Read Marked by Moonlight for Free Online

should she believe this nutcase?
    His mouth pressed shut and he glared at her.
    Heedless of her own well-being, she lurched nearer, jabbing the curling iron in the air. “How do you know?” she demanded.
    â€œListen.” He clutched the fragile arms of her wicker chair as if battling for patience. “Your life is in danger. You need my help.”
    Why couldn’t he just answer her question?
    â€œHe’s not dead,” she charged, shaking her head vigorously. “No way.” A fresh-out-of-the-asylum trespasser living under some very unhealthy delusions could hardly be counted on as a reliable source of information.
    â€œHe’s dead.” His voice broke through her denial with the viciousness of a whip. “And you will be too if you don’t get a grip and start worrying about your own ass.”
    She tapped her chest with the curling iron. “Why am I in danger?”
    He didn’t answer her. Again. Funny how he had a way of doing that whenever she asked a direct question. When her students didn’t immediately answer her, it was because they had something to hide. Her eyes widened, sweeping over him and suddenly she understood. She knew. She knew .
    â€œYou killed Lenny!” How else would he know for certain Lenny was dead? She staggered back and bumped into the wall so hard it rattled the picture frames.
    â€œNo,” he corrected, then added in a somewhat quieter voice, “I destroyed a lycan who used to be your student.”
    â€œYou’re insane!” Her lips worked silently as she struggled for an epithet foul enough to hurl at him.
    â€œListen. Lenny was a lycan. And as of Friday night, so are you. If you need proof, look at your shoulder where he bit you.”
    Yeah, right. As if she would take her gaze off him to inspect her shoulder.
    â€œGo look in the mirror,” he snapped, unfolding his great length from her chair. “See how insane I am.”
    She slid farther along the wall, creeping slow inch by slow inch toward the bedroom doorway. “Stay back!”
    He gestured at her shoulder impatiently. “Just look, damn it!”
    She flinched at his raised voice. His sheer size coupled with his not so minor confession of murder left no doubt that the time for talking was over. She flung the curling iron at his head and bolted. His muffled curse told her the curling iron made contact.
    Door, door, door. The word pounded through her mind like the heavy beat of a drum. She had to reach the door before—
    A hand slammed down on her shoulder and spun her around. His other one muffled her scream as he hauled her against him, muttering, “Lady, don’t make me regret helping you.”
    Helping her? Right. He was a regular Good Samaritan.
    Keeping one hand on her mouth, he locked his other arm around her waist and lifted her off the carpet, imprisoning her against the rock-hard length of him. She landed a couple solid kicks to his shins with her heels. He grunted but still managed to carry her to the bathroom and drop her in front of the mirror.
    Her pulse hammered at her neck in rhythm to the beat of his heart pounding at her back as he trapped her between his body and the counter. Hard body pressed behind hers, his hips pushed her into the counter. Staring at their reflection in the mirror, she saw with clinical dispassion just how good-looking he was. Even in the unflattering fluorescent lighting. And this, Claire mused quite irrationally, was vastly, horribly unfair. A manhandling brute should be ugly as sin.
    His broad hand covered the bottom half of her face, his tanned skin a dark contrast to her paleness. Her lips parted and she tasted the saltiness of his skin with a dart of her tongue, detecting the rush of his blood just below the surface of his palm. Her breasts tightened and grew heavy and she had to resist the urge to take them in her hands and squeeze them.
    Her gaze moved to his eyes. Green. A pale green. At the