Date: 2020-11-17 08:00:00+00:00
Description: Special Agent Jame Bradshaw has five dead senators on her hands...and a pack of trouble between her claws. As the newest team leader for the Paranormal Crimes Division, this feisty shifter is smack in the middle of a political hornet's nest waiting to implode. With the mass murder at the Capitol building and the city under a red alert, paranoia spreads like wildfire. She must solve this mystery before the higher-ups call for her head. When former vampire vigilante and newly minted PCD agent, Drake, shows up to the scene, the case heats up and so does the tension. Fighting off the charms of a l
Publisher: City Owl Press

RED ALERT

By

Tina Moss

* * *

Copyright © 2020 Tina Moss

Edited by Yelena Casale

Cover Design by Tina Moss.

All stock photos licensed appropriately.

Published in the United States by City Owl Press.

www.cityowlpress.com

For information on subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher at info@cityowlpress.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior consent and permission of the publisher.

For Bird.

Who fostered a love of reading
and showed me the true value of books.

Praise for Tina Moss

“Moss’ CODE BLACK, a near-future tale of paranormal humans living under the repressive Northern American United Government, chugs steadily along with occasional fireworks… A cast of vampires, psychics, and shape-shifters delivers…witty quips that round out this solid example of the genre.” - Publishers Weekly

“The introduction to the Paranormal Crimes Division (PCD) promises to be entertaining and tense. Humor is never far from the surface, which comes in handy because the world they patrol is treacherous and fear-inducing.” - RT Book Reviews

“The sexual tension between two supernatural special agents, one a feisty shape-shifter, the other an aristocratic vampire, spices up the excellent second Paranormal Crimes Division romance, RED ALERT. A combination of flirtatious banter, sizzling chemistry, and edge-of-your-seat storytelling make this a sure bet.” - Publishers Weekly Starred Review

“Moss is one of those authors who stay with you long after the book is over. A total must read.” - Examiner’s Women in Horror Author, Danielle DeVor

“Tina manipulates words and phrases the way an artist manipulates a brush, creating the background with shadows and dimension while weaving the foreground into spicy and emotive splashes of color & texture, and just as in a stunning painting, I get equally lost in Tina's world.” - Author and Artist, Nikola Vukoja

“A fascinating new concept to urban-fantasy. Definitely worth a read!” - Emmeline, The Book Herald

“A different take on the supernatural. I was entranced by this storyline.” - Loves 2 Read

“A keeper with a great and unexpected ending you don't see coming. An enjoyable reading and good start for the series.” - Top 500 Book Reviews, Douglas C. Meeks

“A TOUCH OF DARKNESS rockets you along a pulse-pounding story and sucks you into the characters. You'll want to cheer for Cassie's feisty spirit and loyalty and you'll come to love Gabe and all his wonderful flaws.” - Award Winning Fantasy Author, Heather McCorkle

“A thrilling and well-crafted debut novel…a full throttle ride, complete with several twists and turns.” - The Book Chick

“This new paranormal urban fantasy series is a mesmerizing and intriguing read. The Key Series is a fascinating world of angels, fallen angels and demons with some unique elements and surprising twists.” - Evampire

“An imaginative twist on the concept of angels and demons, complete with the requisite conflicts between duty and love, as well as the issues of loyalty and betrayal.” - Night Owl Reviews

Contents

Want More City Owl Press Books?

Keep Reading Paranormal Romance!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Epilogue

Sneak Peek of Clawed & Cornered

Keep Reading Paranormal Romance!

Want More City Owl Press Books?

Acknowledgments

About the Author

About the Publisher

Additional Titles

Want More City Owl Press Books?

Click here to sign up for the City Owl Press newsletter and be the first to find out about special offers, including FREE book days, contents, giveaways, cover reveals, and more!

Sign up now and become a City Owl Reader today! And join our City Owl Reader-Author group here for even more deals and a whole lot of community and fun!

Want more paranormal romance? Try CLAWED & CORNERED by City Owl Author, Heather McCorkle, and discover more from Tina Moss at www.tinamoss.com

A novella beginning the Children of Fenrir full-length novels. Read how it all starts!

Sonja Michaelson has a monumental taste for bad men. So, when an alpha male in motorcycle gear walked into her bar and snatched a dart aimed at his head, she fell so fast and hard her impact could have leveled a small city.

Whether the connection would turn into love or remain lust didn’t matter. The damage had already been done.

Raul Anderson’s mission was simple: find the girl, convince her to turn, bring her back to Hemlock Hollow, and in doing so, save his sister’s life. His target had been primed by a father who loved the lore of their culture and kind, so it should have been easy.

He expected a half-Swedish, half-Cherokee princess used to having everything handed to her, one who would jump at the chance of quintupling her lifespan by becoming a werewolf.

But when he saw the black-haired beauty, holding her own behind the bar and working her butt off to pay her way through med school, it threw a wrench into his plans. And hooked him deep in the heart.

Would love surmount the divide between them or damn them before it even began?

BUY NOW!

Chapter One

Capitol Building, Washington, DC

“Whoever did this has some brass balls,” Jame muttered, surveying the area with her shifter eyes. The subtle changes to her pupils and irises allowed her to view the scene with a hawk’s acute sight. Normal hazel and gold faded until only the bird’s deep yellow remained. Her gaze swept the white dome of the Capitol building. The behemoth structure rose like a colossus into the cloud-covered sky. Green lawns stretched over the eastern plaza, leading to an underground visitor center. “How are we gonna keep another code black from the press? Just look at this place.”

“Hell and a half,” Slick said. “No joke.” Her best friend and newly appointed second-in-command rubbed the back of his neck. He stood over a foot taller than her and bent to meet her eyes. His thick brown hair curled to the middle of his ears. He had been growing it out since last year, but Jame preferred the short strands to this debacle. Not that she would tell him, of course. She wasn’t that mean. He squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Boss. We’ll think of something.”

“Slick, it’s not like you can hide a multi-homicide for long. A code black isn’t a thing to…” Her brows rose. “Wait, Boss?”

“Yeah, we’re in District One. You’re head honcho now.” He winked.

She ran a hand through her black hair, smoothing down flyaway platinum streaks. A cool spring breeze whipped them forward again as she started toward the Capitol. “Boss,” she mumbled. How did she get herself into this mess? Nice cushy job as Talon’s second in District Thirteen, but no. Needed to be the top dog. Damn, she never should have taken this job. The Paranormal Crimes Division didn’t need some half-cocked agent who thought herself a team leader. Especially not the most volatile district in the entire country. What the hell had the unit leaders been thinking when they agreed to give her this spot?

The rest of the team fell in step behind her as they made their way to the security entrance. She lowered her voice so only Slick could hear. “I feel like a damn fraud.” Her teeth clamped on the inside of her cheek. She clicked her tongue against the pain. “It’s been a month, and I still don’t have the hang of this leader stuff.”

His hushed tone matched hers. “Give it more time. You’ll get there.” Popping her gently under the chin, he forced her head up. “You’re Jame ‘Got game?’ Bradshaw. A PCD special agent, and a kick-ass, confident shifter. Don’t forget that.”

Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and straightened her spine. Enough wallowing. She had wanted this position. Hell, she all but bullied her former boss, Talon, into recommending her for it. Dealing with bouts of paranoia and nightmares over the-incident-that-must-not-be-named didn’t excuse her. Don’t punk out. She met Slick’s wicked grin with one of her own. “Thanks.”

The guards eyed the team as they entered the checkpoint. Jame stepped ahead of the others and flashed her badge. “PCD agents here to review the crime scene.”

“Remove your weapons, step through the metal detector, and someone will escort you.” A man, as big as a grizzly bear, looked down his nose at her. His order seemed harmless enough, but the smug expression on his face brought up her hackles.

She cast him a twisted smile, then pulled a six-inch military knife from her boot. Next came her Glock .22 out of its shoulder holster, a can of pepper spray from the pocket of her fatigue pants, and a small foldable knife from her leather jacket’s inside compartment. After her brush with death less than a year ago, she decided being fully prepared meant a few extra pounds of raw steel and firepower.

The guard cocked his head. “This everything?”

“Well unless you found a way to disarm my shifting ability, sweet cheeks, then yes.” She choked back the memory. That god-awful day someone had found a method to eliminate her natural weapon and make her…helpless. A shiver captured her breath and turned it frigid. Happily, that bastard was rotting in a jail cell. Never again.

Slick caught her elbow and nodded, catching her thought trail. He had shared that day with her, ensnared in the same trap by that sick phage son of a bitch. Phage. They don’t deserve to live. The group of flesh-eating supernaturals claimed to be innocent, lawfully petitioning the government for citizenship, but Jame discovered the hard way that their declarations of goodness were a damn lie. The nagging sensation had filled her mind as she and Slick investigated a lead on the serial killer case last year. As they climbed the back steps to an innocuous looking porch, an oily scent had filled her nose at the last possible second, and the fireball hit them like a two-ton hammer. The blast had knocked them unconscious, and they awoke to a worse fate. No chains, no rope bound them. Noxious gas had filled a closet-sized room instead and paralyzed their muscles. Hard to shift when you couldn’t move.

Lucky for them, a vampire had saved them from that torture chamber, carrying them to freedom. Drake. Her blood heated as her thoughts turned to the cocky vampire. After the incident, PCD’s former civilian liaison spent months going through the academy to become a full agent. For three years before that, he’d enjoyed tormenting her with dirty pick-up lines. When he pulled her free of that death trap, however, things changed. She took a steadying breath. He should be here soon. He would be on a plane even now to join the team—her team.

The Old Man and Dee Two, the original remaining team members of District One, walked to the table and started unloading their weapons. The motion brought her focus back to the task at hand. Code black, Jame. Get it together. She watched her team as they disarmed. You’ve got a multiple homicide at the damn Capitol building. Stay alert. A lump in Dee Two’s short red leather coat caught her eye. The quiet special agent could decipher codes and patterns faster than anyone she’d ever met, but those psyke abilities didn’t give her the best chance in a fight. Psykes used advanced brain functions, not raw strength and speed. Jame hissed. The bulge went flat as Dee Two took out her silver Taser and placed it on the table beside her gun.

“Why not let her keep that, fellas?” Jame said to the guards. “It’s not gonna kill anyone.”

“Sorry agent. All weapons need to be checked here.” The burly guard sneered at her. His voice remained even, the hint of disdain masked in his deep timbre. “Don’t want any more trouble.”

“It’s okay,” Dee whispered. Her hand shook as she pushed a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. Those coffee-colored eyes pleaded with Jame to let the issue drop. “Don’t worry.”

“Let’s get a move on. I want to get a whiff before the blue boys mess up the scene.” The Old Man’s brow wrinkled, matching the deep grooves across his face. His skin looked like waves of desert sand, same color and endless lines. He gave up his black hunting knife. Turning out the pockets of his tan fringed coat, he showed the guards the empty interiors. Yet the metal detector beeped as he strutted through it. “What now?”

Jame held back a laugh and pointed at his belt. “That buckle’s probably the size of Texas.”

“New Mexico, chickie.” He grunted, snagged off the snakeskin belt with the thick brass buckle and walked through the machine again. It blasted an alarm. “This is ridiculous. Wave the stupid wand, and let’s get on with it.”

The Old Man had a way of demanding compliance but held no interest in the leader spot. Lucky for her. The guards sprang into action, brandishing the detection rods over the team’s arms, legs, torsos, and chests. When the burly guard lingered a little too long over Jame’s breasts, she coughed. He shot her a leer that had her screaming inside. No fighting. Gotta set an example for the team. She fought down the shifter buzz threatening to break through and settled for narrowing her eyes at the disgusting guard.

“See ya later then, honey,” he called as a secret service agent took over leading them to the crime scene.

“Son of a—” Jame spun on her heel, ready to sock the guard in the mouth. All males were the same. Her mother had that bit right. Before she could get too far, Slick grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

“Easy,” he mumbled. “You’re not a field agent anymore.” He lowered his voice. “Too bad. I would’ve loved to see that dickwad with a black eye.”

Jame clamped down the shifter energy. It seeped into her muscles like a shot of adrenaline. She struggled to bring it under control. He’s right. No more kids’ games. I’m a leader now. She half smiled, patted Slick on the back, and took point behind the secret service agent. The man’s stoic demeanor, after her encounter with the security guard, provided a balm to her irritation. She took note of hidden corridors where an attacker could lie in wait for a victim as they walked the halls. “This is a logistical nightmare.”

The Old Man huffed his agreement behind her.

At the end of a particularly long stretch, far from the building’s famous dome, men in black suits had sealed off the area. Large metal barricades held reporters and camera crews, hungry for a story, at bay. The secret service agent spoke something unintelligible into a hand mic. The men in black moved aside to allow her team into the next room in single file.

Jame entered first.

“Damn it all.” Her stomach dropped to her feet. The acids reminded her that she hadn’t eaten all day. Lucky break. If she had, she wouldn’t have been able to hold it down. Blood coated the floor, turning the black and white square tiles into a dark red carpet. Three men and two women lay face down in the crimson pool, their limbs contorted at unnatural angles. One of the women, a blonde in a navy-blue Burberry skirt suit, had lost a shoe.

“Dee, start snapping photos and see if anything in the details gives away our perp. Search for the patterns.” Jame walked the perimeter of the scene, avoiding a series of chairs and two large desks. The secret service agent had told them this room functioned as a gathering space for private congressional meetings. Curious. Her eyelids contracted to slits, and her brow furrowed in concentration. The victims each dressed in business attire, likely senators. A backroom meeting amongst likeminded politicians made sense. The woman with the lost shoe didn’t fit. Her designer suit and single Prada pump appeared notably out of place. Too highbrow.

“You think we’re dealing with a SUB killer?” The camera’s shutter clicked as Dee snapped shots on the opposite side.

“Dunno. Something’s—” Before Jame could comment on the oddity of the mixed company, a deep bass cut her off.

“Do we have to use that idiotic tag?” The Old Man hovered by the wall, surveying the big picture. “A SUB is something you have for lunch, like those dang TV commercials tell ya, not a group of people.” He grumbled and covered his mouth with a wide palm. “SUBs, supernatural or undead beings, can’t these politicians come up with anything better?”

“It’s short and easy.” Slick crouched low. He took tissue samples from each of the victims. The gloves on his hands wouldn’t negate the sickening aroma of blood, no matter how prevalent the latex smelled. Even with his half-human heritage, his shifter side would make him as sensitive to aromas as full shifters like her and the Old Man. He stuffed some tissues up his nostrils.

“Still ridiculous.” The Old Man backed into a pedestal in the corner. An antique looking vase swayed dangerously on the edge until he turned to catch it in one thick hand. “Shit.”

“Can we argue over word choice later?” Jame tried to resist the temptation to stuff something up her nose too. The coppery tang shot up her nasal passages like sulfuric acid, burning everything in its path. Another few minutes and she’d lose her sense of smell for a week at least. Sometimes shifter abilities were a real pain in the ass. “Let’s catalogue the evidence and get the hell out of here.”

“What’s a matter, girlie? Losing your stomach?” The Old Man’s nose elongated into an orange duck beak. He stepped closer to the scene and inspected the victims.

“Well, at least I don’t have to shift to do my job.” Her insides churned, making his words hit too near to home. She blocked out the pangs in her stomach and sidled closer.

“Wisdom over beauty. Ducks don’t have much sense of smell. Makes it more tolerable.” He rolled over one of the male victims after Dee took more pictures. The man’s dark bangs stuck to his forehead, matted with blood. A knife handle protruded from under his left armpit, the blade positioned expertly into his heart. His head dangled from the neck, almost severed. The man’s eyes, as black as midnight, remained open. Two long, pointed front teeth pegged him as vampire. “This one didn’t go down easy. He’s got blood on his fangs. Let’s hope it’s the perp’s.”

“Are we ever that lucky?” Jame droned.

Dee shot still more photos, the shutter clicking every second. She didn’t need the sound. The camera’s digital design made a shutter useless, so the ticking was nothing more than a false prop. Despite the annoyance, she refused to take pictures without it, saying the constant noise gave her something to focus on during the crime scenes, besides death.

“We might be this time.” Slick flipped over one of the female victims. His mouth dropped open. “Jame, you need to get over here.”

“Just a sec.” Jame kneeled beside another male casualty. From the contortions in his bone structure, it appeared he died in mid change. A shifter. Her eyes watered. The scent of raw flesh stung worse than onions and month-old trash. She swatted at the unwanted tears with the back of her gloved hand. The horrible artificial smell stung her nose, but at least it gave her a reprieve from the blood and gore.

She flipped on her recorder. “Male shifter. Approximate age from appearance is mid-fifties. Blunt trauma to the head.” Grabbing ahold of the man’s side, she turned over the victim. His gray, tailored suit had several holes where his bones broke through. “Looks like he tried to shift.” She leaned closer. “There’s a thin line across his throat. No knife cut.” Pinching the flesh of the man’s skin, she examined the slice. “Something like a surgical scalpel, done post-mortem.” No one would get that close to a shifter’s neck if he were alive. A chill ran through her blood. Someone had gotten that close to her. The memory of the disabling gas swarmed her mind. “Or possibly as the victim lay unable to move.”

“Boss, you really need to see this,” Slick called louder, cutting off her train of thought.

“All right.” She waved at Dee. “Finish up the inspection here.” Pointing at the victim’s neck, she added, “This looks personal.”

“I’m on it.” Dee glided to the spot. Her boots somehow avoided contact with the blood or disturbing the scene. Jame nodded her appreciation and tried to mimic her fellow agent’s movements, avoiding the mess as much as possible.

“Okay, Slick.” She tapped his shoulder and inclined her head to the side. “What is it?”

“You’re not going to believe this.” He slid to his right and motioned her to crouch beside him.

Jame squinted, following Slick’s pointed finger to the blond female victim. She swallowed a mouthful of bile. The heel of the woman’s missing Prada pump stood implanted in the victim’s forehead. Her neck possessed the same sharp cut as the dead male vampire. The head detached ninety percent from the body.

“This isn’t any random act, Slick. There’s hate and aggression here.”

“I know, Boss, but that’s not the shocking bit.” He reached forward and pushed aside the dead woman’s hair. Empty green eyes stared back at them. “Recognize her?”

Jame’s heart stilled for a single beat before it picked up double time. Her blood raced in her veins as fast as a plane crashing to Earth. “It can’t be.”

Chapter Two

Griffin International Airport, Washington, DC

The wheels graced the runway, nudging the large commercial jet with the lightest caress. Drake didn’t notice the soft landing as he gripped the seat’s armrests. He squeezed so hard his hands drained to ivory. If he kept this up, he’d need another dose of blood before the end of the night.

A soothing voice echoed over the sound system, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Griffin International Airport. The local time is 5:38 p.m. and the temperature is sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit.” A flight attendant in a short, cobalt-blue skirt and matching jacket sauntered down the aisle. Drake followed her unhurried steps, drinking in the sight of her pulsing neck. The seat belt grew tighter around his waist. The air thickened. Another broadcast announced, “For your safety and comfort, we ask that you please remain seated with your seatbelt fastened until the captain turns off the ‘Fasten Seat Belt’ sign.”

“For my safety and everyone else’s,” Drake muttered. The damnable plane ride from Phoenix hadn’t met with much turbulence, but even the quietest of flights set his nerves on edge. Flying, not his forte. Of course, most vampires turned before the invention of the plane, hell before the car, didn’t care for the soaring death buckets. He freed a hand from the armrest to run it through his hair. The frosted platinum spikes flattened against his scalp to touch the brown roots, then snapped back into place. He fisted his hand on his thigh. His fangs lengthened until they sank into his bottom gums. Small pockets of blood pooled in his mouth, not nearly enough to slake his hunger, even if he could live off his own blood. “Bollocks.”

“Everything all right, sir?” The flight attendant stopped in the aisle and inclined her head. The movement gave him a better view of her long sleek neck. Her vein throbbed under the thin layer of pale skin. Whispers of auburn hair curled around the enticing beat.

The need to sink his teeth into that delicate skin clawed his insides. He’d felt it before, again and again, many times, too many times. The desire to rip, to pierce, to bite…to kill, it had consumed him and drowned his senses in a manner such that no fine wine could ever hope to compare, even those of his late father’s imports.

“Who are you?” The question asked by his uncle, a mere decade after the incident that changed his life.

“I am no one.” London’s night air should have chilled him to the marrow, but nothing affected him. Certainly not the weather. Only the harshest of desires moved him—the hunger for revenge…and blood. “Not anymore.”

“Come home,” his uncle pleaded. “Your father’s business belongs to you. Your mother would have wanted to see you happy, and your sister—”

“Don’t speak of her!” The red veil coated his vision. Its heat clamping a vice around his throat tighter than any noose, more biting than any chain. It burned and seared him like an iron brand.

“Nephew…,” a wavering voice pleaded from somewhere beyond his reality. “Your eyes.”

Drake turned like a man lost in the shadows to catch a glimpse of his image in a shop window. The night was heavy, the only time he, as a vampire not yet old enough to walk in sunlight, could grace the streets of his old neighborhood. Yet his vision was sharpened, expanded by his vampiric nature so that the reflection staring back cast a perfect likeness on the tempered glass.

He didn’t recognize the creature. The basic features remained. Hair too brown to be designated as anything but a mud color, skin a shade paler than in his mortal life, an angular jaw, and a nose his former love interests liked to tease him as aristocratic. But the eyes…

“Bleeding hell!” He ran then, away from the last vestiges of his humanity, the one family member left him, forever. The truth had stared back at him. Nothing and no one would erase it.

