Marked by Moonlight Read Online Free PDF Page A

called friends.
    So, why couldn’t he pull the fucking trigger?
    It was what he did. Who he was.
    She snuggled deeper into the bed, rolling on her side and curling her legs. Her robe parted, revealing well-shaped calves and supple-looking thighs that would feel like satin in a man’s hands. His cock grew hard, pushing against his fly, and he swallowed a curse. The thought of gliding his hands over her legs, of wrapping them around his waist as he buried himself in her soft heat, grabbed hold of him and wouldn’t let go. Shaking his head, he decided he’d been too long without a woman. A matter he needed to correct if it stopped him from lusting after his targets.
    Her arms reached out, instinctively searching the area next to her until her fingers met the sought-after object. She tucked the tattered teddy bear to her chest, triggering a flood of memories best left forgotten. Memories of home, of family, of a happy, unfettered life…before he’d known lycans existed in anything other than Hollywood movies.
    She smiled in her sleep. A soft, dreamy smile that did strange things to his insides.
    â€œShit,” he muttered, repeating the NODEAL code in his mind like a mantra. Destroy them at any cost .

Chapter Three
    Some dogs take longer to train than others.
    â€”Man’s Best Friend:
An Essential Guide to Dogs
    C laire opened her eyes, blinked once, and was instantly wide awake, surging upright in bed. Astonishing alertness for a woman who deliberately set her alarm thirty minutes early just so she could hit the snooze button three times. Her body required that extra half hour to adjust to the idea of waking.
    From the darkness enveloping her, she knew it was still morning. The bedside clock read four fifteen.
    She had slept only four hours?
    Strange. She had been so exhausted.
    Her belly rumbled. Thoughts of swinging by Krispy Kreme wormed into her head. Hmmm, or breakfast tacos from Tia Rosa. Her growling stomach made the decision. Both.
    Lifting her arms, she stretched, remembering too late to have a care for her shoulder. But surprisingly the stretch didn’t hurt. She rotated her shoulder gingerly, waiting to feel her muscles’ protest. Nothing happened. She moved her shoulder more vigorously, delighted to discover no pain at all. It felt fine. In fact, every last inch of her felt fine—great, even. Like a woman reborn, bounding with energy. The alien impulse to don some sweats and take a Saturday morning jog seized her.
    â€œSome drugs,” she muttered.
    Then another urge asserted itself. Claire bounded from the bed. Arms outstretched, she made her way through the gloom to the bathroom.
    Moments later she emerged and noticed the blinking light on her answering machine. Apparently, she’d slept through the ringing telephone.
    But who would have called in the middle of the night?
    She pushed play and returned to the bathroom. Flipping on the light, she squinted against the glare. As the messages rewound, she accustomed herself to the fluorescent lighting and gave her reflection a cursory glance, then reached for her toothbrush.
    Her gaze flew back to the mirror and the face that was her own. Yet not. She leaned forward warily, as if the woman in the mirror might leap out to harm her.
    Her face was…different.
    She stared hard, trying to put her finger on the difference.
    In the background, the first message began to play.
    â€œClaire, it’s your mother. Wanted to see if you want roast or spaghetti this Sunday. I can do either. Let me know. ’Bye.”
    Tearing her attention from the mirror, she gave the machine a peculiar look.
    Like clockwork, she ate dinner at her parents’ house every Sunday, and although her mother often checked to see what she preferred to eat, she had never called in the middle of a Friday night to verify. Shrugging, she returned to scrutinize her face, at last pinpointing the difference.
    Her eyes. They weren’t the same mousy