To Crave a Blood Moon by Sharie Kohler Read Free Book Online Page A

in the darkness, she was careful to train her gaze on his bearded face. A handsome face, she thought. It was hard to tell. She knew he was naked, but in the darkness she could at least pretend not to know.
    â€œWhat do you want to talk about? What can you possibly say that I want to hear? Want to share your sad story with me? Well, forget it. Everyone’s got a sad story, and I don’t need to hear yours.”
    She bit the inside of her cheek at his scathing tone and glanced away. His accent was faint, the intonationindecipherable but nothing she had heard in these parts. He wasn’t Turkish, though. She felt sure of that. The harsh rasp of his breath filled the stretch of silence.
    Inhaling, she faced him again. “You’ve clearly been down here awhile.” She swallowed. “Like it or not, we’re all we have right now.”
    He laughed, the sound terrible… the humor within him foul and awful. “I
don’t
like it. Before, I just had
my
neck to look out for. Now I have yours, too.”
    Indignation swept through. “By all means, let me relieve you of your obligation to look out for me.”
    His lips curled back from his teeth to reveal a flash of straight white teeth. “I’m just that kind of guy. Call me old-fashioned.”
    She snorted. “I’m used to looking out for myself. I have no expectations that you’re going to rescue me.”
    â€œAs you said, we’re stuck here. Together.” A deep sigh rattled loose from him. “Hell.” His arm lifted and she squinted into the gloom as he dragged a hand through his short-cropped hair, scratching fiercely at his head. “Very well. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
    Wariness rippled through her. Even as he asked the question, she sensed he didn’t want to know anything about her. He didn’t want to know her. Caginess and dislike seeped from him. “Suddenly you’re interested?”
    He sighed again, and she felt a new emotion rise. Something resembling desperation. “To pass the time, sure. Go ahead. Talk. Tell me how you came to be here.” He hesitated. “Tell me who you are.” His desperation reached across to her, a toxic fume. Urgent and grim. So much that she felt inclined to appease him.
    â€œMy name is Ruby Deveraux.”
    â€œYou’re American. What are you doing in Turkey?”
    She rubbed her aching temples. “It’s complicated.”
    â€œWe’ve got time.”
    â€œI volunteered to act as a chaperone for a group of foster kids. They got a grant for this trip but needed chaperones that could pay their own way…” her voice faded. Those details weren’t important.
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding,” he muttered. “You’re some sort of damn Mary Poppins?”
    â€œI’m not—”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œHardly. I just…” she paused for breath. “I was a foster kid. After my mother died. This is something I wanted to do. It’s not my job or anything.”
    â€œOh, not a job. You’re a true altruist, then. Yeah. Not Poppins at all.” He made a low, animal-like sound in his throat. “So what do you do when you’re not escorting lost little souls through Europe?”
    â€œI own a catering business.” Work she loved, a vocation she could do in the safety of her home, private,alone, hidden from the world except during the brief time she emerged to deliver her food. And cooking made her feel better, connected to the mother who loved her as no one else had. The best moments of her life were of them in the kitchen. Baking cookies, fresh fruit cobblers. Crawdaddies in the sink. A big pot of gumbo on the stove.
    â€œWhat kind of food?”
    â€œDown-home. Southern. Barbecue. Some fusion. I’m not classically trained, but cooking is something I picked up from my mother and kept at after she died. After high school, culinary school