He was the monster now.

“Hon,” the loud smacking of collagen lips snapped at his ear. “You doing okay, sugar?”

“I’m fine.” His eyes cut to the seat in front of him, staring at the dull gray fabric. He swallowed two droplets of his blood. The collar of his button-down silver shirt, although open at the neck, choked him.

“Are you sure?” She knelt beside him. Her breath warmed his cold cheek. A scent like jasmine wafted under his nose. As a mortal man, he wouldn’t have cast her a second glance. But he wasn’t a mortal man, not for more than a century. He was something else entirely. His hands shook.

Reaching for the belt buckle, he ripped it from the seat and stood. He pushed the startled flight attendant aside, earning odd looks from the passengers. When he got halfway down the row, the exit sign beeped. People shoved at each other to be first to the door. The smell of that many bodies packed around him ignited his senses into overdrive.

“Everyone, listen,” Drake shouted over the mass exodus. “I’m a PCD agent, and I need off this plane now.” He waved a badge in the air, loving the new rush of influence the metal piece afforded. The small shield, encased in leather, granted him a sense of rightness he hadn’t felt in far too long. The symbol proved he was more than a vampire, more than an instrument of death, more than a monster. And besides, it gave him easier access to his true target, his feline female—Jame.

Hunger hardened his veins. Could the plane be anymore bloody crowded?

Not a soul moved to clear a path. Cries broke out all along the forward cabin. “What do you mean?” A man’s baritone rang first. “Oh my god, what’s going on?” A woman’s piercing shriek. “Mommy?” a little boy whimpered against his mother’s leg.

“Damnable humans.” Drake tried to make his voice carry over the rush of questions and screams. When the chaos refused to die, he ignored them and elbowed his way through the throng. People clawed at him for answers. He shot each of them a fang-filled smile. They wisely backed off.

The captain’s voice came over the system. “Folks, please let the PCD agent through. All is well with the aircraft, and we’ve landed safely.” After a noticeable pause, he added, “And thank you for flying with us.”

Drake shot from the plane, using his speed to weave through the agitated passengers. The tunnel leading from the aircraft to the terminal building stretched long and far too narrow. He raced through the corridor, desperate for air, for space, for blood.

As he rounded the last corner, he collided headlong into a sodding shifter. The man’s golden-green eyes flared in hatred. Pupils contracted into slits. A hissing sound whispered between two short front teeth.

“Well hello, half-breed. It’s been awhile.” Drake slapped a heavy hand on Slick’s shoulder. “Miss me?”

“Like a dog misses fleas,” Slick said through a tight jaw. He spun around and stomped away. When Drake didn’t follow, he spat over his shoulder, “Come on.”

“You’re as pleasant as ever.” Drake stretched, lingered a tad, and then clapped his hands behind his back and followed at a leisurely pace. His hunger receded into a manageable growl with his feet planted on the ground once more. Priority one switched from acquiring a blood cocktail to his favorite hobby—pissing off the half-breed, Slick. A most excellent pastime.

The airport slammed with people rushing in all directions. A hint of cinnamon from a pretzel vendor rose above the stench of body odor. Airport personnel announced boarding calls and requested passengers. Drake’s boots slapped the hard floor, adding to the cacophony. He caught up to Slick at the pick-up carousel. “So, pup,” he said, patting the shifter on the head like a dog. “Why so quiet?”

Slick hurled a Samsonite luggage over the divider and slammed it on the floor. He narrowed his eyes and scowled. His lackluster reply barely rose above a whisper. “No reason.”

“You mean, ‘No reason, bloodsucker.’” Drake picked his luggage upright and checked for damages. His palm skimmed the tough material, looking for holes or a broken zipper. He nodded at the intact bag and extracted his jacket from inside it. The trench coat might be too hot for this spring weather, but he found the nights in the northeast proved cool. Not that it mattered to him, but best to keep up appearances. Besides, the coat had plenty of room for necessities like his lucky lighter, weapons, and spare blood bags. Of course, he couldn’t take the last two on the plane, even checked in. The world might be aware of his kind, but the airlines were not that enlightened.

“At the very least, ‘No reason, vamp.’ Or what was the newest one you came up with?” He snapped his fingers. “Suckwad. That was it. Surely, you meant to add a lovely nickname to your answer, no?”

Slick snorted. “Let’s get going.” He flicked a hand toward the exit door.

Blurring with a rapidity no mortal eye could detect, Drake sped ahead and blocked the shifter’s path. They stood toe-to-toe, a hand span between them. Since the half-breed had a couple of extra inches on his own six-foot frame, Drake raised his chin.

“What the hell is this about, mutt?” His fangs elongated again. Hunger mixed with frustration didn’t elicit the best control. He tapped his heel. The beating pulse of humans echoed loud in his ears. “Why aren’t you going back at me? Cheap shots used to be your specialty.”

Slick sucked his teeth. Then his face returned to that annoyingly impassive mask. He turned and grabbed the abandoned luggage. Sidestepping Drake, he continued toward the exit without a word. The bag rolled behind him.

“You’re taking the piss right out of this, pup.” Drake matched the shifter’s steps. Fishing in his coat pocket, he extracted his gold lighter. The metal warmed in his palm. He flicked it open and closed, open and closed, but didn’t spin the wheel. Fire in an airport probably wasn’t the greatest idea. Let’s see how long the pup can play cool and collected. He clucked his tongue between his fangs. “You know, mutt, I always wondered which one of your parents is the human.”

Slick didn’t slow his pace, not a single falter in his step.

“I’m betting your pops, right?” The lighter clicked open, snapped shut. “Yeah, mum must have been the shifter. You strike me as a mama’s boy.”

The parking lot proved the same chaotic mess as the airport. Personnel stood on the corners, hailing taxis for passengers and waving pedestrians across a walkway. The pair continued into the crosswalk.

“Your pa must have loved that, no? His hot shifter wife spoiling the half-breed son?” A horn honked at them to move along as Slick paused in the middle of the street. The shifter vibe shook through his body so much that even the simple humans would be able to sense the vibrations. Drake grinned and continued walking. “How jealous, exactly, did he get?”

A security guard bellowed to get off the road. Slick growled low but moved to the sidewalk without answering. He dug in his pocket and pulled free a set of keys. A car alarm beeped ten feet away. He moved toward the black sedan, trailing the luggage.

Drake sighed. “Is this blasé attitude about the phage incident last year? That why you’re so damn stoic?”

The bag stopped bumping over the pavement. Slick stood stock still as if someone had punched him in the gut. His face drained of color.

“Oh, come now. Surely you’ve gotten over that.” Drake threw his hands in the air, punctuating the point. “You owe me nothing. I did it to save your pretty little partner. You just reaped the benefit.” The moment appeared to him as clear as day. Jame stuck in some ungodly room, put there by a sick phage bastard, poison all around her. Drake couldn’t see her in the heavy vapors and had to feel around blindly. When at last he’d bumped her limp body with his knee, he’d cradled her to his chest and wanted to dash out of there. She’d whispered one word to him: “Slick.” He couldn’t leave the half-breed wanker behind after her request, even if it did burn a jealous streak through his blood.

A car passed by. Its headlights spotlighted Slick for an instant. He stared at the ground, the memory of that day written in his blank eyes and clenched jaw.

Brushing past the shifter, Drake locked his hand around the door handle. It opened with a squeak. He stomped the ground and Slick’s head shot up. “Pay attention. If you insist on pursuing this civility, instead of our usual…” His brows drew together in a fearsome stare, but the corner of his mouth quirked, diminishing the effect. “And infinitely more entertaining rivalry, then I’ll be forced to find someone else to spar with. Since you’re already broken in, I don’t relish that idea.” He waved at the driver side. “So get in the car you bloody mongrel and start coming up with new insults.”

Slick grabbed the passenger side door and slammed it shut on Drake’s face. The car shook with suppressed shifter energy as Slick’s hand splayed over the side window. He swore a string of unintelligible words that blended and sounded suspiciously like, Blood-sucking-jackass-vamps. Although Drake couldn’t be certain. He laughed and called out, “That’s more like it.”

Slick snorted at the window. The overhead light that illuminated the parking space shone brighter, surrounding him in a yellow haze. He rounded to the back of the vehicle. The trunk popped open, and he disappeared from view. When he resurfaced, he climbed in the driver side and thrust a bag at Drake.

“A present? You shouldn’t have.” The package sloshed in Drake’s lap. He made a grand show of taking out the contents and holding them up. Red liquid flowed in a plastic medical container. His fangs snapped down as he tore open the tubing and poured it down his throat. The cold blood seeped into his veins worse than ice water, driving away the hunger. Not the satisfying heat of drinking from the source, but it hit the spot. “My thanks, pup.”

“Jame assumed you’d be hungry after your flight.” Slick started the car, staring out the windshield. It didn’t camouflage the disgust on his face. “Don’t suppose they serve blood as part of the meal, huh?”

“No, the good people of the airlines haven’t quite mastered all varieties of dietary needs.” He swallowed another mouthful of blood. Although, you could’ve just ripped into the neck of that flight attendant like the monster you are. An insidious voice of doubt slithered through his mind, spouting venom. He sucked back memories of his early vampire days, of the unending hunger. If he allowed his thoughts to travel further down that road, they would fixate on a former life, a human life, and he couldn’t afford the fare for that trip.

The window slid into its compartment. Drake chucked the empty blood bag from the car into a nearby receptacle as they exited the airport. The night breeze filled the car’s interior. “Back to matters at hand.” He slapped his palms together. “Since you’ve so graciously provided me with sustenance, consider it payment for saving your life.” He leaned over, blocking the rear-view mirror, and winked. “We’re even.”

“Fine. Now get your ugly-ass, cone-shaped face outta my way. I’m driving.” Slick elbowed him in the temple lightly and readjusted the mirror.

“Better, but not quite there yet.” Messing around with the buttons on the door, Drake managed to get his chair to lean back. He cradled his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. “Wake me when we get to headquarters.”

“I’m taking you to your new apartment.” Slick braked hard against a red light.

The motion should have sent Drake flying into the dashboard, but the mutt didn’t know how to go past the damn speed limit. Slow driving and boring company. The wind whipped through the car, ruffling his hair. Kill me now…or again. He snorted at his silent joke and then sat up and readjusted his seat. “Hardly dinner time and the team is quitting work already? I thought PCD agents were night hounds.”

“It’s night owls, jackass.” Slick veered into the right lane, avoiding the faster traffic. “And we are working, you are going to rest.” He didn’t bother concealing his glee at his next words. “Jame’s orders. Although, her correct title now is Boss.”

Drake raised his eyebrow. It was just like his spitfire shifter to assert her authority early. Well, that sweet Kitty would be learning a thing or two about trying to lead a century-and-a-half—give or take a decade—vampire around by the balls. “Drive to the office, now.”

“Can’t do. We’ve got enough shit hitting the fan from the code black without you having some type of power struggle with Jame.” Slick took his eyes off the road for a split second to glare across the seats. “Or worse, you hitting on her.”

“I’ve no intention of ‘hitting on her’ as you so put it. The proper phrase is seduction. Didn’t you ever learn—” He shook his head as a pair of words whirled to the forefront. “Hold the blood, what do you mean a code black?”

The traffic increased as they hit rush hour, crawling to a painful bumper-to-bumper fiasco. Slick’s cheek throbbed visibly, as if he’d been biting his tongue. He didn’t respond.

“Pull over.” Drake reached across the seat and grabbed the wheel. Jerking the car faster than the shifter could react, he maneuvered it off the highway. When the damn mongrel got his bearings and jammed the breaks, the car already rested safely on the shoulder. He put the car in park. “Out with it.”

“Screw you, bloodsucker.” A white SUV stopped alongside them. Slick waved the good Samaritan off with a smile and then turned to shift the car into drive.

“I don’t think so.” Clamping a hand over the drive stick, Drake stole the keys from the ignition. “You’re starting to get your fire back, half-breed, but you want to settle our score? Then tell me what you know.”

Slick scrubbed a hand down his face, running it from forehead to throat. He lingered on his neck, massaging the muscle at his collarbone. “I tried to convince Talon to keep you in District Thirteen, but no, your ass had to come here.” He let loose a low breath. “Whatever, hot shot. You want to know? We’ve had a code black at the Capitol. Four senators and one lobbyist dead. A regular who’s who of paranormal too. One vamp, one shifter, one psyke, one phage, and one human. Rest of the deets, you can get later.”

The evening darkened to an inky gray. The highway lights flickered to life. Drake rose from the vehicle like a vengeful wraith. He sped around the driver’s side and ripped open the door. Luckily, the cheap metal kept it hinged to the frame. “You kept me blathering on about nonsense when we’re dealing with another code black?” He hoisted Slick out of the car by his shirt, a feat the shifter did not take kindly. “Get in the other side before I leave you on the road.”

An electrifying current lit the air and shattered the streetlight above their heads. The car’s headlights threatened to break as well. Slick shifted his hands, fast and deadly—seemed the half-breed had been practicing—to a tiger’s claws. He swiped at the vampire, catching the hem of his silk shirt.

Drake ducked from a second blow and snagged Slick around the middle. He knocked the mongrel to the ground, rolled him over, and sat on his back. “This, pup, will get us nowhere. Get ahold of yourself.”

It took a few minutes of pushing the mutt’s face into the dirt before Slick gained enough control to shift his hands to normal and breathe easier. “Get the fuck off me.”

“Much better. Now get in the car.” Drake climbed up and took the driver’s seat.

Slick grumbled and the shifter energy droned on, but he got in the passenger side. They stayed quiet as Drake led the car onto the highway and weaved through traffic as fast as possible. “You know, suckwad, you’re right. I should have told you about the code black.”

“Glad to see you’re coming to your senses.” The ride into downtown D,C. wouldn’t be long now.

“I’ll even give you another little tidbit, and you’ll enjoy this.” Slick closed the window so that the airflow died. “The dead lobbyist that I mentioned is someone you know. Someone we’ve been looking for.” He moved his face to the rearview mirror as Drake had done earlier and smiled. “Someone your maker is looking for.”

The scratch on Drake’s stomach from Slick’s earlier attack had already healed, but an unsettled feeling surfaced under the spot just the same. “You mean someone Strife’s been after?”

“Oh yeah, apparently your maker didn’t do such a good job. Not that I thought employing the head of a vigilante organization was a good idea.” He slapped his palms on the dashboard. “But who the hell ever listens to me?”

“Veritas isn’t a vigilante organization. They’re peacekeepers. Talon agreed to work with Strife and them.” He resisted the urge to pull his lighter from his pocket again and gripped the steering wheel harder instead. “Now, can we get to the point? Who the hell is the dead lobbyist?”

“Sure, bloodsucker. Make a left at the next exit.” He pointed at a sign stating the exit as a mile away. “Office is about two miles from the highway.”

“Who is it, half-breed?”

Slick only shot a self-satisfied grin as he reclined the seat and propped his hands behind his head, the irony of their reversed positions not lost on Drake.

“Who damn it?”

The sodding half-breed mutt started to hum some ridiculously upbeat tune, then said, “You’re right twice in one night, vamp. A miracle in itself.” He flicked the radio on, turned it to a pop music station and cranked the volume. Over the bubbly and nail-bitingly irritating song, he yelled, “This is so much more fun than civility.”

Drake gritted his teeth and pushed the gas pedal to the floor, calculating all forms of brilliant death for the soon-to-be-dead shifter.

Chapter Three

PCD Headquarters for District One, Washington, DC

“I’m not waiting anymore, Jame. Gimme the rundown. You can’t mention a code black and then go quiet.” Talon’s voice boomed over the computer speakers. Jame’s former boss and team leader for District Thirteen stared at her from the monitor. His azure eyes deepened to a navy hue. Disheveled dark hair framed high cheekbones and a strong jaw. He wore a black T-shirt inside out and reversed with the tag peaking from the wrong end.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Jame tried not to focus on his guess-what-I-was-doing, oh-so-obvious appearance, and let her gaze drift over his shoulder. Unfortunately, the woman standing behind him in nothing but an oversized button-down shirt didn’t help the picture. If Jame could scrub her brain with some Irish Spring, she’d have to use the whole pack.

The tall blonde leaned into the computer’s camera, showing a pair of worried brown eyes and ample cleavage. Her golden skin, curvy body, and endless legs earned her the nickname “leggy bimbette.” Well, at least Jame had called her that once. Otherwise, she was known as Sera, Jame’s replacement on the District Thirteen team and, as of a few hours ago, Talon’s fiancé. Assuming she’d accepted. Which, come to think of it…

“So, is there a cause for celebration?” Jame smiled, despite an icy hole forming in the center of her stomach. Mere months ago, she would have attributed it to losing Talon—not that she ever really had him or anything. But she had stifled that schoolgirl crush when he hooked up with Sera. It wouldn’t have worked between them anyway; he was too damn stubborn and a play-by-the-book type of guy. Jame needed someone a little rougher around the edges, an act-now, ask-questions-later type. And someone up for a quick fling with zero attachments. Not the committing type. Someone like… Not Drake. So not Drake. Don’t even go there.

“Jame, can we talk about the engagement later?” Talon’s thick brows arched toward his forehead.

Sera pushed him aside, hogging the monitor. “Don’t mind him. You know how he is.” She flashed a solitaire diamond at the camera and laughed. “I said yes, although I’ll claim impaired judgment if anyone asks.”

The angle shifted. Talon and Sera appeared on the screen together, their faces side by side. They looked right for each other, complete somehow. Jame sighed. “I’m happy for you both.”

“Thanks. Any luck for you? Perhaps a certain someone?” Sera winked. One manicured nail tapped her chin. “Speaking of which, did Drake get there yet?”

“Seraaa.” Talon drew out her name with a low growl.

“What?” She batted her eyes. “I’m just saying.”

“Enough. Let’s get back to business.”

“I’m all for that.” Fidgeting in her seat, Jame gave them the recap of the crime scene. “We’re still waiting on results from the lab.” She blew a strand of stray hair from her cheek. The whizzing machines in the communications room started to grate on her nerves. The team had spent the day reviewing the evidence and waiting for the techies to get them more intel.

“What leads have you got so far?” Talon pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture Jame recognized all too well. Waiting…not his strongpoint.

Opening a new window on the screen, she showed them the crime scene pics that Dee snapped earlier. “Based on the victims’ profiles, it looks like someone wanted to stop a meeting between the different senators and the phage lobbyist.” Above each of the victims in the photo, she’d marked their name and type. The four senators represented the three registered SUB groups: vampire, psyke, and shifter, along with a human. The only person the government didn’t officially recognize was the phage, not that it mattered in a homicide investigation. Hunting down the criminal and getting justice for the victims mattered. Although she wasn’t all that sorry about the one victim.

“Question is, what were they meeting about?” Sera’s eyes widened as she surveyed the crime photos.

“Well, the phage have been trying to become registered SUBs so they have the same rights under government law. Swaying that vast group of senators to their side would give them a majority. But, here’s the kicker…” Jame focused on the dead blonde, zooming on her face. “The phage lobbyist is the same one we’ve been looking for, the same psycho behind last year’s code black, the one responsible for the deaths of twenty-two people.”

“The bitch who had Sera abducted?” Talon banged his fist, the vibrations echoed over the speakers. “Tell me it’s not her.”

“It is, Talon. I couldn’t believe it myself. But it’s her, the phage queen’s general, Adriana Farrington.” The door slammed behind her. Jame jumped, sending her chair flying across the room. She spun toward the entrance and crouched into a fighting stance.

“And isn’t that a bloody head trip.” A spiky haired vampire stood with his back resting against the door. A thick trench coat covered a silver shirt, black jeans, and combat boots. His eyes, like two coals, burned into her as if he saw beneath her clothes to her bare skin. Knowing him, he had probably already pictured every inch of her flesh in vivid detail, right down to the panther tattoo on her hip.

Her skin flushed hot. Her mouth dry. Oh, hell no, you are not pulling this again. She cursed her traitorous body. Not even if he was the last male on the planet. Her senses warred with her baser instincts as his rich scent filled her nose. He smelled like a vintage merlot, drugging her mind with intoxication. “Not a chance,” she mumbled.

He pushed off the wall, stalking closer. “Hello, Kitty.” He waved over her head at the computer monitor, where Sera flashed her engagement ring on the screen again. “Why if it isn’t the lovebirds? Long time no see. Congratulations on making it official, finally.”

“Thanks, Drake,” Sera called.

Jame snorted, brushing past the vampire without a greeting. She reclaimed her chair, rolled it to the desk, and sat in front of the screen again. Ignoring the asshat admittedly might not be the most mature move, but whatever. Sometimes a girl needed a break.

Drake’s voice whispered in her ear, “Now is that any way to greet your newest agent?”

She bit her lip and kept her attention on the computer. In the steadiest and most commanding voice she could muster, she said, “Talon, Sera, any information you can gather on the phage would be appreciated. With Adriana dead, I’m sure we’ll all breathe easier.” Her spine stiffened as he laid a hand on her shoulder. “But I don’t want to get complacent. We need to figure out what connection she has to the other victims.”

“True. Just because we wanted her dead—” Talon said, bitterness coating each word.

“Talon!” Sera’s high-pitched outcry pierced Jame’s ears.

“I just meant we may not have been the only ones after Adriana.” Talon pinched the bridge of his nose a second time. He muttered, “Not that I’m crying at her funeral or anything.”

