Page 38 of Total Eclipse of the Moon
"How many do they have alive and functional?"
"Slate estimated eight are trained enough to be able to be sold to the highest bidder."
"That’s over three hundred souls that might’ve died. Are they only using lycans?"
"No. They’ve got others. Slate wasn’t sure how many trained soldiers have been sold but guessed about four. He had no clue where they went. What I don’t understand is how they control them beyond the collar around their neck. Maybe the moment they finish a mission they knock them out with a shock from the collar and lock them up somewhere? For info on where they were sold into service, we’ll have to break into an active facility and get into their computer system. We might have to do it now, before we can deal with the curse, in order to stop more super soldiers from being auctioned off and disappearing to wherever. Do you have the witch?" So much venom in Roman’s tone when he spoke of her.
"I do. But it’s complicated, like I said before."
"Complicated? That hitch in your voice…" Roman groaned into the phone. "Please tell me, I’m wrong. ‘Complicated’ better mean something other than you wanting to get her naked. Because…damn it, Shane, I can’t handle you and her as a thing. It’ll be a problem. I don’t expect that kind of stupidity from you."
He winced but swallowed down the immediate urge to go on the defense. "It’s way more than anything like that."The drive for her is stealing my mind.Out loud he said, "We need to talk in person and not risk this over a phone."
"Next moon. At the island." Roman hung up.
Shane slipped into bed next to Madeline and wrapped an arm around her waist. Still asleep, she snuggled into him, her butt spooning into his pelvis. That one small touch and he was on fire for her.
This feeling wasn’t a spell? He had to accept this was legit, genuine, non-spell induced lust for the witch responsible for the worst bits of his existence.
Chapter Twelve
Madeline staggeredout of the bedroom in her T-shirt and underwear. Because she couldn’t find her jeans. Daylight peeked through the windows. She double-checked her watch on the wrist opposite the bracelet that wasn’t glowing. Almost six p.m.? She’d slept for thirteen hours? That was a record.
Triple-checked…and her bracelet still wasn’t glowing. Nothing had tried to kill her while she slept.Thank you, Shane.
The floor creaked in the kitchen, echoing an eerie squeak followed by a shuffle through the silent house. She froze at the entrance to the kitchen.
He wore only a pair of low-slung jeans. Her gaze traveled way far south until she realized she was staring and forced herself to look elsewhere. His hair was wet and curling at the ends. And his back… A detailed monochromatic tattoo of an angel spanned the breadth of his wide shoulders. The angel wore armor over its body but had naked legs, flowing hair, and a long sword. At its feet was a tiger. Aside from the tattoo’s size and detail, which must’ve been painful and time-consuming to get placed, the most arresting aspect of the intricate ink work was that the angel didn’t have a benevolent face. The tattoo angel was no cherub. The was no soft smile or any hint of the compassion she’d expect from an angel. It was fierce, almost terrifying, and more that a tad judgmental.
She sucked in a breath when the eyes suddenly turned bright green.
Goosebumps prickled her arms. The image watched her. Its emerald eyes, eerie and harsh, condemned her. She couldn’t break her gaze, as if the two of them were in a staring contest.
Shane rotated, coffee bag in hand.
"I didn’t expect you to be a religious person." She pointed at his back. "It’s quite something."
"The tattoo?"
"Is it of a particular angel?"
He worked his jaw and blinked at her. Then turned back to the coffee machine. In a tone that indicated he didn’t want to discuss it he said, "I didn’t choose to have it done. It appeared one day."
A magical angel tattoo simply appeared? That had to be part of the "warrior for God" thing he mentioned earlier. She couldn't wrap her mind around the Christian god choosing four lycans to be his warriors. It would take someone of deep faith to be chosen. Staving off demon possession and instead forming a partnership with the demon confirmed him to be a person of deep conviction.
She closed in on him, hand outstretched to feel the energy of the ink without touching it. She wanted to try to interpret its meaning. As she closed in, the wings moved, expanding along his shoulders and then coming out of his body as if reaching for her. She jumped back, gasping.
Shane’s head whipped around. The wings retracted. "What’re you doing?"
"It tried to touch me." In a barely audible rasp she asked, "What is that thing? It’s alive."
"Best to leave it be." He ducked his head.
"What does it mean? What is it? It can't be the..." The tattoo blinked. "Is it the actual archangel?"
"It’s not the first tattoo I’ve gotten without asking." He lifted his left wrist where the tattooed blue band that represented his curse to the Crown manacled him.
Did that imply he was either guarded by an angel or beholden to it in some way? A demon in his head and an angel on his back? Strange heaven and hell dichotomy.
