Blade of Moonlight: Midnight Justice Page 3

  Just the touch alone did it. Luna came. The dark pleasure swamped her, robbing her of breath and thought. His head dropped as he watched his cock bury itself inside her over and over again. Finally, he went rigid atop her, and his hot come spurted into her.

  When his eyes met hers, they were desperate. “Don’t make me do this again.”

  “No,” she agreed. She couldn’t go through another encounter like this. The rawness scared her, the temptation was immoral. Just as the orgasm started to wane, though, moonlight peeked through the cracks surrounding the shade on the window. The beams glinted off something in the corner of the room.

  His weapon. She could see the long curve of the blade over his shoulder.

  Power washed through her, combining with the energy already coursing through her body. The rock on her necklace turned warm between her breasts and her skin tingled. She closed her eyes as her power rejuvenated. Cool blue light filled the room, illuminating them both as pleasure took them over the edge, but it was too much, too soon.

  The surge robbed her of her consciousness too, and all that light dimmed. Darkness consumed the room, and she could do nothing to fight it anymore.

  Chapter Three

  When Luna woke again, Scythe, the bad guy who’d done unforgiveable, unforgettable things to her, was gone. She was alone and she was free. Her hands were tucked at her sides, and there was a lamp on in the far corner of the room. She did a quick check, but all traces of Scythe were gone—his weapon, his cape and especially his intense presence. She blushed when she shifted on the bed and felt stickiness between her thighs.

  Well, not all traces of him were gone.

  She sat up and carefully swung her feet to the floor. Clutching the edge of the mattress, she took stock. Her throat was still sore, swollen and dry. Reaching up, she rubbed her fingers over her neck. She could feel each spot where Sneaky Nick’s fingers had dug deep. She noticed the glass of water on the bedside table. Water and her knife and her taser…

  She frowned. Scythe had left her with her weapons close-by?

  She looked around again with suspicion but picked up the glass. Holding it up to the light, she evaluated its contents. The liquid was clear, and it was still cold. He couldn’t have been gone long.

  She risked a drink. She knew she shouldn’t trust anything he gave her, but the tap in the bathroom seemed so far away. Besides, he wasn’t the kind of man to resort to poison. It wasn’t his style, and there was no reason to knock her out now, after he’d already taken her—in every sense of the word.

  The water felt like a soothing balm. She gulped another thirsty drink and licked the dampness off her lips. She could still feel him there, his mouth and his kisses. She could feel him on nearly every inch of her skin. She’d never had sex like that before…with passion flaring, wills battling and bodies straining… She hated to think of what she might have done if he hadn’t had her tied up the entire time.

  Would it have been as good?

  Heat warmed her cheeks, and she pressed the cool glass to her forehead. She needed to think. The man might be her enemy, but he’d been right—she’d taken too many chances last night, and she hadn’t come away unscathed. She’d almost been killed by one bad guy and had wild, unprotected sex with another. What if Scythe hadn’t come upon the scene? What if Nick had been allowed to crush her windpipe? What if she was pregnant?

  Oh, God. She had to retreat and regroup. First order of business was to get herself out of this room and back to safety.

  He’d seen her face.

  The heat in her belly cooled. The repercussions of that couldn’t be underestimated.

  Shakily, she stood from the bed. What time was it? She picked up her palm unit. 5:30 a.m. Her eyes rounded. She never stayed out this late in her Luminescence persona. On bare feet, she ventured to the window and pulled back the shade. It was still dark, but the moon was gone. She didn’t need to see the sky to know that. What was important right now was figuring out where she was and how long until sunup.

  She frowned at the chair that held her clothes. At night, she could blend into the shadows. In daylight, amongst all the hardworking 8-to-5 civilians, she’d look like some dominatrix freak.

  “Damn.” She hurried to the bathroom.

  When she flicked on the light, though, she stopped short. A towel was thrown haphazardly over the side of the tub, and a wet washcloth lay next to it. Red smudges on the washcloth caught her eye. Blood?