Jame leaned back in the chair and tapped her collarbone. Her nose scrunched up. Thinking aloud, she said, “If others knew about her involvement in the deaths of all those people last year, well, there’s a lot of groups that’d be out for blood.”

Drake circled around the desk, facing her while keeping his profile to the webcam. “Hell, I doubt even the phage queen would take kindly to Adriana leaving so many of her children to their deaths.”

Jame’s hand splayed across her throat. The fine hairs on the back of her neck pricked. “What do you mean?”

“When Adriana made her escape, she left all of the phage she created to burn. If the apartment building fire didn’t kill them, the dawn would have. It’s why we found none of them alive.” Drake’s voice went cold. “Even the ones we didn’t kill.”

“It’s not like we had a choice.” Jame didn’t want to think of last year’s horror show. Between her abduction with Slick, then Sera’s being taken hostage, and the final showdown with those phage minions, it was a mess in her head. Hell, she still had nightmares. Her dreams were haunted by creatures with gaping jaws and rows of fangs, bulging eyes, and worst of all, the mindless hunger that drove them. Their masters used them like animals, like pawns…like slaves.

Jame remembered the intel they’d gathered on the phage with haunting clarity. New phage are like new vampires, Meg, their psyke tech gal, had said. Their bodies can’t deal with sunlight until they develop immunity. It takes about fifty years. But that’s not the worst of it. If their makers don’t give them back their higher brain functions with a swift command, then they stay puppets, zombielike. Creepy huh? It sure was. Downright terrifying. She shuddered.

Drake placed his hand over her shaking palm. His touch warmed her blood. She stared at him with wide eyes for a moment before pulling away. Clearing her throat, she focused her attention back on the computer screen. “Whether or not Adriana was the primary target or a casualty, and no matter if the phage are involved, I think it’s time we get to the bottom of the phage’s story.”

“The unit leaders don’t want us openly going after any phage.” Sera recounted the higher-ups’ orders. “We can’t single them out.”

“The phage queen isn’t some innocent.” Drake’s deep growl chilled her blood. He leaned closer, narrowing his gaze at the monitor. “This bullshit about cooperating with the government and seeking registration of her kind is a ruse for her true intent.”

“I hate to admit it.” Jame shifted to the side, putting some distance between her and the vampire. “But Drake’s right. There’s something else going on here. We’ve got to figure it out.”

“I know.” A quick flash of yellow encompassed the monitor as Talon’s eyes shifted to the wolf’s vision.

“I can go to my grandfather about it,” Sera whispered. “The Luminarium might know something.”

“Sera.” Talon’s intense golden irises sparked with some unnamable emotion. “The Luminarium might not be secret anymore, but we have to keep them from the spotlight as much as possible.”

“They might know what the phage are up to.” Sera’s face flushed on the screen. “It’s our best shot.”

Jame knew that too. She’d studied Sera’s report on the Luminarium. It detailed the basic facts about the creation of each species. When the Luminari—creatures of the earth’s core that lived on another plane of existence—faced their extinction, they used humans as hosts for breeding. Vampires came into existence when the eldest Luminari brother infused part of his light into the dying human woman he had loved. She rose as the undead, needing blood to survive, despite the power running through her veins. Psykes’ and shifters’ origins began when the third brother in line imparted his essence into the mind and bone of unborn human twins. The phage’s beginnings were more brutal. The second brother, envious of his older brother’s creation of the vampire, kidnapped a human woman and brutally assaulted her. He then forced his essence into her living tissue, creating the creature that survived on human flesh, phage.

“Talon’s right. We can’t risk exposing them.” Jame swallowed a curse. It would be easier to ask the Luminarium for help. They would have access to information like no one else. Especially when it came to the phage. But since their history was dicey, it would put the Luminarium, and as a result, all supernaturals at risk.

Talon’s voice vibrated low. “You concentrate on the code black. We’ll figure out how to track down the phage’s secrets. And together we’ll put a lid on things quietly, okay?”

“Deal.” Jame would let those two work the details. She had enough to handle with the code black and the incessantly irritating vampire beside her. She nodded to Talon and Sera. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Talon’s image faded. Sera’s cry of “Play nice” sounded just in time before the computer went dark.

The recessed lighting overhead sputtered. Jame’s shifter energy buzzed across her skin, affecting the electricity in the air. Her heart pounded louder in time to an offbeat rhythm.

“Alone at last, luv.” Drake stalked her. Firm steps echoed his purpose. He gripped a metal folding chair and set it inches in front of her. One booted foot rested on the bottom rung. He crossed his arms on the low backing and leaned over to stare into her eyes. By standing, he kept the advantage on his side, and from the taunting gleam in his gaze, he knew it. They both knew it. She refused to rise to the bait and remained in her seat, her legs crossed at the knee, hands resting in her lap.

His fangs extended, drawing her attention to his generous mouth. Those pointed teeth should have sent her running, screaming. Instead, they sparked shivers of anticipation. What the hell’s wrong with me? Haven’t you learned anything? Her pulse drummed in her ears. She breathed faster. Males aren’t to be trusted. Her mother’s voice rang in her head, hitting home an old heartache. She struggled against the pull between them. Her voice came out small. “What do you want, Drake?”

“Oh, you know what I want. What I’ve always wanted.” He inched closer, drowning her in that bottomless scrutiny. His eyes spanned the depths like the darkest night she had ever seen. Her senses fell into that void, dragged further under his power. She ran her tongue over her lips without conscious thought. The movement ignited a fire, shimmering in those endless pools.

He flung his chair across the room. It smashed into the wall, clanking over the small space. Gripping her by the shoulders, he yanked her from the seat and hauled her against his chest. She shuddered at the contact, unable to find the words to protest, not even in her mind. His head angled to meet her lips. A quiet storm flashed upon his face. It disappeared as quick as it rose, and he dove in for the kill.

Kill. A darkened room flashed across her mind. Tight space. Sickly sweet scent on the air. Move. Got to move. Got to…

With a yelp, she jerked from his embrace. Kiss, she’d meant kiss. Why did she think kill? Mind churning, her thoughts spun with one clear conclusion. I will not be plagued by nightmares. Any nightmares. Not old, not new.

Absently, she found her hands rested open-palmed against his chest. His hard muscles under that silk shirt begged for a more intimate touch. She swallowed. A vampire. He’s a vampire, remember? The realization hit her like an eighteen-wheeler. And not just any vampire. Drake! Sweet cartwheeling Jesus, she had almost kissed Drake. How could this happen? Her blood blazed hot, despite her protests. Arousal scented the air. He hadn’t even kissed her, and her breasts already strained against her tank top, heavy and aching.

Jame gulped shallow breaths. Her fingers curled in a fist upon his chest. His rapid heartbeat pulsed under her hand. He watched her. Caged hunger showed on his face. His upper lip drew back. She kept him at arms’ length with little resolve. If they stayed any longer, he would kiss her…or bite her.

“I told you, she’s on a call, bloodsucker. Give her some priva—” The door flew open. Slick stopped mid-rant. His eyes rounded as he took in the scene.

Jame hopped backwards, slamming into the desk. “Damn it.” A hand snaked around her upper arm, steadying her. She jerked from Drake’s hold and rubbed her sore hipbone. “Hands off, vampire.” She zeroed her stare and gritted her teeth. Mouthing to him without sound, Don’t say a word.

Slick entered the cramped quarters. “Everything all right here?”

“Sure,” she said, daring the vampire to argue.

He flashed a devilish grin that showed his fangs before they retracted. “Never better, pup.” Drake gave a thumbs up to Slick, and then pointed at the monitor. “Just saying hello to the new happy couple over in District Thirteen.”

“Talon proposed then, huh?” Slick’s brows rose.

Jame blew out a long breath. “Yeah. They’re getting hitched.” Her hand trembled as she tucked her hair behind her ears. She inwardly cursed the weakness and crossed her arms, hiding the ridiculous quivers. “And they know about the code black.”

“Where’s that leave us?” Slick strode forward and leaned on the desk next to her, the vampire between them.

Drake smirked.

Ignoring the male posturing, she restrained from rolling her eyes. “Still waiting for the lab results.”

“What’s the plan ’til then, Boss?” Slick emphasized her new title and nodded at Drake.

“Introducing this numb nut to the team.” Jame tipped her chin at the vampire. His smirk transformed into a full-blown grin, fangs out. She sighed. “Let’s get it over with.”

“Kitty, you worry over nothing. I’ll play the perfect agent.” He crooked his elbow and held it out to her.

Slick shoved it aside and got in the vampire’s face. “It’s Boss, now, not some stupid nickname.”

Jame huffed and stepped between the two alpha males before it turned ugly. “Back off, Slick. I can handle him.” She poked him in the sternum. “And you…” Resisting the urge to put her hands on her hips and raise her voice, she settled for fixing Drake with a wicked glare. Touching him didn’t seem wise after her last questionable reaction to him. “Behave or you’ll be spending all of your time as an agent behind a mountain of paperwork. Got it?”

“Whatever you say, luv.” The gleam in his black eyes hinted at trouble.

Chapter Four

PCD Headquarters for District One, Washington, DC

Drake winked at her, reveling in the rush of dueling with her again. Ten months away hadn’t diminished the sparks between them. All he had to do was ignite it into an inferno.

“Trouble with a capital T,” she mumbled and turned on her heel.

He laughed. Little firecracker with a temper to boot. He resisted the urge to follow, watching as her hips swayed with each step. He groaned when she disappeared from view.

Something solid hit him under his ribs. “Leave her alone.” Slick circled to face him.

Drake shoved him out of the way and exited the communications room. He leaned against a drab gray wall, watching as Jame sauntered down the far end of the hall and into the main office without a backwards glance.

He fingered the lighter in his pocket. The gold piece rested against his breast. He didn’t smoke. Never cared for it. Perhaps a cigar now and then, but the smell of cigarettes near made him retch up blood. But then, the lighter wasn’t for smoking. Ah, now you’re getting all sentimental, old boy. Soon you’ll be just about weepy. He cursed. Slick stood in the doorframe, glaring. “There you are half-breed. And here I was afraid I’d shoved you too hard.”

Slick didn’t bother with a response, just grabbed him by the collar and put him against the wall. The bastard’s iron grip held him right at the carotid. “She’s a caring woman under the hard exterior,” he said evenly. “I’m not going to see her hurt.”

Drake had to give him points on the guardian vibe, but that wasn’t going to fly with him. Jame was not Slick’s and he would make him know it. “You her protector mutt or something else?”

His eyes widened for a spell as if shocked by the idea.

Lucky for him. Drake stifled a smile. Rivalry is one thing, but if he were after Jame… The blood burned through his veins. He wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate any competitors, even the mutt.

“I’m her friend,” Slick affirmed.

This time Drake smiled. “Well, I have no intention of being her friend.”

The half-breed snorted. “That’s where we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Any time you want to give it a go, have at it.”

Slick let him go and then shifted his hand into some disgusting reptilian claw—hell if Drake knew what it was—and swiped. Drake dodged the blow, caught the hideous green scales by the wrist and twisted. The cold slimy skin slipped from his grip.

“All right shifter, you win this round.” Drake shook his hand, chuckling and trying to rid himself of the reprehensible feel of those scales. “I’m not going to fight you against that filth.”

A wry smile lit up Slick’s features. The pupils of his golden-green eyes elongated into vertical slits. “Sssuper,” he hissed.

Drake let loose a dark laugh. “Oh well done, pup.” He cocked a brow. “Or perhaps I should call you newt. Isn’t that a baby snake?”

Slick’s hand changed to normal. “It’s a neonate, suckwad.” His tone lacked some of the normal hostility, a temporary armistice agreed upon without words. The ghost of genuine amusement played at the corner of his lips. “Not that you’d have a clue.”

“Neonate? Nah, too wordy.” Drake patted him on the shoulder and walked down the hall. “Ah well, I’ll come up with new, more suitable nicknames. Not a worry.”

Slick followed a few paces behind, but Drake’s attention already turned to pursuing his sweet Kit…boss. Better to get used to that. Not that he’d complain about her being in charge, at least not until he had gotten her into the bedroom. There he would happily show her who was boss. Then again, Kitty in a blue police uniform and a pair of handcuffs… Oh best not to pursue that train of thought—yet.

Having gotten the five-cent tour earlier, he headed for the main office at the end of the corridor. He entered the room quietly and stood in the corner, not wanting to distract the agents present. Okay, so maybe he wanted to spy a bit. Get a feel for his new team. Sue him.

Standard government-issued navy carpet padded under his heavy steps. Ivory walls housed nondescript artwork. During the day, the cheap blinds and long windows would let in a fair amount of light, but at night, the overhead fluorescents doused the room in an artificial glow. Luckily, his half of the room remained in shadow as the agents stood across the floor using only one track of the lighting.

Gray desks rested against the wall in an L shape, resembling a small business setup. Two agents huddled at one such desk in the corner, perusing whatever the contents atop it. Drake watched as Jame snuck up behind them and called loudly, “How’s it coming?”

The pair jerked back and spun to face her.

“Sorry,” Jame said, although her even tone hinted that she was anything but. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Th-That’s okay,” the female agent said, pushing aside a stray lock of brown hair and pulling at her ear.

The man coughed. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

“I noticed. You didn’t scent me either. Must be deep in thought, huh?” Jame tried to wedge between the pair, but the agents shifted closer together. Their shoulders touched and proved a roadblock. “Something you two want to tell me?”

“We’re having a secret love affair.” The man threw an arm around the woman’s shoulders and winked.

Drake suppressed a snicker, although Jame didn’t seem to get the humor.

“Very funny,” she said and shoved a hand between them. “Now, what’re you hiding?”

The woman shrugged and looked over Jame’s head to her partner. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Jame’s voice rose louder. Her arm wedged between the agents, motioning for them to move apart. “Show me. That’s an order.”

Now it’s getting good. Drake’s eyes narrowed, wondering how the two would react to his Kitty’s authority. Jame certainly had his blood racing. Hell, if she ordered him around like that, he might gladly comply, although he would have a few orders of his own. Oh yes, she’d look damn fine in blue and handcuffs. His fantasy took on even more detailed imagery. Hunger rose sharp and fierce. She will be mine.

Unfortunately, Slick’s elephant steps stomped into the room and broke his lucid dream as well as his hiding spot.

Jame cast a glance over her shoulder and pulled away from the agents. “Oh good, you’re both here.” She waved him and Slick over to her side. “Our friends,” she pointed to the pair of agents, “were just about to show me what they’ve found. Weren’t you two?”

“Sure, Boss.” The man crossed his arms and spread his legs shoulder width apart. The stance made his broad frame look intimidating, though Drake could take him, should there be a need. Not a doubt. The man tilted his strong square jaw, pointing his chin in the air. “And who’s he?”

Slick strode forward. Without looking, he jerked his thumb at Drake. “That dickwad is Drake. The newest academy graduate and an agent for all of five minutes.” His voice grew sharper. “Before that, he worked for the vigilante group, Veritas. And his maker, Strife, is the head of that particular illegal organization in this part of the world.”

“Glad to see you have gotten over your hero worship of me.” Drake smirked. “And you have a flare for the dramatics.” He turned his eyes from the shifter to the other agents. With manners this lot probably hadn’t seen before, he gave a half bow. It might have looked ridiculous in the modern North American office, but Jame blushed and that was his goal. He winked at her and then continued with his introduction to the team. “Allow me to properly introduce myself. What the half-breed said is true. I am a new agent having previously worked for Veritas. The organization has recently come to an understanding with your fellow agents in District Thirteen, and I believe Jame here will uphold that truce.”

She nodded. “Though we’ve got enough problems with the code black. I don’t think we need any lessons about Veritas.”

Drake noted that little jibe. Kitty doesn’t want her team to know the details about the Veritas alliance. Interesting. He stretched and took up residence atop a desk across from them. “As you will.”

“Drake.” Jame lanced him with a warning stare, then her gaze flitted over each member of her team. “Anyway, time for real introductions. Drake this is Dee Two and the Old Man.”

She pointed at the young woman with light brown skin, dark hair, and eyes that looked as if they had seen too much. Despite her haunted gaze, her youthful face would peg her more for a high school student than an agent. Jame motioned next to the leather-faced and appropriately named Old Man. If the man were human, Drake would guess him to be around sixty, but since the male buzzed like a shifter, he guessed his age closer to a hundred. All supernaturals lived longer than your average human, provided of course they didn’t get into trouble. Which, given shifters’ natural tendencies for aggression and animalistic behavior, wasn’t often.

“Guys, this is Drake. Introductions over.” She ignored Dee Two and the Old Man’s questioning stares. “Right now, I don’t want any more comments or questions unless it’s about our code black. Got it?”

Grumbles of assent circled around the room.

“Good. Now, what’ve you two got for us?” She maneuvered past the pair and toward the corner desk. This time the agents didn’t block her. “What is this?”

Drake hopped off the desk and snuck a peek over Jame’s shoulder. On the table sat a case file. She flipped it open. Inside the manila folder rested a news article, a lab report, handwritten notes, and photographs. One item drew Jame’s gaze. Drake followed the direction of her stare. A 3x5 photo showed a smiling woman posed on a stool like a graduation shot. Her dark brown hair and eyes, her skin the color of hazelnuts, and her curvy frame seemed familiar.

Jame inhaled. “Dee,” she said softly. “Is this your sister?”

“Was.” Dee sat in the chair in front of the desk and ran a hand over the photo. “She was my sister.”

“Jessica ‘Decoder’ Carroway.” The Old Man grabbed a seat next to Dee. “She ran the team before you.”

Jame nodded.

Drake laid a comforting hand on Jame’s shoulder. Slick shot him a nasty look that he happily ignored, but Jame stepped away and sidled closer to Dee. He didn’t blame her. The girl obviously grieved for her sister. He knew what that was like.

Thick burgundy curtains sitting in a heap on the floor. A creature poised above a child on a rich oak bed. Wide jaws clamping down upon a fair, delicate arm. The wooden bed frame rattling the wall as the bastard feasts on the girl. Cries piercing the night. “Help me! Brother!”

The memory cut deep, and emotions he had long thought buried surfaced until he had to shove it all firmly into the recesses of his mind. Don’t dick about down that road. He reset his internal barometer and focused instead on the young agent’s words.

“She’s how I got my tag name, you know?” Dee held the picture by the top corner as if afraid to mar the surface. “Dee Two is for Decoder Two, but mostly everyone called me Dee. I looked up to her. Wanted to be just like her. So they named me after her.”

“Hey kid, why don’t you take a rest, huh?” The Old Man tapped Dee on the nape of her neck. “It’s getting late anyway. I’ll tell the boss about this.”

Dee sniffed, but didn’t move.

The Old Man sighed. “Decoder ran this team before you.” He spoke directly to Jame. “She died a month before you came on board.”

“She didn’t die,” Dee screamed and sprang from the chair. It flipped over with her movement and crashed to the floor. “She was murdered!”

“Kiddo, calm down.” The Old Man rose, putting a restraining hand on her arm.

Dee swung from his grip and leveled him with a stare that sat awkward on her childlike face. “Don’t tell me to calm down. You know it’s true.”

“Hey, hey.” Jame grabbed her wrist. “Tell me what happened. You say she was murdered, then I believe you, but I can’t help unless I know the details.”

“It hit me when we saw the senators today.” Dee paced from the desk, running a hand through her hair. The shoulder length tresses went flying in all directions.

“What about the senators?” Drake said low. He filled his black eyes with warmth and captured Dee’s gaze. Vampire compulsion didn’t exactly exist, at least not the power humans thought it to be. Some vampires had a way of calming their…hmm, no real nice way to put it…snacks to make them more susceptible to a bite. Kind of like a snake charmer. He suppressed a smile. At least that’s how Slick liked to explain it.

“My sister went to the senator’s office the night of her death. She said she had a lead. Something about the senator’s link to a wanted criminal.” Dee sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “I told her I’d come with her. But Jess said she reported it to Emilia Frost, our unit leader, and got the green light for only a single agent to investigate.”

“The cold bitch, Frost, didn’t want any leaks about PCD looking into a senator,” the Old Man added. “Wouldn’t let us in on any details either after Decoder’s death.”

“The bl-blowhards in the ad-administration think they know everything.” Dee’s voice started to crack. “So st-stupid.”

“It’s all right, Dee.” Drake made his words float on the air, velvet soft. He kept his voice gentle, consoling. “What happened?”

“Jess went ah-ah-alone. I-I shouldn’t ha-have let her.” Dee broke into sobs, her body shaking from head to toe.

The Old Man stepped between her and Drake, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She cried into his neck. “Local boys got to the scene first. They said Decoder broke into the office. A bomb went off.” Dee cried harder as he spoke. “Official report is that it was a plant for Senator McDonald. He’s one of the senators we found at the code black this morning. He is—or rather, was—a human sympathizer for SUB rights. And it’s been rumored he was taking up the phage cause for registration in the government.” He patted Dee’s back. “There, there, easy now.”

“So, the code black wasn’t the first time someone made an attempt on his life, if that bomb was meant for him.” Slick shuffled through the evidence.

“That’s the thing.” The Old Man eased Dee into a chair. “We didn’t get to the scene until after the local boys had been through it.” A growl vibrated from deep within his chest. “The damn blue boys screwed up the scene so bad, it was impossible to tell what or who caused the explosion.”

