don’t let me die the way he intends.” She shook her head side to side vehemently. “Not that way.”

Claire stared into her face for several moments, the weight on her chest now too tight to draw air into her lungs. How could she refuse Nina a humane death?

Standing, she made her way to the pile of pipes, her heart anaching throb beneath her breastbone. Bending, her hand closed around the smooth steel. Staring at it in horror, she tested its weight in her hand.

Oh God, how can I do this?

She recalled her fright when Lenny attacked her. The horror, the pain. And Nina would endure so much more than that. Claire couldn’t put Nina through that. Not if she could help it. Claire had to offer her whatever relief she could—even if that relief was a swift, merciful death.

With slow, measured steps, she approached the girl, the heavy pipe clutched tightly in her hands.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

Dogs possess exceedingly long memories; they never forget a kindness or a wrong.

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

Gideon stripped off his shirt and wrapped it around his hand. With one plunge he sent his fist through the window, the cotton fabric of his shirt muffling the sound of shattering glass. He dropped back down on top of the air-conditioning unit, shaking shards of glass from his shirt before shrugging back into it. Pressing his back against the house, he waited, breath suspended.

Below him, Darius crouched in the dirt. Satisfied they hadn’t been discovered, Gideon went first, rising up on the faded green unit to peer through the window. A narrow, empty hallway stared back. As quietly as possible, he cleared the remnants of glass from the window and slipped inside. His booted feet thudded quietly on the carpet. Darius followed, dropping down silently beside him. They stood side by side, tense and vigilant as two jungle cats.

Shadows crept along the long length of hall. Dusk hovered in its final farewell, fading from the window behind them, casting a red pall over the shadowed interior of the house.

Muscles tense, Gideon stepped forward. Then he stopped, freezing as a pair of rottweilers rounded the corner. They stood together, legs braced wide apart, glossy black hair standing on end as they bared their teeth and growled.

“Uh, Darius?” Gideon spoke between unmoving lips, eyes never wavering from the dogs.

“Did I mention packs frequently use dogs as protectors of the den?” Darius asked in an offhanded air.

“You left that bit out.”

“Sorry. Don’t let them get their teeth around your neck,” Darius advised just before the vicious dogs charged, nails clattering against the hardwood floor.

The dog on the left flew through the air toward Gideon with dripping fangs bared and ready. Bracing himself, he focused on the snarling one hundred forty pounds coming his way.

The beast slammed into him with the force of a tank. Stumbling back several steps, Gideon grabbed the dog by the head just before his steel-trap jaws could clamp down and tear his nose from his face. He twisted the animal’s ears and felt a stab of satisfaction when a sharp whimper pierced the air.

Gideon glanced over his arm to see Darius snap the other dog’s neck. “Mind helping me?” he grunted.

Darius stepped over the dead dog and strolled toward Gideon as he might on a walk in the park. Bending, he wrapped his hands around the dog’s neck and broke it like a toothpick.

Gideon shoved the dead animal off his chest. Looking back and forth between the two prostrate dogs, he felt himself grin. “Damn glad to have you with me.”

Darius pulled Gideon to his feet, motioning to the dogs. “There may be more.”

Suddenly, a soft, melodious voice spoke. “Normally I would be quite put out with anyone who killed my pets—”

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