  She took an instinctive step back. His? Hers? Her gaze went to her knees. They were raw, but they were cleaned up. The rocks and debris were gone from her skin, but the scratches were red and angry.

  Had he taken care of her? Before tying her up? What sense did that make? Why would he care about her aches and pains?

  Or her hair?

  She stilled when she looked in the mirror. She wasn’t a vain woman, but her hair was her own personal treasure. Inherited from her mother, it was white blonde and lighter than sun-kissed. As a child, they’d called her towheaded, but she’d never grown out of the phase. The strands were thick and soft, and they reached to nearly her waist. With the rain and the struggle last night, her hair should be knotted in tangles. It wasn’t. It hung smooth and wavy, over her shoulders and down her back.

  Confused, she ran her fingers through it. Had he—

  She spotted the comb on the back edge of the sink. It was one of those fifty-cent jobs, black and industrial with teeth that would snap off after two uses. She smiled when she saw that some were already gone.

  He’d combed her hair.

  Big, menacing Scythe had stripped her down, dried her off and taken care of her—all before restraining her on the bed. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. The man was a constant contradiction.

  And she needed to be careful of him.

  All this? It wasn’t consistent with his character. That long-handled lethal blade he’d propped in the corner of the room? That was Scythe. The weapon was scary, treacherous and unpredictable, and it had given him his name. She couldn’t forget that or the warning he’d given her.

  She needed to stay far, far away from the man.

  Next time he might not be cleaning up her blood, but spilling it.

  A shiver went down her spine. She had to get out of this place before he decided to come back.

  Hurrying, she cleaned up and took care of other pressing needs. Back in the bedroom, she looked in the closet and bedside table for any sign of clothes.

  He wasn’t feeling that benevolent.

  Resigning herself, she began getting dressed in her costume. She tried to hurry, but things felt different as she put them on, one piece at a time. The bra cupped her breasts intimately, and she felt the tenderness in her nipples. The black hipsters were worse. They seemed almost too small as she pulled them into place. The stretch leather rounded to the curves of her bottom, binding the globes in place and making her achingly aware of where he’d touched her last night. Touched and plundered. She blew out a breath that stirred the hair that had fallen forward over her shoulders.

  She didn’t know if she could put the boots on or not.

  She stared at them from five feet away. They were sex bombs, she realized. She’d always known that. She’d known it from the way they made her feel when she put them on. She’d known it from the way men had stared at her when she’d illuminated them. Her light and her powers of attraction weren’t the only thing slowing them in their tracks.

  “Damn you, Scythe.”

  Gritting her teeth, she grabbed a boot. Pointing her toes, she slipped her foot inside. The soft leather hugged her toes, and the support pressed into her arch. She had to fight back a moan when she dragged the long zipper up to nearly her knee.

  The second one was even worse.

  By the time she swung her cape around her shoulders, her black hipsters were wet in the crotch. Her belt felt heavy with her weapons, and her bra was binding.

  Her nipples tightened as she looked at the rumpled be
d.

  Dark versus light. Good versus evil.

  She didn’t feel like she’d lost this round, but she certainly wasn’t the victor. She was lucky to come out alive and intact, but he’d warned her about the next time.

  If there was a next time.

  She bit her lip. She’d failed to find any clue to his identity, but he’d exposed too many of her secrets. The boots, her skin, her tactics, her sexual triggers…

  She fingered the rock of her necklace where it had settled between her breasts. He’d warned her away, but she had to find out something about him. Without leverage of her own, this man, the cold-bladed Scythe, could own her.

  She made it to work on time, but Luna was still flustered as she walked down the halls of the courthouse. Self-conscious, she ran her hand over her ill-fitting suit. It was beige, a color that tended to blend into walls, but that fit her purposes just fine. This was her daylight costume, as she liked to think of it. Frumpy clothes, dull hair and ugly shoes. Her flat heels felt sturdy and respectable, but that was a much-needed switch from the boots that had garnered so much attention last night.