“You think it was meant for Decoder?” Jame’s lips pursed into a frown. “Who gave her the tip to investigate that office, and what was she looking for?”

“Dee’s been pushing herself for a month straight.” The Old Man’s face drew into a scowl. “Higher-ups, Frost, they all claim they don’t know where the tip came from, only that Decoder had said it was solid. Even our psyke hot shot, Mack, couldn’t come up with leads. It’s a cold case now.”

“I-I wo-won’t give up.” Dee hiccupped.

“I wouldn’t either.” A well of grief bit him in the chest like an icicle stabbing into his heart. Girl doesn’t deserve that kind of pain. The image of a child burst before his eyes. Her blond hair, cool blue eyes, and playful smile tore him in two. Her whispered words, Come play, brother, echoed in his memories. He shook his head hard. “We’ll figure it out.”

Jame cocked her head to the side. Something must have shown on his face, because she had that classic worried look aimed at him. He hid behind a grin. She raised an eyebrow, then turned to Dee. “As much as it pains me to say it, Drake’s right. Chances are your sister’s death and the code black today are linked. Maybe something to do with Decoder’s lead, maybe not.” She sucked in her bottom lip and tapped a finger against the side of her nose. “But I doubt it’s a coincidence that an explosion happens at this Senator McDonald’s office mere weeks ago, and then he happens to be a victim in a murder at the Capitol.” Her arms crossed over her chest. “No, something smells fishy. And it doesn’t take a psyke genius to see it. Still…”

“I told you Mack already went through the case.” The Old Man flipped his hand in the air like swatting away a fly.

“Well, Mack may be the information guru for Districts One through Seven, but the gal for Districts Eight through Fourteen is a hell of a lot better,” Jame said.

Slick, who had remained quiet during Dee’s uncomfortable story, broke into the convo. “True. Mack’s a whiz, no doubt, but his twin sister Meg is even better than him.” He grinned, a disgustingly dreamlike gaze that made him look half drunk—at least that was Drake’s impression. “Technically, I’m still listed under District Thirteen. Assignment here is only temporary. I could—”

“You read my mind, Slick.” Jame smiled. “Feel like touching base with Meg?”

“You sure that’s wise, Boss?” The Old Man shuffled his feet. “Mack and Meg might be twins, but they seem to have some of that sibling rivalry going on. And Mack’s on the territorial side.”

“If he’s gone cold on the case, then it doesn’t hurt to ask.” Jame waved off the concerns with a flick of her wrist. “We’ll call it a consultation if he gets wind of it.”

“Lovely ingenuity,” Drake said. The hour grew late and the longer he stood in the room, staring at that bundle of shifter perfection, the hungrier he became. Hell, when was the last time he’d eaten? Oh yes, the blood bag. Ack. He yawned. “Well, this has been quite the first day.”

Jame cast him a suspicious glance and then sighed. “He’s right again, although not so subtle.” She closed the file. “It’s getting late, and we’ve been through a lot today. Let’s call it for the night and meet here in the morning. Say nine o’clock.” Her hand floated to skim the Old Man’s arm. The movement did something awful to Drake’s insides, although he was certain Jame meant nothing more than comfort by the motion. Her next words confirmed it. “Can you take Dee home? I don’t think she should drive.”

“Of course,” the Old Man said. “Come on, kiddo, let’s go.”

Dee nodded, and the pair left.

Slick hung back, much to Drake’s utter annoyance. “I’ll call Meg now and fill her in. Since she works the western districts, I imagine she’s a few hours behind us.” He scratched his chin. “Though come to think of it, I’m not sure where her office is.”

“It’s classified.” Jame winked. “Although, she’d probably let you come for a visit if you asked nicely.”

Slick rolled his eyes and headed out the door. Of course, he had to hesitate a second before leaving. Damn wanker. “You coming, bloodsucker?”

Jame answered before he could. “Go, Slick. I told you I don’t need a babysitter.”

The half-breed snarled one of those alpha-aggressive type warnings that Drake found amusing. However, he resisted that particular urge to laugh in Slick’s face. Out of respect to his Kitty to be sure, not the mongrel.

“Bye-bye.” Drake waved a pinky at the mutt.

Slick let free a full growl this time.

“Goodnight, Slick. Say hello to Meg for me.” Jame all but shoved the pup out the door. “And get some sleep.” With Slick gone, she rounded on him.

Drake didn’t miss a beat. “Couldn’t wait to have me alone, eh?”

“Actually no, I couldn’t wait.” She sidled up to him, all feminine lines and curvy deliciousness. Her sweet orange scent pricked his nose. “I have a job for you. Interested?”

He swallowed as her hand rested on his chest. His eyes flew from her delicious mouth to the rapid pulse at her neck. He should have held off, said maybe, or answered with his usual witty repertoire. Sodding hunger made him batty. So it didn’t surprise him—though he’d kick himself later he was certain—when he said, “Yes.”

Chapter Five

Senator McDonald’s Office, Washington, DC

Jame kept to the shadows, intent on drawing as little attention as possible. Her eyes skittered through the darkness. Empty. Perfect. She wanted no witnesses to their escapades. The vacant alley suited her purpose. Sorely tempted to knock out some streetlamps just to be on the safe side, she settled for skimming the perimeter.

“When you said a job, I assumed it meant satisfying your desires, luv.” Drake breathed into her ear, not quite low enough to suit her need for stealth, but the right tone to send goosebumps over her skin. She shook off the feeling to concentrate on their task.

He had insisted on driving and then groused the entire ten-minute ride. Standing next to her in the narrow space between two buildings, he practically oozed frustration…and something else. Something that bordered on…excitement? She grumbled. “You’ve always got some dirty thought or another on your mind.”

A flicker of light sparked in the depths of his eyes. “Better than sneaking around like some blokes in the middle of the night.”

“If you didn’t want to get involved, then you shouldn’t have said yes,” she whispered and pushed him farther away from the streetlights. Her backpack smacked against her shoulders as she hugged the wall. “Stop complaining and get with the program, vampire.”

“And pray tell, what is your plan?” He followed her lead. His body flattened against the wall, dangerously close to her side.

She shuddered when his hand accidentally brushed her thigh. Chancing a quick peek at him, he flashed a cheeky grin. Maybe it wasn’t so accidental. “Focus,” she snapped. “I told you, we’re going to check out Senator McDonald’s office. See if we can find anything that would connect Decoder’s death to the code black.”

“There’s no evidence to link the crimes.” He shifted closer still, casting his shadow over her. His long black trench coat flowed to mid-thigh. The material acted as a cloak, suited to the darkness.

“That’s why we’ve got to find some.” Jame ignored his nearness—at least she tried to—and crept toward the back entrance of the office building. The senator had chosen a plain old two-story place far away from the jumbo glass offices of downtown DC. The remote, unobtrusive building would provide the perfect amount of privacy for a senator. It also made sneaking in a whole helluva lot easier. Thank all for small favors.

A green metal dumpster stood in their path. Using it as coverage, she ducked with the vampire on her heels. A low-grade security camera rested above the steel door. She lifted the top of the trash receptacle. The stench of so much filth invaded her nose. She gave an unladylike snort and quickly scanned the garbage. In the nearest corner, she spied a cardboard box. That’ll work. With a throw worthy of an MLB pitcher—thank you mom and Seattle Little League Softball—the box flew across the alley. The camera tracked the movement.

“Motion sensitive.” She pointed in the direction the camera followed.

Drake raised an eyebrow, giving her a No Kidding expression. He shrugged. “Does it matter? We are special agents, no?”

“Yes, but I’d prefer this little rendezvous to be strictly off-record.” She slid the backpack from her shoulder and unzipped it. “If we find something, we’ll bag and tag it. But if not…”

“If not, you’d rather the bigwigs upstairs didn’t know you spent time investigating a cold case.” Drake rested his head against the cement. His nose turned up enough to convey an aristocratic smugness—the appearance courtesy of an elitist upbringing in nineteenth-century London. Or at least Jame thought it was London. Maybe it was Oxford? Ah hell, the arrogant bastard was English one way or the other, and a pain in the ass all the same.

“Something like that.” She rolled her head along her shoulders, working the kinks out of her neck.

“That why you’ve brought me along instead of your pal, the mutt?” His cheeks sucked in a touch, making him look sort of like a goldfish. A lethal one. Pet Sematary creepy. Bleh.

She’d never seen that type of reaction from him. Was he…? “Are you jealous of Slick?”

He half laughed, half coughed, a strangled sound. “Oh luv, don’t joke like that. I’ll die from the humor.” His hand waved like a flag, dismissing the matter. “I meant only that the mongrel’s usually your chosen partner. Not that I’m complaining about your choice, mind you. I am far better,” he paused with a wry smile, “well, at everything.”

Her eyes shot skyward, begging the heavens for patience. “Slick will be going back to District Thirteen after we solve the code black.” She ran her knuckles along her collarbone absently. “He was my partner for four years, but I can’t afford to keep that up. I’m team leader now, and he’s only here temporarily.” And she wasn’t about to put Slick in any more danger after last year’s fiasco. Cold day in hell.

“I see.” Drake made that same sucking face with his cheeks.

She hid a smile behind her hand, banishing thoughts of her first failed attempt in the leader spot. The vampire’s narrowed eyes and grim expression chased away memories of the past. She choked down the laughter. Definitely jealous. Isn’t that… Using her bag as a distraction, she rifled through it. Isn’t it what? Nice? Do I want him jealous? She tried to bite back her wayward thoughts. That path led to trouble.

At the bottom of the backpack, the can of black spray paint provided the perfect interruption. She pulled it free and slammed the lid on everything except their mission. “Time to put your money where your mouth is Drake. Think you can spray the lens without the camera catching you?”

His chin shot up higher, making him look haughtier than before, if it was possible. “Child’s play.” He swiped the can from her and disappeared. A breeze fluttered in his wake.

Jame didn’t have time to close her empty hand, before he had returned. She glanced over the dumpster at the camera. Her jaw dropped. A thick coat of black paint covered the lens. She sank into a crouch. “Okay, I’ll admit it.” Holding the bag open, she motioned for Drake to toss the can in. It landed with a dull thud. “That was impressive.”

“Naturally,” he said, huddling beside her. “What now, luv?”

Her backpack rested against her knees. She extracted a kit full of long metal tools from the bag. The sleek moon shone down, reflecting off the dumpster and onto the silver-coated instruments. A smile pulled at the corner of her lips. “Now it’s my turn.”

Keeping low, Jame darted around the dumpster and knelt in front of the door. No deadbolts? Stupid. She flipped through the tools, searching for the tension wrench. The small perpendicular hook on the end fit perfectly into the lower part of the lock. Turning it, she applied pressure to the cylinder inside. Once in place, she maneuvered the second tool, her pick, into the keyhole. One by one she worked on the pins until she heard a click. The lock slid open. “Bingo.”

Stuffing the tool kit into an inside pocket of her leather jacket, she whistled softly for Drake. He slid around the dumpster with ease and grace, his tall frame out of place in the dirty alley, with a backpack too small for him slung over his arm. She inhaled and allowed her eyes to roam his body for a moment. Just one little second to travel from the top of his spiky hair over his strong jaw to the chiseled muscles at his waist and lower.

“See something you like, luv?” His voice rumbled from his throat.

She bit her lip. The shifter energy rose under her skin, a panther’s vigor calling to her. A terrible urge to shift into the sleek feline with her raw power and poise, and then run that rough cat tongue over the vampire sent her senses—and hormones—into overdrive. It took all her willpower to take the backpack without touching him and step into the building.

Drake walked behind her, his heat like a living fire, too close for her to think clearly.

“Give me some damn breathing room, bloodsucker.” She spun around and punched him in the chest. Her heart thudded against her ribs, arousal a sweet aroma that seeped from her skin. She knew he could sense it and cringed at the thought.

His eyes widened, black circles matching the night. “Bloodsucker?” He didn’t move. Not an inch. “Since when do you use that word? You never even use vamp, and that’s only half as rude.” His eyes narrowed into pinpricks of darkness.

“Since you started trying to use that vampire mojo on me.” Her breaths turned into pants. That’s why she had to be so affected by him, right? She cursed her double-crossing body and turned her back on him—again.

“Mojo? Wait, you think I’m…what? Compelling you?” A gruff noise, something between a laugh and a grunt, came from the vampire. He sped around, blocking her path.

“Hey!” Jame drew back her fist to sock him one more time.

He circled her wrist, his fingers strong, yet gentle upon her skin. Cold intent wafted like a storm wind from his body. “Hear me, now. Not many vampires have such a talent.” His dark gaze bore into hers. “Those that do dare not use it in such a vile manner as robbing a woman of her free will. And if one did or even tried, they would pay dearly. Do you understand?”

A small pang of guilt crept up her spine, but curiosity reared its head. “Who would hold them accountable?”

“You forget there are far older instruments of,” his fangs poked from his mouth, “justice than your PCD.”

“Like your maker, Strife? Like your vigilante cronies, Veritas?” An arctic chill swept through her body, shaking her bones.

“Why do you insist on making them the enemy? Talon agreed to the alliance. The other leaders back him up.” He shook his head, a hint of grief behind his eyes. His pointed teeth returned to the same length as the rest of his canines. “Veritas may have its faults, but they are an organization that keeps humans and all of our kind, all supernaturals, safe from true monsters.”

“And what are vampires, Drake, if not true monsters?”

He released her hand and jumped as if burned. His words, however, held ice. A rough edge that cut worse than any knife. “What are shifters?” He turned without awaiting an answer and disappeared down the hall.

Chapter Six

Outer Loop of the Capital Beltway, Washington, DC

Slick rode the leftmost lane, reveling in the joyride and minimal traffic at this late hour. The black sedan sure as shit didn’t drive as smooth as his Corvette, home in Phoenix, but he never really bought too much into the car craze. If it had an engine and could go above eighty mph, he considered it good. Syncing his phone to the car’s radio system, he spoke the directions. “Call Meg.”

“Calling Meg,” the computer droned in a feminine voice.

After two rings, a far more alluring sound sizzled over the line. “Well hello, stranger.”

A grin popped on his face. “Hey there, sexy.”

“Hey yourself. What’s doing in DC?” Meg’s sultry tone ignited his blood like flames striking oil.

“Oh, you know, usual. Bad guys, crime, mystery. It’s all very boring without you.” He lowered his voice, trying to expel the gravel.

“I’ll bet. The fun starts with me.” A confident smile shone in her words.

“Of course, baby doll.” He eased back in the driver’s seat, keeping a firm hand on the wheel. “Now, more importantly, what’re you wearing?”

“You’re too much.” She laughed. “What can I do for you?” Clearing her throat, she added, “Keep it clean or you’ll be punished.”

“Promises, promises.” He tapped the steering wheel and conjured up her image in his mind. Last time he had seen her she had aqua and navy streaked through her brown hair. Though what color she decided on this week, he couldn’t say. The changes alluded to her playful nature. He found that innocent side mixed with her fierce intelligence proved a potent combination. On a groan, he switched gears. “All right sweetness, business then. We’ve got a situation here.”

“Tall, dark, and handsome, you read my mind.” Clicks and clacks bounded over the car’s speakers. “Talon told me about the code black. I’m already logged into the NeuroNet and pulling up dirt.” Meg, along with her twin Mack, was one of the few psykes in the world able to tap into the internet using the NeuroNet system. Their psyke ability proved better than any supercomputer.

He counted in his mind, waiting for her keyboard tapping to subside. “Not surprised you’re already on it.”

“Ha! Three thousand, seven hundred, and twenty-eight hits. Child’s play.” The tap-tap-tapping continued.

“Whoa, Meg. Slow down.” He sighed. The highway exit loomed ahead, signaling the way back to the city and the end of his little excursion. “Look, the code black is an active case, so technically it’s under Mack’s jurisdiction.” A hush fell louder than a bomb. “Meg?”

“Blast!” Her high-pitched cry pierced his eardrum. “My dang brother’s pulling the district card, isn’t he? He was so pissed when we got that code black in Arizona last year. It just figures he wouldn’t let me work this one with him.”

“Sweetness, I won’t tell if you won’t.” Slick rubbed his ear and winced. That girl had a set of lungs on her. “So, fire away to your heart’s content. I’m sure Jame will appreciate anything you come up with. But…” He paused a heartbeat to draw her in.

“Oh, come on now.” She huffed. “Don’t keep me guessing. But what?”

“Well, you know the gal Jame replaced? The former team leader for District One?” Slick slowed down as a wall of brake lights came into view. He resisted the urge to beep at the ridiculous traffic. Nothing should be blocking his way at this time of night.

“Jennifer Carroway, tag name Decoder.” Meg exhaled a long breath. “I keep a mental record of every agent, Dane. She died last month.”

He stiffened at his birth name on her lips. She alone had the right to call him by that name, not that he ever let her know that small fact. “Yes,” he said after a pause. “Mack declared it a cold case. But we think the code black may have been linked to her death.”

“Wait.” The line went silent for a moment. Slick envisioned Meg chewing on her favorite pencil—the apple green one with some fluffy ball on the end. Sure enough, the sound of chewing came through the call. “Why would Mack call a cold case on an agent’s death? And only after a month?” A different tapping noise, one of a pencil hitting a desk now. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Couldn’t say why, but he did.” Slick stopped at the traffic signal. The lights of downtown DC glared at him from behind the windshield. “Best to check with him, I guess. But will you look into it for us?”

“Yeah, of course.” More tapping. More chewing. “I just dunno why he’d close it. And so soon? Makes no sense.”

“I’m sure he had a good reason, Meg.” Her words sent a chill over his skin. He’d wondered the same thing. “FYI, Decoder died while investigating Senator McDonald, and one of the code black victims—”

“Was Senator McDonald.” Meg finished for him. “Yeah, I’m getting the scoop off the local boys’ report.” She grumbled a few choice phrases about the DC police. “Why haven’t they run background on all the vics yet?”

“You know how it works in DC, Meg.” A row of pristine townhouses came into view. He counted them as he rounded the corner and drove down the street. “Every step the blue boys make needs to be approved by about ten higher-ups.”

“Ugh.” A groan that sounded almost shifter in nature.

Slick grinned. “Uh huh, my thoughts exactly.”

“Well, I can run background checks on all of them now. But I’d start with scoping out the victims’ homes, jobs, blah blah. You know the drill.”

“Sure do.” He swerved to the side of the road and brought the car to a stop. The sixth house from the southwest corner of Victory Lane rose before him. “Jame sent us home for the night, but I figured extra hours never hurt anyone.” He rummaged in his jeans pocket for a little slip of paper. The address he wrote down earlier matched the gold plated thirteen above the red door.

“Dane…” His birth name on her lips again. Another shiver ran down his spine.

“I can handle it.” He freed the phone from the car’s system and cradled it against his ear. “No problem.”

“You’re alone. Whatever you’re planning to do can wait, or call for backup.” Her words came out shaky. A plea. “I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Cold sweat tickled his neck. The last time he had gone to scope a lead, he had wound up beaten, poisoned…paralyzed. Temporarily, thank all. Won’t happen. His fingers twitched at the memory of the toxic gas filling the room. Convulsions had wracked his body until his muscles atrophied. He couldn’t even blink away the moisture in his eyes. Worst of all, he’d dragged Jame into the mess and watched as the bastard who had trapped them slammed his fists over and over into her limp body.

A heaving sigh echoed in his ear and dragged him to the present. “I’m tracking you now. I know you’re at Senator McDonald’s house.” Two beeps sounded on the line. “That’s to prevent the call from going dead. Super satellite feed that’ll cut through all but the thickest walls. You keep on the phone with me every second. Something goes wrong, I’m calling in help. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned, though she couldn’t see it. No one cared about the PCD teams like Meg did. She’d once told him the agents were her chicklets and she the mama hen. The knowledge had filled an empty ache in his chest. Although frankly, if she played the hen, then he damn well was gonna be the rooster. Not some chickie. “Can you hear me?” He slipped the phone in his pocket and hooked a mic around his right ear.

“Loud and clear. You’re good to go.” She coughed. “Or you can be smart and check this out tomorrow with a partner.”

“You’re my partner tonight, baby doll.” He sucked in a breath. “Now let’s see if we can find what the senator’s hiding.”

Chapter Seven

Senator McDonald’s Office, Washington, DC

Jame stood frozen in place. Had she really said that to Drake? Called him a monster? Slick always had a problem with vampires, not her. She believed in treating everyone equally. Almost. She might make an exception for the phage. Yet even they deserved a fair trial. Maybe. Probably. On her best day she believed people shouldn’t be defined by their type, whether shifter or vampire or other. They were all individuals with potential for good or bad. So why did she name him…ah them, vampires, monster?

Is that really what you believe? An image of her mother, crying in her old bedroom flashed before her eyes. Men are scum, baby. Don’t ever forget that. Jame shook her head, trying to expel the memory.

“Weak. So weak.” Her boots scraped across the office floor. She struggled to catch up to Drake as he disappeared down the hall. One flash of arousal and you’re ready to run for the hills. Real mature. Real brave, fearless leader. If a bottomless pit opened in the middle of the floor and swallowed her up, she would count her blessings. A second or two later, no holes in the floor. Gratitude, it seemed, would be in short supply today.

Passing a break room with a mini kitchen, a Spartan style bathroom, a filing room… Filing room? Her rubber soles squeaked as she jerked to a stop. Peering inside, she spotted rows of floor-to ceiling-square drawers. In the center of the back wall rested a picture and a small desk with computer atop it. The painting depicted a single red barn in a green pasture. Old McDonald had a farm.

