Kiss of a Dark Moon Read Online Free PDF Page A

shoulders. Stepping into the shower, she adjusted the valves until a warm spray of water rained down on her body. She worked quickly, soaping her body and shampooing her hair. Turning off the water, she stepped onto the bath rug and rubbed herself dry with a towel.
    Snatching her T-shirt off the counter, she pulled it over her head, pausing at her reflection in the mirror. Her light curls looked dark when wet, a tangled mess that clung to her head and neck like ivy crawling a fence. A humorless smile twisted her lips. Her eyes stared widely, almost too large for her face, making her look haunted. Or maybe hunted. And now she was. The hunter turned hunted.
    Her eyes looked especially green against her tanned skin. A fluke of genetics, she never needed to tan. As if she would even take the time for such an indulgence. Even at Christmas she looked island-gold. Looking down, she snatched the fresh boxers with dancing penguins off the counter—one of many items Claire had stuffed into her personalized stocking last Christmas—and slipped them on.
    Kit and Gideon had never had Christmas stockings before. The whole tradition of a tree, stockings, and turkey with all the trimmings that Claire had foisted on them had been a first in her memory. Her grandmother only ever bought a poinsettia in acknowledgment of the holiday. Christmas morning, Gideon and Kit would sit at the linoleum kitchen table with the poinsettia in the center and open their fifteen-dollar Sears gift cards over a plate of rubbery fried eggs and Spam. The gift cards were for underwear and socks.
    Gideon’s marriage to Claire had only reinforced all that Kit had missed. All that she still missed. Kit both loved and hated Claire for it.
    Dressed, she grabbed her gun off the toilet tank. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had not eaten since her power bar at lunch. She’d left straight from work to make her date with Dan. Another wasted evening—at least date-wise. Not to mention the dent to her checkbook tonight would bring. Friday nights brought the best tips. She rarely took off. Couldn’t afford to. Usually she worked the bar until two, and hunted afterward, collapsing in bed at dawn.
    She had tried a regular nine-to-five job after college. It wasn’t hard to land one; keeping it was another matter. When she trolled the clubs and streets all hours of the night hunting lycans, she was late to work most mornings—and often sporting cuts and bruises that convinced her coworkers she was a victim of domestic abuse.
    So what had started out as a part-time gig had soon become full-time. Tending bar was more her scene, anyway. No business suit required. Just a dark, smoke-shrouded club, loud music, and lycans who hunted among the throng of twentysomethings. They never noticed the girl behind the bar; they were too focused on targeting easy prey among the drunken women. But she noticed them—and picked them off later.
    So what if she was twenty-six and still living with her grandmother? Sure, her grandmother wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type, but aside from Gideon, she was all Kit had.
    Entering the kitchen, she flipped on the overhead light. It buzzed and flickered before blazing to full strength. She advanced on the refrigerator, her belly grinding with hunger. Shaking loose her waves from her head and shoulders with a drag of her fingers, she peered inside the well-stocked refrigerator, again courtesy of Claire. Two years ago, Kit would have been lucky to find a stale loaf of bread.
    Removing a Lean Cuisine TV dinner from the freezer, she tore into the box and slid the small tray into the microwave. A faint whirring filled the air as the fettuccine alfredo heated.
    Her grandmother had never been much on cooking. Her kitchen skills ran to canned tuna on Ritz crackers. Fried eggs and Spam appeared on special occasions. Gideon said their mother had been a good cook. Kit thought she remembered blueberry pancakes, but she