  And again this morning on her walk of shame back to her three-wheeler—as Scythe had no doubt intended.

  Her spine jerked. Damn it, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t think of that devil, at least not until after hours when she could give him her full, undivided, calculating attention.

  Still, promises were sometimes hard to keep. Even now, walking primly down the hallowed halls of the courthouse, she was experiencing aches and pains that hadn’t resulted from the fight in the alley. No, these aches were more intimate and the throbbing more attention-getting.

  Her heels clipped louder as her temper flared. Finding her way back to her motorcycle in the predawn hours had been challenging and embarrassing. He’d taken her to the back room of an accountant’s office, of all places, more than a mile away from Bell King Jewelers. If she’d had more time, she would have scoped out the place. William Mabrey was suspected of cooking the books for several of the underworld’s biggest moneymakers, but the man had never been officially charged. It made sense that Scythe would have connections to someone like him.

  It would also make sense if he never used the man’s accounting services again. He had to know she’d start watching the place. She was a superheroine, for heaven’s sake.

  Regardless of the situation she’d found herself in last night…

  Turning stiffly, she headed to the cafeteria. She needed to make better preparations. It would be a good idea to stow street clothes somewhere accessible or rent a unit where she could hide if she got caught out too late again.

  Scythe had taught her more lessons than he knew.

  “Did ya hear that Sneaky Nick wound up in the emergency room last night?”

  Her ears perked up when she heard the familiar name. Glancing around, she saw two uniformed officers having their breakfast of donuts and coffee. Instinctively, she stepped back. How much of the story had gotten out? Had any connections been made to her?

  “That’s news to me,” the heavier set cop said. “What put him there?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  The cop with the hot gossip shrugged, and Luna took a chance. Wandering to the coffee machine, she listened in.

  “Foster was out on patrol, and he found him in the alleyway behind Bell King Jewelers. Ole Nicky was hurt pretty bad, but there was no evidence of who might have taken him down. He and some partner must have gotten in a fight over the goods.”

  Goods? Luna frowned as she put creamer in her coffee.

  “What goods?” the heavyset cop asked for her.

  “The jewelry store was hit. Foster found a fistful of diamonds in Sneaky Nick’s pocket. Whoever jumped him must have missed them.”

  The other cop clucked his tongue. “There’s no honor amongst thieves anymore.”

  Luna stirred her coffee as thoughts whirled inside her head. That didn’t make sense. Nick hadn’t made it into the jewelry store. Measly power that she’d had, she’d stopped him.

  “Excuse me.”

  She looked up sharply and realized she was blocking a bailiff’s way to the sugar. A cute bailiff. “Sorry.”

  She stepped aside and was forgotten in favor of caffeine. Moving to a table along the wall, she sat. It was her goal to be unnoticeable. She wanted people to overlook her, but every once in a while it hurt. Discomfited, she patted her hair. It, out of anything about her, attracted attention, but she had it wrapped tight in a bun. She pushed her glasses higher on her nose. She didn’t need them, but they worked for the persona. Here, during the daytime, she was Luna Masters, ordinary court reporter.

  Nobody would suspect that she ventured out at night to help fight the battle that these cops and the bailiff weren’t winning. They could gossip all they wanted, but she knew the truth. Sneaky Nick had planned to rob that jewelry store, but he hadn’t even gotten inside the door. There was only one explanation. Scythe had done the job. He’d seen the opportunity, and he’d robbed the place.

  She rubbed her throat.

  Or he’d broken in just to frame the slimeball.

  She knew she was giving him the benefit of the doubt, but that scenario actually made more sense. Scythe wasn’t known for committing petty crimes such as B&E or robbery. He was much more hardcore. Kidnapping, murder and gun-running were rumored to be on his rap sheet. Rumored, because he’d never been caught.