Shifter eyesight sufficed for the overall layout, but if she wanted a look at those files—and oh, how she craved a peek—she needed some light. Her hand fiddled along the interior wall. Come on. A quick flick and humming fluorescents cast a harsh stream of white throughout the room. She crept inside. No trace of the fire that killed Decoder remained in this space. Come to think of it, the entire back of the office appeared untouched by the blaze. How’s that possible?

With more questions than answers, Jame wandered toward the computer and took a seat atop the desk. Where the heck do I start? Her fingers tapped over the keys. No power surged through the machine, so the screen stayed black. Not being a techie, she didn’t bother booting it up. Although she was definitely swiping the PC tower and sending it straight to Meg—or Mack. Yeah, Mack. Crap, she hated working with the male counterpart of the genius psyke twins. Meg was way more social. Mack, on the other hand, not so much.

Why wouldn’t local cops have confiscated this before? Her nails tapped a syncopated rhythm over the J-K-L-; keys until her gaze wandered to the desk’s narrow drawers. The top right drawer just below the mouse pad stood slightly ajar. Hopping from her perch on the desk, she looped her index finger and thumb through the drawer’s handle and tugged. It slid open. She titled her head. Inside lay a plain black book.

“Little black book, Senator?” She eyed the four-by-four inch square with interest. The cheap leather cover smelled of something foul, secrets. Her hunch proved partially correct. Instead of phone numbers for escort services and questionable people, she found dates, names, times, locations. “Ah. The date book. Even better.”

She flicked to March 18, the date of Decoder’s death. Under the letter block heading, the handwritten scribbles told an interesting story. Her eyes widened for a second and then narrowed to slits. She sucked in a breath as she deciphered the scratchy writing. “A. F. 10p.m.” Turning the paper sideways, she tried to find the connection, a hidden message maybe. “A. F. Adriana Farrington and the Senator. You knew each other before the Capitol murder. But how?”

“I know someone who might be able to tell us.”

She dropped the book and jerked her head up. Drake’s voice startled her from her musings. He loomed in the doorway, one booted foot crossed over the other, his back against the wooden frame. She should have sensed him sooner, but Adriana’s name in the Senator’s book caught her off guard. A defense she couldn’t afford to let down, especially not with the cocky vampire. His rich wine scent, a heady merlot, reached her nose mixed with…

“Why do you smell like smoke?” she blurted.

“Trying to tell you.” He angled his head, motioning toward the hall. “Found something.”

She watched him slink around the doorframe, silent and sleek as a shadow. Her eyebrows rose at his retreat. “He’s baiting you,” she said under her breath. Her molars ground together. She needed to get this straightened out between them. You’re the boss. He’s your agent. Nothing less and definitely, without question, nothing more. Simple. Easy. Riiight.

Stuffing the address book into the inside of her jacket, she struck her toolkit and foldable knife. She tried her cargo pants, found the side pockets loaded down with spare bullets and pepper spray. “This is ridiculous.” Growling, she shoved it into her boot and hit her military knife. “For Pete’s sake.” Finally, she flicked it into the waistband of her pants and called it good.

Traipsing after him, she stopped two feet shy of the front room. Her pulse pounded, heart caught in her throat. “Sweet mother of…what the hell happened?”

“A fire,” he said, refraining ever so kindly from adding duh to the end of it. Charred remains littered the room. A blackened desk here. A burnt chair there. The windows that hadn’t been broken or boarded up retained streaks of gray ash. Papers, file folders, documents, even computers must have disintegrated in the blaze. Not a shred of evidence anywhere, only the remnants of an office.

Thank gods it didn’t spread to the back. She tapped the address book against her waist. But why was it still there for the finding?

“Doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Drake crossed an arm over his chest and rested his elbow on it. He placed his free hand under his jaw. His muddled accent thickened to a more native English dialect. “So Watson, what do you make of it?”

Her lips quaked. “Seriously, I would so be Sherlock Holmes, not you.”

“The shifter thing, maybe. Being female, sure.” His black eyes danced with mischief. “But an American Holmes? I don’t think so.”

“Elementary, my dear Watson.” She snickered at her attempt at an accent.

Drake gave an overexaggerated sigh and clasped his forehead. He rubbed his temples, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Bloody Americans.” A second later, he waved his hand and said, “Moving on. Let me show you what I found.”

“Now, now, don’t be mad just because you’d be Watson.” She smiled and followed him to a spot in the center of the room.

“Yes, all right.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into a crouch. “Be a good little detective, put your face to the ground, and take a big whiff.”

Her cheeks flamed at his comment, creating pinpricks of heat under her skin. “You want me to sniff the floor? I’m a shifter, not a bloodhound.”

“Well if you think it’ll help you get a better scent, then by all means change to a dog.”

The tips of her ears burned. A molten fire coursed through her body. “Now look here—”

He cupped a hand over her mouth before she could finish her tirade. The motion only made her madder. She damn near bit him, but he clasped his hand tighter. “Before you go off half cocked at me again, think for a second.” He pointed to the ground with his free hand. “The front office is burnt worse than an albino wandering the desert.”

She snorted at his analogy but nodded. His hand still clamped over her lips.

“Glad you agree.” He released her and pointed to the hall. “But the back rooms are free and clear. Now if you’d put your face to the ground like I said, you would figure out why.” Rising, he motioned to the floor and tapped his foot to an annoying beat.

“Okay. I’ll smell the damn floor. Jeez.” Already overloaded with the smoky musk and layers of dust, she cringed at having to inhale a deeper scent. But if the vampire insisted, then something must be up. She opted for the jaguar’s nose. The jungle cat’s keen sense of smell instantly took in the underlining aromas that she had missed. “Is that sulfur?”

“Yes.” He all but whispered the word. His eyes glazed over, a darker shadow behind the rich black. “It’s finatite. An almost odorless chemical not even shifters can detect unless they’re within inches of the compound.”

She rose to her full height, cocked her chin, and met his eye. “How did you know it was here then?”

He swooped down and brushed his index finger across the floor. “See that.” Rising, he showed her the tip of his finger. A streak of red and yellow coated his skin. “In its passive state it leaves a powdered residue behind.”

Her stomach churned. “And when it’s active?”

“It explodes.” He wiped the finatite off his hand and grabbed her wrist. “Come on. That’s not all.”

Jame pulled her arm free. “Wait. How do you know about this…finatite stuff?”

“Came across it working for Veritas. It’s popular with the terrorist groups. Easy to produce, cheap to make, and effective.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” Her chest tightened. How could PCD not be aware of it?

As if reading her thoughts, he said, “Why would you? PCD deals with in-house supernatural criminals. Terrorists are international affairs.” He motioned her toward the far wall. A picture lay mostly burnt in a metal frame. “Veritas doesn’t know country borders. They go where they need to.”

“Vigilantes know no boundaries, I guess, huh?”

He grunted. “Let us not get into your hang-ups with Veritas again, okay? Besides we may be working with them soon.”

“Oh yeah?” She widened her stance, cocked her hip to the side, and crossed her arms, her power stance. Hey at four—okay three and a half—inches over five feet, she’d take the advantages she could get. “What makes you say that?”

“Get that pretty feline nose ready. Although, I don’t think you’ll need the extra help.” He thumbed at the wall. “Have a sniff.”

“Rainstorm and roses,” she murmured. The invigorating fresh scent hummed through her with hints of floral after a spring shower. Her head swam in the aroma until she came to her senses. She cursed. “Your maker. Strife.”

“Yes. It looks like she was here.” Drake swept his hand over the picture frame.

Under the crushed glass and blackened soot, Jame could discern an image of the sun and a few words that read Solar Energy. The Future is Now. She groaned at the eco-friendly message. If Decoder received a lead on the senator being linked to a wanted criminal, then the goodie-goodie, environmentally conscious image was either a front, or the senator had a darker side. And the three hundred-year-old vampire bitch was about as dark as they came.

“So, looks like Strife is the link. Maybe she’s the wanted criminal that had ties to Senator McDonald.” Jame slanted her eyes and folded her arms across her chest.

“Yes, because all vampires are monsters. Thus, my maker must be the criminal.” Drake’s gaze darkened to an impossible, endless black.

She stiffened. Her earlier words acted as a cold wind between them. “I didn’t mean…” She took a step forward to lay a hand on his arm but stopped herself. “I’m sorry.”

He waved it off as if it held no consequence. “No matter.” His lids fell to half-mast. Bedroom eyes. She bit her lip and the tension between them fell away. A blush crept into her cheeks, and she suddenly became fascinated by her boots.

He chuckled and then paced twice from the picture to the center spot and back. He stopped at the point where they had found the finatite powder. “Strife’s a killer, make no mistake of that. But she despises politics.” He crouched once more, staring at the floor. “No, it’s more likely that she was Decoder’s lead. Besides, if you breathe deeper, you’ll notice her scent is not as old as the rest.”

Her eyes followed his finger as he pointed at the picture again. She inhaled. “You’re right. It is fresher than the others.” Shifting her nose to normal, she walked over to the burnt spot in the center of the room. “If she’s the lead, then we need to find her.”

“Won’t be a problem.” Drake’s brow furrowed.

“Great, so then what’s bugging you?” She rested her hand gently against his arm. Her own extra form of apology for earlier.

Fire flashed in his eyes. She drew away. He looked at the spot her hand had been, then into her face. “I’m not sure. Something feels,” he fished inside his coat pocket and sighed, “off.”

Jame trailed her gaze from the closest wall to the farthest and everywhere in between. “I know what you mean. I wish we could’ve been first on the scene. Back office doesn’t even look like it was touched, but this,” she waved her hand at the burned room, “it doesn’t seem right. I don’t see how local boys could have missed it all, let alone Dee and the Old Man.”

Extracting a lighter from his jacket, he fiddled with the small gold contraption. He stared intently at the spot on the floor but said nothing.

Sliding her backpack from her shoulder, she searched inside. When she found the small baggies, she took one out along with a plastic tube. With careful movements, she swept the remains of the finatite powder inside the tubing and then secured it in the bag. “Let’s swipe the computer in the back and get this stuff to Meg. Maybe she can figure out what the hell is going on here.”

He didn’t budge.

“Drake?” She rose and squeezed his shoulder. “Come on. We need to go.”

“It’s not right,” he mumbled.

“I know. We’ll figure it out.” When he still refused to budge, she shook him. “Hey, vampire, get a grip.”

He turned his head to her. Red swirled in the depths of his black eyes. “It’s not right.”

“Drake?” She caught him under the chin and brought their faces inches apart. “I need you to focus. You have to contact Strife. We need to get this evidence to Meg. Get up, and let’s go.”

“Strife?” He whispered the vampire’s name. His skin grew hot under her palm.

Faster than she could let out a cry, he rose and flipped her behind him. The motion made her dizzy. She staggered and gripped his hips for support. He draped an arm around her shoulders and drew her to his side. When she regained her equilibrium, she looked up to find a vampire’s dark eyes burning into hers, and they didn’t belong to Drake.

Chapter Eight

Underground Sewer System, Washington, DC

“Where the hell are we going?” Drake gritted through his teeth. His fangs tore a wicked path into his lower lip. The pathetic bit of blood bag from earlier hadn’t assuaged his hunger enough to be dealing with this shit. His maker had a way of getting under his skin and pressing all his buttons at the same damn time. Not to mention that she could sense his whereabouts through their shared blood, although he didn’t know how far that connection stretched. “Strife, it bloody stinks down here. Can we get on with it?”

He tucked Jame closer to his side, refusing to let her go with the other vampire so near. Not that he thought Strife would hurt her, mind you, but rather the other way round. Jame fumed enough to singe him with that shifter energy right through his coat.

“The only reason we followed you into this filth is for information.” Jame’s clenched jaw punctuated each word with a growl. She didn’t fight his hold around her shoulders. Thank the gods. Her blood pumped too wild in her veins and, likely, she didn’t trust herself not to shift anymore than he did. She snarled. “I want answers.”

Strife halted and spun to face them. Her cool eyes shone like obsidian in the near darkness. Her midnight hair and all-black clothes stood in stark contrast to her pale skin. Murky water flowed around her feet, sloshing at her boots. “I apologize for our surroundings.” Her thick formal accent came straight from another time and place. Even Drake found the inflection barely recognizable, an English of a forgotten era. “After sensing Drake’s blood at the senator’s office, I knew I had to speak with you. I am afraid the only safe place in this town to speak is in its underground.”

“So we’re walking in sewers because you’re afraid to talk.” Jame’s rage tinged a palpable force at his side. He gripped her tighter.

“My dear, special agent…” In a blink, Strife stood before them, inches from Drake’s chest. She locked eyes with the shifter. “I fear nothing.”

Hell unleashed before he recognized the nightmare. Jame shifted into a damn mountain lion as Strife bit down. Drake cursed. The vampire’s teeth landed in his arm and the shifter’s claws swiped his ribs. He roared his anger. “Enough!”

Strife’s eyes widened as she retracted her fangs. Blood spilt from the wound, but his maker sealed the injury with her tongue. Jame’s lioness body pulsed with energy. Her snarls soon grew quiet as her golden eyes tracked the cut across his ribs.

“Strife, grant me a favor and keep a good fifteen feet back.” He dared not give her a command, but he put enough force into the request to make it clear. He would allow no argument.

“As you wish, my child.” The sound of the water below alone indicated her steps. She waited at the other end of the tunnel.

Drake shrugged free of his coat. With her sudden shift, Jame hadn’t time to remove her clothes. The torn pieces lay in the murky water. He draped the coat around her lioness body, then turned to give her privacy and salvage what he could. Her weapons pushed the shredded material to the bottom of the slime. “Perfect,” he muttered, driving his hand into the filth and fishing out her arsenal one piece at a time.

“Thank you,” she said.

His heart beat double time as he took in the sight of her. The trench coat swallowed her petite body and fell to her ankles. She’d belted it as best she could by looping a piece of her discarded pants about her waist. Her black hair with those blonde streaks clung to her face, the strands having broken free of her ponytail with the shift. His mouth watered. Everything was wrong, the disgusting sewer, her disheveled appearance, the presence of his maker, but still he had never wanted her more. The very thought of that coat—his coat—touching her bare skin made him hard. “Bleeding hell.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Amusement lit up her face, a glimmer in her eyes. “At least my boots are good.” She kicked her feet in the water to show her prize.

He groaned. His Kitty possessed minx blood, or maybe a siren, or a nymph. Hell, maybe she was the devil incarnate, because temptation burned his blood to boiling. He had to look away. Definitely. Like now. Any minute he’d pull his gaze from her…

“Drake, this tries my patience.”

And there’s the cold shower. He peered into the shadows. Strife’s rainstorm voice matched her scent. It speared him like icicles all over his skin. He should be grateful for the distraction, but yeah, no. “You’re kidding. And I just love slinking around the bloody sewers.”

“Give that mouth of yours a rest.” Her low laughter tinked like fat drops on an aluminum can. With her humor came her modified speech, a shield she used to adapt with the times. Though she had trouble, she had once told him, deciphering American idioms. Still, she tried. “Before that display of shifter bravado—”

“Strife,” Drake warned. He did not want Jame going all feline on him again. At least not until they were alone. He grinned at the thought.

“Yes, yes, very well.” Strife flicked her wrist at their surroundings. “I’m afraid we have to meet here to talk with any semblance of privacy.” Her chin tilted up. “You see, politicians might be rats, but they will not get their feet wet. The sewer is the safest place to speak without fear of our words reaching their ears.”

“Why would you be worried about politicians?” Jame said. She stepped closer to Drake. Her delicious orange scent tickled his nose, giving him a reprieve from the stench of garbage. He tucked her into his side once more and then winced. “Drake?” She jumped back and eyed his ribs. “Oh. Sorry about that.”

He draped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her back in—gentler this time. “No worries, Kitty. I heal quickly. Just sore.”

Strife cleared her throat. “As I was saying.” She snapped her fingers. “Politicians are rats, as surely you’ve learned from your recent case.”

“What do you know about it?” Jame’s gritted teeth didn’t help their cause.

He whispered in her ear, “Easy.”

“Quite a bit. I asked Agent Carroway for help in the matter some time ago.” Strife’s voice dropped an octave, the tone a signal that Drake knew from the connection to her, the bond of blood. She battled her emotions. Ones that she tried to lock safely away.

“You were Decoder’s lead then?” Jame radiated the shifter energy, yet it pulsed with less force than before.

“Yes.” Her admission pierced his chest. Strife felt sadness over the dead agent. He knew it as surely as if he suffered the grief. She continued, “I tracked Adriana to this city and found her resuming her old job as the phage lobbyist. She was looking for a method to get back into the good graces of the phage queen, Reyna, and sought out Senator McDonald.”

“Why? What purpose would she have with the senator?” Drake narrowed his eyes. His maker hid something from them.

“Your lab results will tell you that, I’m certain.” Strife waved it off. “No matter.”

Jame took a step forward, but Drake held her firmly about the shoulders. She didn’t fight his hold. “I found a planner in the senator’s office. It indicated a meeting between him and Adriana on the night of Decoder’s death.”

“Yes.” Strife’s body sagged. An invisible weight appeared to press her into the floor. “I called Decoder that same night. I knew of the meeting and asked her to search the senator’s office while I tracked Adriana to the location.” Her voice lowered yet more. “But the phage somehow managed to evade me. I went to help Agent Carroway instead.” Her floral rainstorm scent encompassed the tunnel, washing away the harsh stenches. “By the time I arrived, fire personnel surrounded the building. The night sky blazed with golden flames.”

“Gold?” A nagging thought plagued Drake. So off. The same feeling as in the senator’s office before. Yet he couldn’t place the emotion or the reason behind it. He bit his tongue in frustration.

“From the finatite?” Jame rested her hand against his rib cage at the spot where she’d struck him.

Warmth circled his heart at the contact. He tried not to flinch away. Oh, the wound already healed, but her gentle touch could be his undoing—or worse, hers. He ran his fingers through his hair. So not the time for this. He focused on her question. “Yeah, guess it could be. Strife?”

“I know not, my child.” She sighed, the sound like a single harp’s chord. “I know only that I failed the young agent. She died for my foolishness. I should not have sent her to his office when I knew not the extent of the danger.”

“How could you know?” Jame whispered the words. “Regardless, she was a PCD agent. She knew the risk.”

Strife’s eyes widened at the same time as Drake’s. Vampires rarely received such sympathy, especially not from shifters. “Thank you, Agent Bradshaw. How very kind of you to say.” Strife took a step forward, only one and no more. The act meant to show respect. “Still we must not make the mistake of underestimating our enemy again.”

“And who exactly is the enemy?” Jame took one step forward as well.

Strife’s eyes glowed from their black depths. “I know not. But I fear these deaths shall not be the last.”

Chapter Nine

Senator McDonald’s Home, 13 Victory Lane, Washington, DC

Meg’s blood pounded in her ears. Nothing cut her as deep as being on the safe side of the danger zone. She didn’t kid herself into believing she was capable of field agent work. Her skills lay in her psyke abilities to track and analyze intel. But to sit back and put the agents—her agents—her friends, her family into terrible situations over and over again while she sat in her secret, highly guarded office. Ugh! It was maddening.

She stiffened as Slick’s voice sounded through the computer’s speakers. “Meg, you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here, Dane.” Her heart leapt to her throat. She always called him by his birth name, never his tag. A concession, she knew, he allowed no other. It warmed her heart to know she alone had that right. Although he’d never explicitly told her she could do so, he never denied her either.

“I’ve got the spy glasses you sent me in my pocket. Going to put them on so you track everything.” A second later, she heard his “Ah-ha!” and the click of the recorder.

She smiled. “They’re not spy glasses. It’s a highly specialized plastic, bound into a frame, which allows the spectral field to record and upload to a remote video feed on my computer.”

He shook his head, twisting the images left and then right. “Yeah, like I said, spy glasses.”

“You’re impossible.” She laughed.

“You like it,” he said, pure seduction in his voice. The video feed moved up and down.

Her heart slammed against her chest. Heat washed through her. “Would you keep your head straight,” she snapped. “You’re giving me whiplash.”

“Sorry.” A red door appeared on her monitor. His booted steps stomped over the line.

“Little quieter, no?” she whispered. A pointless endeavor since only Slick could hear her.

He snorted, but his footfalls did sound less heavy.

Meg’s eyes glued to the screen. Her breaths came out ragged. His hand fell on the doorknob and jiggled. The door cracked open without restraint. He stepped inside. His hand ran along the doorframe. The locks looked huge on the monitor. “Unlocked. No signs of forced entry.” He closed the door behind him and then checked the windows. The townhome had attached neighbors on each side and two lone windows at the front. “Windows are unlocked too.” He slid one open.

Meg could almost feel the night breeze as a lacy white curtain fluttered in the video feed. “Seems the senator wasn’t concerned about security.”

“No,” Slick said, creeping along the wall. He dodged around a burgundy sofa that appeared near black in the darkness. His gun crept into view on the edge of the screen. “Odd for a politician and a man who ends up the victim of a vicious murder.”

“Dane, you all right?” Her temples pounded, the blood rushing to her head. The sight of the gun set her on edge.

“Yeah, just being cautious.” He flicked on a flashlight as he made his way deeper into the home. The white circle shone like a ghost on the screen.

Meg gulped down the bile in her throat when Slick’s hands came into view. His right held the gun extended in front of him while the left crossed underneath holding the flashlight steady. The video feed reminded her of those disgusting shooter games Mack always made her play when they were kids, except this time she couldn’t control the gun. “Dane?”

“Nothing yet. Hang tight.” He walked around the edge of a dining room. The white circle glided over it, revealing ornate carvings in the wood. High-backed chairs with curved arms clashed with the motif, like something belonging to a Medieval castle, not a senator’s downtown townhouse. A china closet appeared next with the gaudiest cups—no, goblets—housed inside.

The silver plates that rested next to the goblets might have been pewter, but Meg doubted the senator cared for historical accuracy. And the high gloss shine hinted at silver. “Expensive taste,” she murmured.

“Think he was compensating for something?” Slick’s husky laugh brought a smile to her face.

“Probably.”

He laughed again and then continued forward. A stairwell appeared on the screen to his right. Beneath it, a doorway revealed a deep hall. He eased into the far corner, keeping his back to the wall, and crossed the floor to the hall. The light shot across the wood floor in a whipping motion. “I smell something.”

She held her breath. Every second of this investigation took years off her life.

The flashlight shone to the left, revealing an empty kitchen. He traced it along the black granite countertops to the top of the cherry cabinets and over the marble floor. “Nothing. Scent isn’t coming from the kitchen.”

He trekked down the hall and motioned the flashlight into a small bathroom. It showed beige tiled walls and a pristine porcelain sink.

“Anything?” Meg’s stomach clenched.

“Still nada.” Slick pointed toward the shower. “Smell some cleaning detergent, but it’s not what I’m looking for. Something else is bothering my nose. Real weak, but it’s there.”

“Maybe I should call for backup.” She bit her bottom lip.

“Chill, sweetness. We’ll find it.” The feed distorted for a second. Slick’s image appeared on the screen. The light shone bright white on his face. His dark brown hair curled to his ears. Eyes glistened to a brilliant green with golden flecks against the spotlight. He winked. The video spun around again to the hallway view.

Four heartbeats later, the hall led to a wood door. Slick opened it to a set of stairs leading down. He coughed. “Yup, this is the spot.” His hand patted the wall until Meg heard a faint click, and a single overhead bulb lighted the steps. He tucked the flashlight away.

“I don’t think you should go down there.” Her pulse quickened. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Maybe I should turn off the camera. I don’t want you to see this.”

“You know what’s down there?” She sucked in a breath and held it, almost as if she could pick the scents from Slick’s mind. Well, technically she could, not that she would. Sensory telepathy from her psyke heritage allowed her to hear in more ways than one. Using a person’s voice as a catalyst, she could follow the trail back to the original thought and see into a person’s mind. But invading someone’s personal space…wicked uncool. Give her the NeuroNet any day. She scrunched her nose.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea from the smell.” He gagged.

“What is it?” Her stomach clenched.

“Meg…”

“I’ve seen plenty of crime scene photos, Dane.” Her chin shot up, the movement lost on him since he couldn’t see her. So she put a good dose of haughty into her voice. “Don’t treat me like a child.”

“All right. Just be sure you got a bucket near you. The scent’s pretty strong.” He started down the staircase. Every clomp of his boots hitched up Meg’s pulse another notch. She held her breath. At the bottom, Slick swept his gaze around the room, making the video feed spin. After it righted again, Meg only had a brief two seconds before he ripped off the glasses and the feed showed nothing but the cement floor.

“Dane!” The two seconds were more than enough time for the image to burn into her brain. A pair of bodies rested on the dank gray floor, twisted in each other’s arms. Their limbs intertwined so that they looked like lovers in an embrace. If not for the unmistakable pallor of death marking their skin, and oh…their lost heads, it might have been romantic. She swallowed down half-digested chunks that threatened to come up, wishing she hadn’t decided on tuna salad for a late dinner. “Where are their heads?”

“Over in the corner,” Slick said.

“Pick up the glasses and let me see.” Meg hit her pen against the desk in a nervous rhythm.

“Trust me. You don’t want to see this.”

Her tapping increased. “I’m sure I don’t. But it’s my job. Lemme see.”

He sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The video shifted as Slick donned the glasses once more. His view encompassed the room’s entirety from the chains on the wall to the manacles attached to the victims’ wrists and ankles, and then finally to their decapitated heads in the corner.

Slick turned to look over the bodies. Bite marks littered the victims’ arms and legs. His hand showed on the screen as he yanked at one of the chains. “Hmm…the chains around their wrists and ankles bound them in close proximity.”

His tone spoke of detachment. It brought a chill down Meg’s spine. She admired Slick’s investigative skills, but the cold efficiency with which he worked…not so much. “So, ah, who were they?”

“Let’s find out.”

Her jaw dropped when Slick walked to the far side and bent to inspect the victims’ faces. “Ugh.” Her stomach rolled. The feed zoomed in, encompassing her monitor with bulging eyes, sunken cheeks, wide jaws, and two rows of pointed fangs. “Heaven help us. They were phage.” She gasped. “Why would the senator have phage locked in his basement?”

A crash like twisted metal cut through the line and screeched on her computer speakers. Slick’s gun appeared on the video feed. In a scratchy whisper he said, “Meg, I think it’s time to call for that back-up.”

Chapter Ten

Underground Sewer System, Washington, DC

“Meg, slow down. I can’t hear you.” Jame sloshed through the murky water, searching for the exit to the surface. The cell phone kept cutting out, but the words she had caught from Meg pushed her to get a move on.

“There.” Drake pointed to the end of the tunnel. Light flickered in steady beams between cracks at the street level. They raced for it. The ladder’s lowest rung glistened beneath the water with gods knew what type of slime.

“Meg said something about Slick.” Jame hauled ass, hand over hand to the street. “Couldn’t make it out. Think he’s in trouble.” The freezing water clung to the bottom of Drake’s coat, weighing her down and nipping at her bare legs. When she reached the manhole cover, warm hands encircled her calves. The vampire’s rough palms ran up and down her legs, chasing the cold away. “Drake?”

He stood on the ladder a few rungs below. “Can you get the top off?”

“Of course,” she snapped. The burning in her blood nearly turned her insides to jelly. She cursed at the way the damn vampire got under her skin from a simple touch, even breaking through her worry and eradicating her focus. “Let go of my legs.”

His answering hum floated to her ears. “Sure you want me to let go?”

With a snort, she shook him off and pushed at the manhole cover. It moved three inches from the ground. She scanned the area for cars before using her shifter strength to send the thing flying over the pavement. “Got it!”

They rushed free of the sewer. Jame pulled up the lost call on her phone while Drake chased down the cover and sealed it over the hole. Catching up to her, he shrugged. “No sense letting a car hit an eighteen-inch round pothole.”

“Good thinking.” She clamped the cell to her ear, waiting for the call to go through, and then looked over Drake’s shoulder. “Where’s Strife?”

“Strife is a three-hundred-year-old vampire. She comes and goes as she pleases.” He ushered her toward the opposite end of the street. The black sedan sat idle on the pavement. “She’s said her piece for now. No doubt she’ll show up again when she deems it necessary.”

“Wonderful.” Jame raised her eyebrows and then concentrated on the call. “Meg? You there?”

“Jame! You’ve got to get to Slick. I told him to go with a partner. He heard noises and he’s alone.” Meg spoke on a single breath, whooshing out the air like a balloon deflating.

“Easy, Meg. Tell me where he is.” She hopped in the passenger’s seat without argument when Drake’s hand grabbed the driver’s side handle. Slamming the door behind her, she punched the address Meg gave her into the GPS. “What’s he doing there?”

“It’s Senator McDonald’s house. He said you sent the team home for the night, but he couldn’t sleep.” Furious tapping pulsed over the line. “I tried to convince him to wait ’til tomorrow, but you know how he is.”

“Yeah, I do.” Jame clenched her jaw. “I just came from Senator McDonald’s office.”

A thud like a loose fist hitting a desk filled Jame’s ear. “Ow,” Meg cried. “Fudge!”

“You okay?” Her pulse quickened as Drake weaved the car through the convoluted GPS directions. “Meg?”

“No, I’m not okay.” Tears coated her words. Meg might be a psyke genius and a PCD agent, but her heart was too big for her own good.

Jame tried to ease her mind. “It’ll be all right, sweetie. We’ll get to him. It’s going to be okay.”

“I-I shouldn’t have l-let him go. I sh-should have called you.” Meg sniffled between words. “N-now I c-can’t get the satellite to w-work.”

“Hun, you know Slick does what he wants, when he wants. It’s not your fault.” Another hard turn took them into a residential area. Pristine townhouses lined the street. “We’re almost there. Hang tight.”

“D-don’t hang up. P-please.”

“I won’t. I’m putting the cell in my pocket and clipping the wireless to my ear.” A red door loomed from an all white home. The car stopped, double-parked in the middle of the street.

“This is it.” Drake waved toward the house and killed the ignition.

“Let’s go.” Jame wrapped Drake’s coat tighter around her, wishing like hell she wore something a little more fight ready. She sighed and palmed her soggy gun. The thing would still fire, despite suffering waterlog in the DC sewer. Didn’t matter. Her real weapon was herself.

She took a steadying breath. Drake walked a step behind her, a strong presence guarding her back. The vampire somehow calmed that queasiness churning in her gut, his solid strength a support she could easily cling to, not that she would allow that. Hell no. Can’t afford attachment. She huffed at her choice of words. Damn it. Now, I sound like Talon. Her lips quirked up in a grin as they approached the door. “Duty and honor first,” she murmured quietly, remembering her former leader’s words. Ah-ha, sure. Now the numb nuts is engaged.

Drake stepped beside her and quirked an eyebrow. “Care to share?”

Her smile fell. Sweat trickled down her neck. He stared at her with those intense black eyes. She turned to glare at the red door. “Nope.”

“Let me,” he said and wrapped his hand around the doorknob. A slight twist and the door slid open.

Jame reclaimed the lead and swept her gaze over the interior. Dark as it was inside, she kept her eyes focused on any movements from the shadows. Before taking a step into the home, she took stock. Living room on the left, couch and big screen TV, nowhere to hide. Two paces inward. Dining room. Gods-awful kitschy table and china closet, no hiding spots there either. She hugged the wall. Staircase to the right and a hallway, bingo. Now which way?

She whispered into her wireless, “Meg, where did Slick go when he got here?”

“Into the basement. There’s an entrance at the end of the hall on the main floor.” Meg’s voice whispered in her ear through the headset. “Jame…”

“Yeah, Meg?” Trying to make out the agent’s hushed words were becoming a struggle. “What’s up?”

“There’s bodies…in the basement.”

“What?” Jame couldn’t hide her surprise. “You certain?”

“Y-yes.”

“Okay, got it.” Jame motioned for Drake to keep going forward. “Thanks for the heads up. We’ll handle it.” The psyke was on a fine edge. Not a time to push her. They would take care of whatever the hell was in that basement.

Drake had taken two steps ahead of her, then turned. “Where we heading?”

“That way, basement,” she said pointing toward the hall, “but keep your voice low and your feet light.”

He flashed a smug grin. “Not a problem.” He reached the far side of the room before she even blinked.

She followed with as little noise as she could manage, taking only the necessary breath to whisper, “Showoff.” When she heard her boot squeak on the wood floor, she winced. Stopping for a heartbeat, she searched the shadows once more for any signs they had been discovered.

Drake huffed and shot her a clear Hurry up look before continuing down the hall.

“Damn vampires,” she muttered and quickened her steps. Dread flooded her. Memories of the last time she had gotten Slick into a mess.

Smoke. Her nasal passages burn, ears clog, mouth dries. Smoke. Got to… Got to move. Need to move. Her arms and legs…they won’t move. Not smoke, fumes. Something in the air. Vapor seeping into every pore. Freezing. Burning. Her hand flops useless at her side. Her legs are tucked into her body, a wall at her back. Why can’t she move? Gods, help her.

Movement to her left. Heavy breathing. “Slick?” she cries out, the sound muffled like speaking underwater. A groan. He’s alive…barely. Her fault. All her fault. The bomb, the smell of it, she knew it, sensed it. Why didn’t she stop? Pride brought them to this. Her best friend. She’d led him to his death. They would die here.

No! This wasn’t the same. They would find him. He’d be fine. He had to be.

The instant she reached the first door, she smelled it. Underneath Drake’s rich wine flavor, she found him. Like a storm in the rainforest, Slick’s unique tropical scent conveyed power and purpose. As her best friend and partner, she had always found his scent a comfort. But beyond that she caught something more…something off. “What is that?”

Drake waited two doors down. With one finger to his lips, he waved at her to come closer. She passed the kitchen and bathroom, darting her eyes back and forth. The unidentifiable smell itched her nose something fierce, and the urge to find Slick became a living thing. She stopped a foot shy of the vampire and drew his coat tighter around her. “What did you find?”

He stepped to the side to reveal a staircase leading to the lower level. “Shall we go rescue the pup?”

“Hopefully, he doesn’t need rescuing.” Jame put a foot onto the first step the same time as Drake, leaving them to huddle together in the narrow stairwell. She eyed him. “What’re you doing?”

He slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her to his side. “I’m happy to let you lead…elsewhere.” His sly smirk alluded to where that elsewhere might be. “Perhaps here, you’ll let me face the danger first.”

She bit her lip. Those eyes. It was those damn dark eyes of his.

Knocking noises pulled her from his gaze. Get a grip, she chided and focused on their situation. Spinning from Drake’s grasp, she stomped down the stairs. Stealth no longer registered as a thought on her periphery. She was done and the shifter buzz started her adrenaline flowing. Hell wouldn’t help whoever messed with Slick, ’cause she was so in the mood to kick some ass.

“Who’s here?” she called out at the bottom of the landing. The stench assailed her, answering her question. “Sweet mother of…”

Drake reached her side and flicked on an overhead light from a panel. Harsh fluorescents flooded the basement, brightening every nook, including the two bodies shackled to the wall.

“Bloody hell.” He whistled low. “Now that’s not something you see every day.”

“What in the name of all that’s holy was the senator doing with two people chained in his basement?” Maybe she should have pushed Meg for more. When the agent said bodies, Jame never expected this. She crossed the room and knelt beside the bodies. Their limbs intermingled like a pair of amateur wrestlers. Bite marks covered their pale skin. And their heads… “Where’s their heads?”

“Over here.” Drake stood in the far corner, peering down at a pair of faces. “Better have a look at this.”

Jame straightened and spoke into her wireless, “Meg, you still with me?” Walking over to Drake, she narrowed her eyes at the decapitated heads. The toes of her boots skimmed the edge of a blood puddle. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Jame? Jame? Can you hear me?” Meg’s words broke through a layer of fuzz.

“Yeah, barely,” she spoke into the wireless and held up her palm to Drake. “Meg. These bodies are phage.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just…” Meg said. “Have you found Slick?”

“There’s no sign of him down here.” Jame searched around the room again, trying to spot something they might have missed. The headless bodies did attract a bit of attention on a first look. She pointed at Drake. “Check under the stairs, will ya?”

He nodded.

Meg continued a panic-induced string of words that lost all coherency.

“Easy, Meg. We’ll find him.” Gliding around the edge of the blood, she tried not to gag as the stench filled her nose. She sucked in a breath.

“You steady?” Drake’s hand wrapped around her hip, his body warm behind her.

“Yeah.” She turned to face him, drinking in his aroma greedily. “Just need some fresh air.”

“Then let’s get you out of here.” He started to pull her toward the exit.

She sank her weight into the floor. They were not leaving without Slick. No damn way. She would manage the stink. “No. Not without him.”

“He’s not here. No sense staying longer.” He waved at the door. “Don’t you want to do the PCD thing? Get the evidence kit, catalog the stuff, call the local boys? Protocol?”

Her lips twitched as she fought a smile. “Very good, Mr. Academy.”

“I’m a fast learner.” Drake leaned in close, letting his lips brush her neck. “And I’ve learned quite a lot. Want a taste?”

A banging rang in her ears. For a split second, the noise echoed her rapid heartbeat, and then her attention snapped to the wall. Drake spun toward the sound at the same instant. She looked at him to the wall and back. “What is that?”

“Jame?” Meg wailed through the line. The damn call kept cutting in and out. “Reviewed the feed…basement…too small…”

“What? Meg, I can’t hear you.” Jame tapped the earpiece. “What about the basement?”

Bang. Bang.

“Sounds like someone’s knocking.” Drake touched the wall, running his hand over the surface.

Jame eyed it from floor to ceiling and then glanced at the stairwell. From end to end, the basement couldn’t be more than twelve feet across. “That’s what she meant. It’s too short.”

“What?” Drake knocked and got an answering knock back.

“This room isn’t big enough to cover the house.” She eyed the corner where the seams of each wall met.

“Must be another room behind it.” He met her gaze. “This feels familiar.”

A chill encircled her heart. “I know.” She sucked in a breath and pushed away the fear. This isn’t the same. It didn’t matter. The last time she had encountered a false wall and a hidden room, she had been poisoned, beaten, and left for dead. So had Slick. Not this time. Her fingertips grazed the surface of the wall. It appeared and felt like cement blocks, but somewhere along this façade was the key.

Another bang. Bang.

“Hold on,” she cried at the wall. We’re coming, Slick.

Chapter Eleven

Senator McDonald’s Home, 13 Victory Lane, Washington, DC

Drake swallowed the knot of rage. Something inside him splintered at the sight of that false wall. They had been here before. Different place, same scenario. The memory was so palpable it threatened to explode. Last time he had almost lost Jame. The image of her body, broken in his arms, would haunt him the rest of his days. Hell, he had even spared worry for the pup, and that mongrel annoyed the ever-loving shit out of him. Then again, if anyone was taking down that cocky bastard, it’d be him. Not some psychopath.

He searched the wall.

“Slick!” Jame screamed to ear-splitting decibels. “Slick! You in there?”

An answering bang met her cries.

“Blimey, luv. Easy on the ears.” Drake touched her on the shoulder, once, lightly.

Her eyes flared wide, the golden hue shining in the hazel depths. A ragged breath shook her body. Her gaze said that she remembered too. She brushed off his hand and pounded the cement. “Gods damn it Slick. Can you hear me?”

Bang. Bang.

“That’s got to be him.” She knocked twice back. “Hold on. We’re going to get you out.”

Drake clenched his fist, tempted to start knocking away at the solid concrete. Vampiric strength had its advantages, but it would take hours to smash through the bloody wall. Not a time to dick about man. Think. He ran his hand over the surface again. “There’s got to be a way through.”

Jame turned to him. Her eyes watered, but she wiped away the evidence of tears before they could fall. “Agreed,” she said in a tone of pure steel. “Check over there.” She pointed to the corner. “Start up high, work down and then toward me. We’ll meet in the middle.”

That a girl. He nodded at her and trekked to the opposite side. He tapped the wall top to bottom. Nothing. Moving inward, he repeated the process a hand span from the first checks. Nothing. Come on. Two more vertical rows yielded the same. He snuck a glance at Jame.

Draped in his coat, she appeared even smaller than usual, the extra fabric engulfing her petite frame. Her hair hung about her face, sticking to her cheeks. She reached as high as possible, moving with all the ease of a great jungle cat, but when she slumped down, she nearly collapsed to the floor. She looked tired—bone tired.

He worked faster and overtook her share of the wall.

“Did you find anything?” Jame didn’t comment on his doing her part of the work. Not like her at all. Yeah, she was definitely wiped out.

“No, but let me check higher up.” He walked behind her and handled the cement spots she had missed.

“Thanks. Couldn’t get the top.” She adjusted the wireless on her ear and blew into it. “Connection’s still out. Poor Meg must be frantic.”

“We’ll make it up to her when we get the pup free.” He tapped a spot an arm’s length over his head. It looked as solid as the rest of the wall but gave off a hollow tink. He pushed. A circle about the size of his fist formed in the concrete. It slid back and to the right, and then a slab of the wall from ceiling to floor detached and swung inward.

Drake shot her a grin. “Found it.”

“Thank the gods.” She palmed her gun once more and called, “Slick?”

A hissing screech accompanied the sight of a half dozen cats clawing through the makeshift doorway. The furry beasts yowled and shrieked like an invading army. They scurried over Jame’s boots and whipped around his legs. Behind the herd, Slick broke free. His ridiculous hair stuck from his head in every direction. Shallow cuts covered his arms and face. A particularly nasty swipe bled from his neck.

“Cats,” Slick said, wiping away stray hairs from his eyes. “Cats everywhere.”

Jame raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth as if to speak, but before she could get a word in, another wave of cats came barreling past them. They streaked by, the same as the first set, and shot for the stairs. Within the next thirty seconds, another group emerged, and then another. All headed up the steps without so much as a How do you do? or Hey, where’s the catnip?

Drake’s gaze slid from Jame with her wide eyes and nakedness covered only by his coat, to Slick with his Einstein hair and cat inflicted wounds, and then finally to the fleeing feline prides. A chuckle gurgled in his throat. “If I knew the PCD would be this much fun, I would have joined decades ago.”

Her eyes squinted at him like a Hell-hath-no-fury demon, and then Slick sneezed. She turned to him, pushed her hand through her hair, and glanced back at Drake. After a deep sigh of what could only be relief, she bit her bottom lip. The rich bottom grew full and red. Suppressed laughter made her chest shake, tiny giggles breaking free. “What a trio we make, huh?”

Slick ran his eyes up and down Drake and Jame in turn. He sighed. “I don’t even want to know what I look like.”