  She settled her hand in her lap. Last night alone, he’d kidnapped her, assaulted Nick with a deadly weapon and planted evidence.

  Her bad boy had been busy.

  The thought snapped her out of her reverie. He wasn’t her bad boy, not in any shape or form. Pressing her lips together, she looked at her watch. Her eyes widened when she saw the time.

  After draining the last of her coffee, she threw the paper cup in the trash and hurried for Courtroom B. She showed the bailiff her credentials and barely got a nod in return.

  She was so out of it today, she didn’t even know what cases were on the docket. Pulling out the schedule, she skimmed over the day’s proceedings.

  Her heart dropped.

  “Oh crap.”

  She’d been looking forward to an easy day, but all hopes of that had just been shot to hell. Griffin Tate was going to be in her courtroom today. Closing her eyes, she searched for patience. The defense attorney was a thorn in her side. He wasn’t showy or brash like a lot of lawyers. He was just the opposite—quiet, intense and predatory. A true shark among sharks. He defended the worst of the worst and, more times than not, he got away with it.

  Swearing under her breath, Luna checked her equipment and setup. The man kept everyone in the courtroom on their toes. He knew the law inside and out, and procedure was his thing. He, more than anyone she knew, liked to consult the court records. She was the best of the best too, but she didn’t like being constantly challenged.

  Everyone else in the courtroom tended to forget she was there. Not him.

  It made her job—and her outside vocation—more difficult. She picked up a lot of information from her day job that she used at night. People tended to forget when they were on the record and off. She wasn’t supposed to get caught up in trials or depositions. She’d been trained to be impartial, discreet and tight-lipped, but she could listen and learn. She never told anyone else what she found out when she was listening in the corner.

  When she acted, it was on her own.

  She glanced at the plaintiff’s table and nearly winced. ADA Kessel was prosecuting today. Tate would have him for breakfast.

  The double doors at the back of the room suddenly opened and, as if she’d summoned him, Tate and his team appeared. They walked down the center aisle of the courtroom with strong, determined steps. Out of habit, she looked away and pretended to be busy. Tate made a practice of staring down everyone in the courtroom when he entered.

  Only this time, she didn’t feel his hard stare. Peeking up, she saw that he was in discussions w
ith one of his associates. The heavy weight on her shoulders lifted.

  “All rise,” the bailiff called.

  She stood as Judge Winston entered and resumed her seat when signaled. She liked this judge. The woman was fair and impartial and kept things moving on schedule.

  Cracking her knuckles, Luna got down to transcribing the proceedings. As always, she fell into an unconscious rhythm, concentrating on listening rather than typing. If she thought about what her fingers were doing, they’d inevitably get bungled. She’d learned long ago that listening made everything flow more smoothly, and listen well she did.

  She heard everything.

  Her fingers flew as the prosecutor gave his opening statement. It was a battery case and, from the looks of the defendant, he could put the hurt on someone. She put the punk’s name, RJ Tyson, in her Luminescence memory bank.

  “Mr. Tate, you may proceed.”

  “Thank you, Judge.”

  Her fingers fumbled when she heard Griffin Tate speak. He sounded awful.

  Clearing his throat, he began again. “Sorry, Your Honor, I’m a bit under the weather today.”

  He continued and Luna found her rhythm before someone could see that she’d flubbed up. She was known for her accuracy, and she’d like to keep her reputation intact.

  As he continued speaking, though, she couldn’t help but listen to the rasp. It sounded so unlike him, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember his normal tone of voice. Cold, deep, authoritative… She knew that much, but this raspy quality was giving her goose bumps.

  He turned towards her, and she sank an inch farther into her chair, only to realize he was talking to the jury. He’d yet to look at her. Rather than soothe her nerves, it only ratcheted them higher.

  He must not be feeling well, because his whole game was off.

  For some reason, that rattled her too. She didn’t like the man, but she usually knew what to expect from him during a trial. This not knowing was unsettling. It also drew her attention away from the proceedings to him.