“Not your best look, half-breed.” Drake crossed one arm over his chest and rested his chin in his free hand.

“Same to you, bloodsucker.” He swiped at his neck. A line of red covered his hand. He held it palm out. “Look, a snack for you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” His fangs grew.

“Zip it, children.” Jame rubbed her temples. “I’ve had more than enough for one night. Slick, just tell me what the hell happened.”

Drake thumbed toward the stairs. “Don’t leave out your furry friends.”

Slick flipped him the bird and rested against the wall. He addressed Jame. “I figured after getting the tie-in between Decoder’s cold case and the code black to Senator McDonald, it was time to do a little investigating.”

“Even though I told you to go home?” Her hands flew to her hips.

Ding. Ding. Round one. Drake glided over to the steps and took a seat to watch the show.

“Yeah, cause you went home, right?” Slick crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh, you so don’t want to go there with me.” She took a step toward him.

He exhaled low and massaged the back of his neck. “I’m too damn tired to argue with you. Meg recorded the whole thing. Ask her to pull up the feed.”

“I’d love to,” she snapped. “But apparently that room has some type of interference rigged.” She pointed to the wireless on her ear. “Can’t get her on the line.”

“Guess that’s why I couldn’t get through either.” He shrugged. Walking over to the two bodies in the corner, he bent and pointed at their limbs. “Did you check these?”

“Yeah, already did the preliminaries. They’re phage.”

“Exactly. After I found them, I heard a crash by the wall. Patted it down and discovered the switch.” He motioned toward the top corner.

“Not so easy to find, by the way.” Drake rose to stand beside Jame. The woman swayed on her feet. Not that she would admit it. He put a steadying hand on her back.

“Tell me about it. Still don’t know where the one is on the other side.” Slick waved and furrowed his brow. Crooked lines ran across his forehead.

“We got that much.” Jame leaned into his touch.

Drake nearly cocked an eyebrow at her reaction but kept his face impassive.

“I walked in to find that army of hellcats storming around. The crash was one of their cages colliding into the wall. Two steps in and the damn door swung shut.” He rose and ran his hands up and down his arms. “Furballs came at me like they were half crazed. Then I saw the tools.”

“Tools?” Jame sucked in a breath.

“Yeah, the senator kept those creatures locked up alive.” He indicated the phage bodies. “The cats he used as food.”

“You’re telling me this Senator McDonald had pet phage? And he fed them cats?” She shuddered under his hand.

Drake glanced over the scene anew. The pup’s assessment made sense. But… “Why?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Slick snorted.

“Hell, this gets more and more complicated.” Jame straightened and squared her shoulders. “Tag and bag our evidence. Then call Meg to let her know you’re alive. Though, Slick,” she gave him a hard stare, “if you pull this shit again and disobey a direct order—”

“I know. Fire and brimstone.” He threw up his hands.

“That’s if you’re lucky.” She sidled right up to him and poked a finger into his chest. “The Devil would be a lot kinder than I’ll be if you go against me again. Got it?”

The pup had the balls to smile.

“Sodding idiot,” Drake muttered to himself.

Jame poked the foolish half-breed in the chest again. “I said, do you understand?”

He dropped the smile. “Yeah, Boss.”

“Good. Now since you created this mess,” she waved at each corner of the room, “you can call in the local cops after you collect the evidence and touch base with Meg. You fill them in on everything and wait here while they do their thing.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, and be at the office tomorrow nine a.m. sharp.”

He huffed. “That’ll take hours.” He tapped his bare wrist. “What time is it now?”

“No idea. And frankly, I don’t give a shit.” Jame grabbed Drake’s arm and motioned toward the stairs. She glared over her shoulder at Slick. “We’re leaving. If you wanted to rest, you should have went home.” Her booted feet stomped up the steps, and then another shout to the mutt added, “Like I said.”

Slick grumbled something behind them, but Jame ignored it. Drake followed her up and out of the house without a word. When they reached the car, she didn’t even eye the driver’s side and slumped into the passenger seat.

“You good?” Drake slid behind the wheel and started the ignition.

Leaning forward, she tapped the GPS and then fell back against the cushion. The crown of her head thumped against the window. “Just take me home, Drake.”

He patted her knee and winked at her. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Without the usual come-ons, ’kay?” She blew out a breath against the glass, temporarily fogging it. “I’m not in the mood.”

Reaching across her, he grasped the seat buckle. Her head whipped toward him, an accusation in those brilliant eyes. She sat straighter, her chest rising and falling in quick succession. He could smell the sweet tang of excitement under her sudden adrenaline surge. Easing her back to the leather seat, he whispered in her ear, “Easy, luv, it’s been a long day. Don’t worry. I’ll get you home.”

An unknown inner turmoil stormed over her face, but with composure that spoke of her training and strength, she squashed it. Drake hid a smile, proud of her gumption. She drew up her knees, burrowed into the leather, and closed her eyes. With a dark chuckle, she drew one eye open. “I’ve no reason to trust you, you know.”

A small stab, no bigger than the prick of a needle, but bloody hell if it didn’t sting. The car engine bellowed. “Not yet.” He shifted into drive and turned a pointy grin to her as he gunned it. “But you will.”

Chapter Twelve

Special Agent Jame Bradshaw’s Apartment, Washington, DC

Trumpet horns blasted through the bedroom. A hideous drill sergeant screamed, “Wake up, maggot. On your feet!” Jame rolled over, bleary eyed and unsure of her surroundings. Sheets tangled around her body, but she managed to free her arm and swat the offending alarm clock to the floor.

“What the hell?” She blinked as the room came into focus. The beaten mini soldier, which her mom had given her years ago as a graduation present from the PCD Academy, buzzed at her on the carpet. The side of the plastic trumpet read eight a.m. in digital red. Her head fell back to the pillows. She draped an arm over her eyes. Sunlight filtered through the cheap blinds. A Meghan Trainor song broke any opportunity for lounging.

Why me? She kicked at the covers. The blue cotton sheets folded with each strike. Trainor continued to croon about that bass. Jame dove for her cell on the nightstand. Without looking, she propped it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, Kitty. Sleep well?” Drake’s voice cut through her sleep deprivation.

A slew of memories from last night assaulted her. She tried to keep her tone even as heat warmed her skin. “Yeah,” she said, her throat dry. “I’m good.”

“Left a glass of water by your bed.” His words seared her blood.

He’s not talking dirty for gods sake. Get a hold of your hormones. She shook her head, downed the glass, and spoke into the phone. “What’s up?”

“Thought I’d ring you. See that you got out of bed okay.” He dropped his tone. “Although I’m willing to come over and keep you in it, if you prefer.”

“Drake,” she warned half-heartedly. Vampire. Male. Her warning alarms kicked in. After one thing… She remembered him licking the blood from some shallow cuts on her arm. Okay, two things.

“All right, luv. I see you’re not a morning person. Not a problem. Me either.” He laughed, sending every one of her nerve endings tingling. “We’ll wait for nightfall.”

“Whatever.” She huffed at her cell.

“Well, that’s an improvement over no.” He snickered. “Now best get up and dress. Made you some eggs to heat up. Container’s in the cooler. Enjoy.”

“Wait, what?” She pulled the phone from her ear, stared at it as if it would bite her, and then put it back. Her eyes widened.

“Food. Breakfast. I’m a vampire, but I remember how to make simple eggs.” A somber note echoed over his snarl. “I did have family once.”

She gulped down a mouthful of guilt. “I-I wasn’t implying—”

“No, my apologies. That was uncalled for.” His mood quickly lightened as if that one moment of non-Drake-like seriousness revealed too much. “I’ll see you at the office.”

A soft click ended the call. She brought the cell an inch from her nose and looked it over, speaker to receiver. “W-T-F?” Shaking her head, she put the phone aside and climbed from her bed. She reached her arms high above her head and arched her back like a cat. Figuring out the intricacies of what was going on in that vampire’s brain required food and coffee. She yawned. Oh yes, mucho coffee.

Shuffling through the living room to the kitchen, she passed a familiar coat draped over the side of her small orange loveseat. She eyed it with suspicion and then looked down. A large vintage t-shirt from an Aerosmith concert and black boxer shorts covered her body. She recognized the outfit as the pajamas she’d stripped out of…what was it now, twenty-four hours ago? How the hell did they get on her last night?

Her temple throbbed. “Coffee, first,” she said to her racing thoughts. The cool tile floors made her toes curl. She stumbled to the counter and blew hair out of her eyes. The kickass K-cup machine never looked so good. She thanked the lucky stars for the creators of the mechanical wonder. Plopping her favorite dark mocha magic into the container, she set the size for a full mug. It steamed free in a stream of caffeinated goodness.

“Ah.” She sighed after the first sip and then caught a glimpse of the distorted Aerosmith wings in the stainless-steel reflection. She frowned. Last night came to her in pieces. She must have been more tired than she realized. Her head had drooped on her shoulders in the passenger seat as Drake drove her home. She remembered seeing the streetlights blur. But her next memory placed her in her bedroom. Drake stood beside her, mumbling something about getting her to bed.

“Pervert,” she had said and swatted at his arm.

He’d laughed. “Not this time. I’m not that bad. Mostly.” With infinite care, he had pushed the trench coat from her shoulders and untied her makeshift belt. Yet when she would have stood before him naked, he’d held it up like a shield. It took her forever to don her pajamas that had been strewn haphazardly across her sheets. He hadn’t complained. Not once. He hadn’t even tried to steal a glance at her…well, not that she’d noticed anyway.

She took another sip of her coffee, swirled it around her mouth, and tried to banish the memories. “No. He’s a male with a pulse. Undead or not.” Her fingers tapped along her collarbone. She scrunched her nose, thinking harder.

When she had finished dressing last night, he’d draped the trench coat over his arm and pulled down the sheets. She’d climbed into bed and burrowed under the covers. Her eyelids had drifted closed without her permission and fluttered open only when she’d felt soft lips on her brow.

“Rest easy, luv,” he whispered and floated out the door as quiet as a shadow.

“You too.” She yawned and then fell into a blessed dreamless sleep.

The mug nearly slipped from her grasp. She placed it on the counter, her hands shaking. “He’s a vampire. All he wants is sex and blood from you. That’s it.” Her heart beat so loudly she could hear it in her ears. “He’s been after you for years! It’s just lust.” She jerked open the fridge door and stuck her head into the cool compartment. A plastic container mocked her galloping pulse. He cooked for you, idiot. Hell, he tucked you into bed and kissed your forehead like a…a… I don’t know what.

Her face flushed despite the fridge’s interior. The icy temp did nothing for her nerves. For as long as she could remember, men treated her like a Barbie doll, all body and no brain. Even in PCD, her assignments tended to utilize her assets more than her skills. It was how she’d been saddled with the press-handler spot in District Thirteen. Reporters preferred a pretty face for the cameras.

“Not anymore.” She grabbed the container, ripped off the lid, and dumped the contents in the trash. No way in hell was he going to trip her up with false sentiments. “Not falling for it.” Men sucked. She had learned that lesson already. Mom didn’t raise a fool. She bit her lip. “I’m team leader now. Not some rookie.” No bullshit prying intel with her wiles. If she needed information, she would get it the old-fashioned way…kicking ass.

Throwing the empty container in the sink, she fisted her hand and slammed it on the counter. No one had ever cooked for her before. Well not since she was about eleven when her dad used to make her breakfast in the mornings. That was before he left. After he skipped town to be with another woman half her mother’s age, Jame had to fend for herself. Mom never could cook. “So not going there.”

Jame squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. The picture of her parents, together and happy, flashed before her lids. She bit her lip and pushed it aside. Yet her mom’s wisdom spilled through her mind. Don’t trust any man, honey. They’re all ruled by their dicks. For the first time in her life, she agreed with her mother. “Alert the press. It’s a miracle.”

After downing the last of her coffee, she placed the mug in the sink beside the container and headed to the bathroom. A quick shower to rinse off that lingering sewage smell, a change into fresh fatigues and a black T-shirt, and new ties to pull her hair into a braid did wonders for her mood. Packing her assorted weapons into pockets and holsters had her down right smiling. She climbed onto her silver Ninja, donned the thick motorcycle helmet, and drove from the parking garage almost singing.

Unfortunately, her joy lasted no longer than the ride to the office. At twenty minutes to nine, Drake stood outside the front door. A brown leather jacket, as supple looking as butter, covered a simple white v-neck t-shirt and offset dark blue jeans. It read casual, yet on the vampire, it looked practically edible. Her muscles tightened; her light T-shirt chafed her skin. Cursing her body’s reaction, she parked the bike and stalked past him to the door.

“Rough morning?” He leaned in closer than necessary.

Jame didn’t bother with a response. Her master key twisted in the lock. She let the door swing open and her retreating figure do the talking for her. Drake followed in her wake. Not daring to turn or slow, she headed straight for the conference room. Quarter to the hour of their scheduled meeting time and no one else was in the office.

“Shit,” she muttered and took the chair at the head of the table.

Drake sat in the chair to her right, interlocking his fingers across his hard, flat stomach and staring at her. After an awkward silence, he said, “So how did the eggs come out? Not too chewy for you?”

“They were fine.” She lied through gritted teeth. If lasers could shoot from her eyes, the empty chairs would all have holes in them. “Thanks.”

The morning sun shone through the eastern windows. It cast an odd shadow of a square seat and Drake’s spiky hair across the desk. “You didn’t eat the eggs, did you?”

She glanced at him through her peripheral vision. Before she could come up with a decent excuse, her stomach rumbled. “No.”

“Shame. I am something of a culinary genius.” He smirked, lifting his hand to accentuate his point. “Not that I’d brag about it, of course.”

Yeah, I’ll bet. She snorted. “Well when you’ve had over a century to practice—”

A long and roughened finger swept under her chin and cut her off. He turned her to face him. “I’m accomplished in other pleasures too, luv. Care to find out?”

Her mouth went dry. She ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip. A stirring deep inside caused her to inch closer to him. Then the memory of last night crept into her consciousness and cold hard reality slammed her in the face. “Why? So you can finally get it out of your system?”

His eyes widened like twin saucers on a face that had no right to look that good. “What?”

“You blew your chance. You should’ve just taken me last night instead of kissing me on the forehead like a kid.” She slapped her open palms on the table. The conference room didn’t have acoustics to speak of, but the sound echoed off the walls, nonetheless. Her blood boiled. “Could’ve satisfied that curiosity at last.”

“Bleeding hell.” Drake’s chair flew back as he rose with a start. He loomed over her. “You really think I’m some kind of monster, don’t you?”

“No. I think you’re like every other male on the planet.” She sat back and stared up at him. Let him contradict her. Men were men, no matter their species.

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” He leaned over her, almost nose-to-nose. “Do you think I’ve hung around for the last four years because I like the law so much?”

“I think you like the chase.” The thought hadn’t occurred to her at all, but when she heard the words on her lips, she knew it for truth. She peered at him. His heady scent circled her like a drug. She sucked in air through her mouth. “Anyway, what’s four years to a vampire?”

“If I wanted a piece of ass, I could get that anytime.” His black eyes burned with hidden fire. “And yes, I could’ve gotten it last night. Pardon me for not fucking you while you were a half-dead zombie.”

“You’re not getting anything from me.” Jame sprung from her chair and poked him hard in the chest. “Not last night. Not any night. Not ever.”

“Oh, piss off.” He threw up his hands and stormed to the window. Running a hand through his hair, he turned and rallied on her once more. “You know what your problem is, luv?”

“What?” She widened her stance, hands going instinctively to her hips.

“You put on this tough front. Quite the tigress. Big bad super agent ready to kick ass and take names. But, underneath it all, you’re a scared little bird.” He got up in her face, no breathing room this time. “I thought I saw something more. Not the piece of ass you think everyone sees, not the frigid bitch you try to be, but a woman, a brilliant and beautiful woman that had a few scars.” His voice dropped to a low timber. “I see you underneath it all. I know your pain. I’ve felt it. I still feel it. I thought I could take a chance with you. But if you’re too afraid, then fine. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Her stomach flip-flopped. Out of all the things he could’ve said, that sure as hell didn’t register as a blip on her radar. She tried to pick up her jaw from the floor. “Drake, I—”

“Everything okay in here?” The Old Man stood in the doorway, Dee Two behind him.

“Yes, we’re fine,” Drake said and waved them in. He reclaimed his seat. A stoic mask clamped over his face, although the slight dip of his chin and the firmness of his jaw would reveal otherwise to those that knew him. And she knew him. Oh yes, she knew him.

What the hell is wrong with me? Jame took her seat again. Her heart raced so loud, she feared the others would hear. She was smart to push him away, wasn’t she? Men never lasted more than a few dates. Mom had it right. They got what they wanted and moved on. Plus, a vampire? Come on. She’d told herself all that like a hundred times. So why did she feel like such a fool?

“We weren’t interrupting, were we?” Dee glanced between them so fast, it made her eyes look like golf balls.

Jame put on her game face and stiffened her spine. “No, Dee. It’s all good.” She ushered them in. “Waiting on Slick and the lab results.”

“Oh, well I can help you with one of them.” Dee held out a plain manila folder. “Came in while I was checking the messages.”

“Great.” Jame conjured up a half-smile. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Chapter Thirteen

PCD Headquarters for District One, Washington, DC

Drake fixed his gaze on a chip in the wood table. The mark was no bigger than a dime. If he kept up the staring contest, he would end up cross-eyed, but if he looked at her, he’d fling her over his shoulder and… And what? Screw her into wanting you? Gods, maybe she was right. Maybe the chase appealed to him. No. Bugger that. He’d encountered a stubborn bird or two in his time. Not many, of course. Few women turned him down. But it wasn’t like that with Jame. He wanted…something.

“Holy shit!” Jame’s screech roused him from his musings. He turned a curious eye toward her. She held the manila folder up, covering her face. “I don’t… You’ve got to be… How did we not see this?”

“Want to give us a clue?” He tried to keep the bite from his voice without success.

Jame didn’t seem to notice. She spread the contents of the folder like a fan on the table and motioned for them to come closer. “Take a look at this.”

He rolled his chair near enough to see, while the Old Man and Dee Two came to stand on either side of Jame. They all focused on where she pointed. She read the findings aloud. “Identity report: Senator Hartley, female, psyke, faint traces of human. Senator Irons, male, shifter. Senator—”

“Renfield?” Dee asked.

“Vampires take new names after they’re turned.” Drake snorted. “Either this bloke had a moronic sense of humor or a Dracula fetish.”

“Oh, like Drake?” The Old Man gave him a pointed look.

His eyes turned to slits. “I’m older than that damned book.” A slow ache seeped through his veins. He hadn’t fed today, and foolish shifter sounded quite the appealing breakfast. “Drake was my family name.” Silence coated the air, the tension thicker than fog. Let him stew on that. His stare captured the Old Man. To his credit, the shifter had the decency to tilt his head half an inch, the most minuscule show of respect, but a start, nonetheless.

“Ahem.” Jame cleared her throat. He softened his gaze as it angled to her. She met his eyes a moment before looking away. In a businesslike tone, she said, “Moving on. Male, vampire.”

Drake sucked his fangs. “Yes. No kidding, luv.”

She tapped her nails along the desk. “May I?” A flick of his wrist and she continued, “Thank you. As I was saying—”

An irritating commotion like a bull running toward a red-flag waving matador interrupted her again. All eyes turned to the doorway. A pitiful sight met them. Slick, hunched over, wearing the same clothes from last night, with an odor that would have caused a stray dog to gag. His hair had Drake questioning whether he had stuck his hand in an electric socket. With footsteps heavy as a wildebeest, he flopped into the nearest chair.

“Which of the nine circles of hell did you crawl outta, boy?” The Old Man shifted the lower half of his face into a duck’s beak with uncanny efficiency. He plopped into a chair as far away from Slick as possible while Dee took the next furthest seat.

Drake rested his chin on his thumb and covered his nose with his index finger. “Gods pup, you stink worse than day old piss and shit.”

“Yeah, well when you spend half the night in a cement cage filled with cats and the other half in a room with two dead bodies, see how you smell.”

“Touché.” He raised his eyebrows in mock salute.

“If y’all would shut up for five minutes—” Jame rose from her seat, slapped a hand over the papers on the table, and pointed at each of the agents with her free hand. “You,” she motioned to Slick, “over by the wall. Spare us your stink.” He shuffled to the corner, mumbling under his breath. “You and you,” she turned on the Old Man and him. Drake grinned. “Take a lesson from her.” She waved at Dee, who had stayed like an owl—still and wide-eyed—from the second she sat. “Now can I tell you what’s in here?”

Everyone nodded.

“Good. So, our first three victims were psyke, shifter, and vampire. Now here’s where it gets interesting.” She pulled a picture of the phage bitch, Adriana Farrington, from the pile. “This one was a phage, formerly a lobbyist for phage rights, and a criminal that the higher-ups refused to let us bring into custody.”

“Damn pencil pushers.” The Old Man’s jaw ticked.

“My sentiments exactly,” Jame bit out. She inhaled and exhaled as if counting. “Our last victim, Senator McDonald, is our lead since the tie-in to the…” Her words trailed off. Drake caught her casting a quick peek at Dee. Luckily, the shy agent didn’t seem to notice. “The incident at his office last month. Last night, we discovered, courtesy of Slick, that the senator had two phage chained in his basement.”

“Yeah and fed them cats.” Slick visibly shook. “Lots of cats.”

Dee rose straighter in her seat. “Why would a human and a senator have phage locked in his basement?”

“Good question.” Jame’s face lit up, her eyes glowing a feline yellow. “It doesn’t make sense for a human, but it might for a phage.” She picked up the last report in the folder. “Senator McDonald, male, and…phage.”

The room erupted in voices. Only five of them filled the office, but by the sound of the commotion, an outsider would think it closer to fifty. Accusations and theories flew, followed by swears and curses alluding to the Senator’s lack of intelligence and sexual prowess.

Jame banged a fist on the table. “Settle down.”

The talk trailed off. The Old Man’s muffled, “…live in interesting times,” marked the last of the jabbering.

“Indeed, we do.” Drake reclined in his seat. He let his body relax for show but focused the full intensity of his gaze on Jame. “So Agent Bradshaw, where shall we begin?”

She swallowed. Point for him. “Well, Agent Drake,” she emphasized his new title, elongating the A on a puff of air, “we determine why the senator felt it necessary to hide his identity.”

“Simple, no?” He clasped his hands behind his head. “Phage aren’t recognized by the NUA. government. As such, they can’t hold positions.”

“That won’t be for long,” Slick called from his seat in the corner. “We all know why the powers-that-be won’t let us bring in phage in strategic jobs—”

Dee chimed in, “It would ruin their chances at recognition in the government and make us look like we held some bias against them.”

“You got it.” Slick snapped his fingers. “Which is why a senator wouldn’t openly reveal himself. Although, when they are recognized—and it’s only a matter of time before that happens—the phage already in leadership can say, ‘Hey, see we’ve been doing a great job all along.’”

“Okay, so let’s assume Senator McDonald hid his true nature for political gain.” Jame tapped the four other folders. “Why the tie to a criminal phage, Adriana, and the four other non-phage senators?”

“We know that McDonald met with Adriana in private as well, before this meeting.” Drake rubbed the nape of his neck. Something kept gnawing at the back of his mind, if he could just get a fix on it. “Strife’s account and the senator’s appointment book confirm it.”

“Yes. Awful convenient you found that and the computer when Dee and I searched the place with a fine-tooth comb.” The Old Man cracked his knuckles atop the table. “We found a computer belonging to the senator. Wouldn’t have missed another one, and definitely not that book.”

“I hear you, but we’ve got to go with what we uncovered.” Jame held up her hand as the Old Man opened his mouth again. “Look, I’m not saying this book is authentic, or the computer. But even if it’s all a plant, it’s the best we have right now. We’ll know more when the techs check the computer.” She tapped the senator’s appointment book. “Besides, Strife confirmed this meeting between McDonald and Adriana. So, we have a second source. Run with it.”

Dee sucked in her bottom lip. She looked even younger and more vulnerable. “What would Adriana want from another phage?”

“Could be anything,” the Old Man grumbled.

“No.” Another bang on the desk. Jame held up Adriana’s file. “Think. The phage are like a great beehive. If one bee is cut off from the queen, it becomes disoriented, without purpose.”

“True.” Slick rose from his chair. His boots hit the floor with a loud thud. “And phage are even more linked. The phage queen has that mind connection to all of them. If she cut off Adriana—”

“Adriana would do anything to get back in,” Jame finished for him.

“So.” Drake looked from agent to agent, focusing on her and the half-breed. Finishing each other’s sentences now? His jaw locked. He scraped his teeth inside his mouth, drawing blood. Mongrel shifter. His breath hissed between his teeth, but he choked down the ire. “What would Adriana do to get back into the phage queen’s graces, and how does Senator McDonald, and the rest of the senators, factor into her plans?”

“That’s what we need to discover. The key will be to figure out the link between them all.” Jame fanned her face with the folders. “Here’s what we need to do. Slick, you focus on Adriana and McDonald. Why him? Did it have anything to do with those phage in his basement?” She ruffled through her pocket but came up empty. “Drake, where’s the keys to the car from yesterday?”

The look she gave him then spoke of everything that passed between them last night—and everything that hadn’t. He cleared his throat. “In my jacket.”

“Give the keys to Slick.”

Drake waited half a heartbeat, and then extracted the keys without a word and tossed them to the mutt.

“What’re these for?” Slick caught them in his left hand.

“The computer from McDonald’s office is in my car,” Jame said to the mongrel. “You’re going to go over every inch of it with Meg. Find something.”

“Not Mack?” Dee squeaked. “But he’s our go-to tech.”

“I know.” Jame ran a hand over her hair. It was tied high on her head, the remaining part braided. Drake’s urge to rip the binding loose and let it fall over her shoulders peaked. The intensity of that desire set his eyes blazing. Her focus stayed on Dee, despite his perusal. “We’ll give him all the evidence Slick collected at McDonald’s house, since it’s tied to the code black. But anything we gathered at McDonald’s office links to Decoder’s murder, a cold case. I don’t want him getting wind we reopened it, or he’ll report it to Agent Frost.”

“That’s the last thing we need.” The Old Man sucked his teeth loud enough for the room to hear. “Our unit leader only gave us weeks on Decoder’s murder. She’ll go ballistic if she thinks we’re investigating it again.”

“But it’s linked to the code black!” Dee yelled louder than Drake thought her capable.

“We don’t have evidence to prove that yet.” Jame walked over to the younger woman and patted her on the shoulder. “Once we do, we’ll reveal our hand. Until then, I’d rather get it done quietly.”

“Agreed.” Slick headed for the door, jingling the keys. “I’m on it.”

“Dee, Old Man, I want you two shaking down the politicians and hitting the streets.” Jame saddled them with the full weight of her feline eyes. “Find out everything about our vics. Where they ate, where they slept, who they screwed in the bedroom and the boardroom. Who did they piss off and who was in their pocket?” She flicked her fingers one at a time. “I’d bet my salary none of them turn up clean.”

The Old Man rose and pulled Dee up with him. “We’ve got it, Boss.” He gave a little salute and they were out the door.

When Drake sat alone in the room with Jame once more, he grinned and showed her fangs. “And me, Kitty? What’s your plan for me?”

Her pulse picked up. He could hear the blood rush through her veins, smell her excitement. “You and me, vampire?” She sidled over to his chair and cocked a hip against the armrest. As she leaned down, her breath warmed his ear. “We go hunting.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Slum Row” Section, Washington, DC Outskirts

Jame stormed from the rundown tenement, a fistful of black hair wedged between her clenched fingers. The owner of said hair now harbored a nasty bald spot on the back of his scalp.

“That’s the third dive we’ve tried.” Drake eased the door she had broken down earlier onto its hinges. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“It’s our best evidence to the cold case, Drake. And someone in this place knows where I can find a finatite dealer.” She kicked at a loose brick on the bottom step. It sailed across the pavement. “Or a lab where they make the stuff, a third-party supplier, something.”

“Well we’re not getting answers this way.” He eyed the windows along the top of the building. “Doesn’t look like people in this neighborhood talk to authorities.”

Jame followed his gaze to find several pairs of eyes staring back at them. “No, it doesn’t.” She wiped the remaining hair strands off her palm. “Even with force.”

“Can’t win ’em all, luv.” He draped an arm around her side with feigned casualness.

She didn’t have the energy to brush him off. Hell, maybe she didn’t want to. She didn’t know anymore. Her head throbbed, making rational thought a luxury. The midday sun assaulted her senses, strong for this time of year. She sucked in a breath of humid, sticky air. “Let’s take a beat and regroup. I’m hot and starving.”

“Me too.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her as his fangs extended over his bottom lip.

She suppressed a laugh. “Hmm. It’ll have to be pub grub. The casual joints in this city aren’t so hip with vampire…um…food.”

His eyes darkened to a midnight hue. “Not a concern. I’m certain I can find something appetizing.”

Her cheeks grew heated. She turned her face away from his all-too-hungry gaze. An annoying little voice nudged at the back of her mind. Male and vampire, remember? She bit her lip and shoved the pesky thought right where it belonged. Yet Drake’s earlier words ran through her busy brain a heartbeat later. I thought I could take a chance with you. But if you’re too afraid…

Her pulse quickened like a steel drum. “Am I afraid?”

“What’s that now?” Drake stood beside the unmarked black sedan, holding open the passenger door.

To hell with all of it. Mom. Dad. Males. Nightmares. Fear. All of it. She stalked to the door and threw up her hands. I’m not a coward. Shoving the vampire into the seat, she was taking back her power. “I said,” she whispered against his ear as she leaned over and strapped the seatbelt across his chest, “I’m driving.”

Before she could straighten and head for the driver’s side, he wrapped an arm around her waist, flipped her around, and pulled her across his lap. “What game are you playing?”

The blood rushed to her head. Her breath came free in small gasps. With her backside nestled snug in his lap, she could feel the effect their closeness had on him. A responding ache shuddered through her. She squeezed her thighs to fight her body’s reaction. She should have been afraid, but the feel of him so hard and…ravenous had her craving more.

“Answer me. What is this?” He grabbed a fistful of her braid and yanked her closer so that their foreheads almost touched.

“I-I…” Her brows pulled together. She didn’t even recognize herself. Gods, she was sick to death of her fear, her doubt, her guilt. Tired of her mother’s voice in her head—a scorned woman’s hang-ups plaguing her thoughts, her life. She was not her mother. So this timid, indecisive, weak Jame had to take a hike. Like now. “Screw it!”

She took the plunge, crushing her lips against his.

The motion must have caught him by surprise. He hesitated a second and the tips of his fangs snagged her bottom lip. It hurt, but not enough to deter her. She slipped past his defenses and coaxed his response. He got with the program fast, licking the blood from her mouth and healing the cut with his tongue. Wildfire raced through her, a spike of adrenaline that fueled the flames.

Jame threw her arms around his neck and squirmed closer. He groaned into her mouth as her bottom brushed against the bulge in his jeans. The panther in her prowled close to the surface. Full-blooded shifters could change into any animal, but each had a special connection with one species. For her, it was all cat. She purred against his throat, breaking the kiss to nibble along his neck.

“Bite me, luv,” he growled. His fingers clenched in her hair.

Her incisors grew at his sensual command. She fought to keep her animal instincts under control. The cat’s natural desire for dominance and possession warred with her senses. She scraped her teeth along his shoulder, nudging the collar of his shirt aside.

Drake held her head in a vise grip. “Do it.”

She struck. Hard and fast, her feline teeth sunk into the tender space at the base of his neck. Coppery tang hit her tongue. She swirled it around her mouth and then sucked again. His blood spiked her arousal into a fever pitch. More. The primitive part of her brain demanded to be sated.

“Hey!” A shout drew her from the bloodlust, coupled with a sweaty palm banging on the windshield. “You want to get off in this neighborhood, you pay for it.”

Jame licked her lips and lapped up the stray drops on Drake’s skin. The puncture wounds on his neck already healed as she turned toward the noise.

A woman in a black mini-skirt, fishnet shirt, hot pink bra, and silver stilettos stood in front of the car. Her no-nonsense posture and caked-on makeup read one thing—hooker. She sauntered to the side. “You ain’t a workin’ gal, honey. But if you start givin’ it away for free in my territory, I’m gonna charge your ass for property rights. Feel me?”

Every single weapon on Jame’s body called for attention, although the streetwalker didn’t factor into the line of fire. The rumble in Drake’s chest that hinted at suppressed laughter, however, made her want to haul out a few key parts of her arsenal. She wiggled from his lap instead and drew the last vestiges of her dignity around her like armor.

“Sorry about that,” she said to the prostitute. “Won’t happen again.” Casting a sneer at the vampire in the car, she then nodded at the woman. “Trust me.”

As Jame slammed the door and walked to the driver’s side, the hooker eyed Drake up and down like a piece of meat. “I dunno, honey,” the woman said. “Seems temptin’ to me.” She bent over the open window. “Might be I’d give you a free ride, sugar.”

As the car engine started, Jame slid the electric windows up and punched the gear into drive. The tires spun with her foot pressed firmly against the gas pedal. She huffed her irritation at the confounded vehicle and headed free of slum row. Not for the first time, she wondered What the hell is wrong with me? The vampire blood sizzled along her senses as sinful as any aphrodisiac. She’d never lost control like that. Ever. Ew. I actually bit him. I’m worse than a vampire. Bleh.

The laugh that rumbled in Drake’s chest spilled forth, a dark rich sound that ran along her every nerve ending. “Oh Kitty, that was priceless. You wouldn’t be breaking the sound barrier because you’re jealous, would you?”

Jame stopped at a light. “Not a word.” She turned and waggled a finger at him. “Not another damn word.”

He grinned at her. “Wouldn’t dream of it, luv.”

“We’re going to grab something, okay? I’m still hungry.” Despite her disgust at her behavior, her stomach didn’t have the same sense of guilt. It rumbled as much as her hands shook on the wheel. She ignored the tremors, taking a left to pass over the Anacostia River and heading back toward the downtown area. Drake snickered beside her. She narrowed her eyes and huffed. “For food. I’m hungry for food.”

“Of course, luv. Of course. Didn’t think you meant otherwise.” He clasped his hands behind his head.

“Oh hell.” Her fingers danced along the steering wheel and then settled on the window button. She pressed it down, letting the warm breeze blow across her face. It sent strands of hair flying from her braid, but she didn’t care. She needed relief. “Can we please pretend this never happened?”

He angled toward her, a predatory gleam in those dark eyes. “Not a chance.” His devil-be-damned grin.

She kept her stare pinned on the road. Her appetite rose to unbearable heights, and it sure as hell wasn’t for food. “Fuck,” she mumbled.

“I do hope so.” Out of her peripheral vision, she could see his intense stare lock on her mouth.

Without taking her eyes from the windshield, she pointed her index finger toward the passenger door. “You,” she said to Drake. “Zip it or you walk, got it?”

“Fine with me. I can think of plenty of things I’d rather do than talk.” He eased into his seat once more and kicked his booted feet onto the dashboard. “Now that I know you’re in the game again, I’ll be patient.”

“I’m not playing at anything.” If she had been like her replacement in District Thirteen, steam would have come out of her nose. Luckily, the freaky fire-starter thing was Sera’s deal, although fire at her fingertips might be nice. On the other hand, Jame’s knuckles itched to let loose claws. Raptor claws. Her eyes widened. Velociraptor claws. The thought had her smiling inside and humming the tune to Jurassic Park as she contemplated the possibilities of shifting into a creature extinct seventy million years.

“Penny for your thoughts, luv?” Drake’s long legs stretched along the car’s console, his thigh muscles apparent even under the denim material.

Dryness coated her throat. Her gaze wandered of its own accord to the bit of skin revealed at the edge of his t-shirt, a glimpse of solid abs and a trail of black hair. The peek had her mind off dinosaurs and onto more important matters. She eyed his frosted hair, dark at the roots with blond spikes on top. Natural or matching? She bit her lip, casting a glance back at that hint of skin.

“See something you like?” He snapped his fingers under her nose.

She blinked at the noise and then snarled at him.

“At least you’re not afraid anymore.” He smirked.

“I was never scared.” At least not that she’d admit to him. She didn’t turn this time. Her attention would stay on the road if she had to put side blinders on, damn it.

“No? What is it then?” He planted his feet on the car floor and leaned toward her.

What the hell does he want from me? Sharing sad stories now? Our baggage? Her nostrils flared. “Maybe I just don’t like you.”

His streak of merriment sounded so dark and sensual, she nearly lost control of the car. How could he disarm her so easily? All the walls she had constructed. All the careful shielding she had erected around her mind…her heart. Don’t even think about it, Bradshaw. Sweet words, wanting to get to know her, figure her out, no. Big no. Why does he want to know me anyway? I’m a damn deathtrap. He’ll just get hurt. Like I let Slick get hurt. Oh shit. And there it was. The real reason why she didn’t get close to people. Not some nonsense about male intentions or mother issues. The truth stared her in the face, and she didn’t care for the reflection.

“We’ll see,” he said quietly.

“What?” She shook her head, trying to jar loose some of the heavy thoughts.

“You think you don’t like me? Don’t care for me?” He raised his eyebrows. “But we’ll see about that.”

Chapter Fifteen

Dive In Tavern, Washington, DC

A half hour later, Drake sat on a stool at one of the three tables still standing upright in the place. Across from him, Jame inhaled her third burger and fries combo. The greasy aroma should have set his gag reflex into full swing, but staring at the way her throat moved with each swallow had him hypnotized.

She’d bitten him, for the love of gods. Not a vampiric blood exchange, not a lover’s nibble, but a full on I-need-you-now animalistic bite. And oh, how he needed more. A lot more. She wasn’t the only one starved.

“How’s your food?” he said through a mountain of dry mouth.

“Fantastic. Want some?” She licked her fingers, lapping up the remnants of salty fries.

“Not the meal I had in mind.” His gaze dropped to the pulse beating at her neck.

Jame gulped a mouthful of soda. It slid down her throat. He watched, fascinated by the motion. “Ah yeah,” she said. “Right. That was stupid of me.” A spot of yellow flickered behind those hazel eyes. She nodded at the bottle in front of him. “Bottled blood, no good?”

He took a swig, let it warm in his mouth, and then pushed it down. “They’ve let it sit too long. It hardly takes the edge off.”

“Guess it’s not as high quality as you can get with the blood bags, huh?”

“No.” He brooded over the real solution to his thirst.

“Want to get out of here and stop by a bank?” She reached for a napkin in the middle of the table. He snagged her hand before she could pull away.

“The medical stuff is better than this shit.” He thrust his chin toward the bottle. “But nothing’s as good as fresh from the source.”

Drake kept her wrist trapped in his grip and drew small circles over the fluttering pulse. Her eyes widened as he brought her hand to his lips. When he planted a kiss over that tender spot, her blood pounded faster. The sound echoed in his ears like a siren’s song. “Sweet Kitty, what you do to me,” he murmured against her skin.

“I think we should go.” Jame nudged her hand back. The sparks in her eyes hinted at unspoken need. He had gotten under her skin. Now all he had to do was capture his little bird without spooking her into taking flight.

“I’ll get the bill.” He signaled to the waitress, who had all but disappeared after taking their order. Not that he would complain. Private space with Jame proved promising. He inhaled the bar’s less than appealing aromas, risking the trouble to find that enticing orange scent underneath.

“I should pay,” she said, flicking her hand at the meal. “I ate. You didn’t.”

His jaw clenched. Sometimes this modern century grated on his old-world sensibilities. Granted, headstrong independent women appealed to him. Hell, he relished the challenge of bedding and tasting them for the first hundred years or so, but now he wanted… Well, bugger, he didn’t know what he wanted, something more. “You’re most kind to offer, luv. But being the consummate gentleman that I am—,” she snorted, but he continued without pause, “I’ll be picking up the tab.”

“Have it your way.” She rolled her eyes and got up from the table.

“Where are you going?” He tried to keep the possessiveness from his tone and failed. Her move in the car had caught him off guard. After he’d cut into her about being afraid, he thought that would be the end of it. He was determined to back away, not push something that she didn’t want. But gods, then she practically jumped him, bit him, tasted him. His blood still sang from the onslaught.

“To the bathroom, master.” She gave him a mock bow, pulling him from his thoughts. “That all right with you?”

“Certainly.” He waved her off with a smug grin. “Take your time.”

She stalked to the restroom with a swing in her hips. His gaze followed that subtle movement until she disappeared behind the ladies’ room door. His hunger rose another ten notches so that the damned bottled blood tasted like ashes in his mouth. He spit the remnants back into the bottle.

Signaling the inattentive waitress, he spun the coaster announcing “Best Grub in Town” until she appeared. The brunette with a tight white T-shirt and tighter turquoise shorts bent over to pick up the plates. The view gave Drake an eyeful of cleavage, but his concentration zeroed in on her pulsing neck. She grabbed the knife and fork from the table with efficiency, balanced everything in one arm, and nodded toward him. With a southern drawl that sounded out of place in DC, she said, “That all, darlin’?”

“Yes,” he choked out. His lips ran dry enough to crack. At his age, the blood craze should have been long dead, but Jame and her damn shifter pheromones ramped up his desires as bad as if he was newly turned. “Just the bill.”

“Right.” The waitress raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him and handed him the bill from a pocket over her breast. “If you need anything else,” she bowed over far enough to shove her chest in his face, “my number’s on the back.”

He blinked his surprise and then watched her walk away with a wink thrown over her shoulder. Flipping over the bill, he muttered, “Bugger.” The backside had her number and a note that read, For when your girlfriend’s not around. He laughed, pulled some money from his wallet, and left a generous tip on the table. “Once upon a time, luv.”

Leaving the table and the waitress’ temptations, he headed toward the back of the bar. In the hallway that housed the two restrooms and what looked to be a supply closet, he waited outside the ladies’ room door. Jame emerged a few seconds later. He stopped her before she could leave.

“Anyone else inside?” he asked.

Her eyes widened, but she shook her head no.

“Good.” It was all the warning he could manage and not one at all. He gripped her hips, backing her into the bathroom and shoving the door closed behind them with his booted foot. He released her only long enough to snap the lock into place.

“Drake?” She froze, staring at the door.

“I’m sorry, but you started this.” In two short strides, he had her. Hoisting her atop the sink, he coaxed her legs around his waist and crushed her to his chest. His mouth bore down on her lips. A feminine squeak escaped her before she opened her mouth in silent invitation and hooked her ankles around his back. At her willing response, he nearly dove for her throat.

Easy, damn sod, before you scare her off. He broke the kiss to bite the inside of his cheek and regain a measure of control. His breath escaped in small puffs through his nostrils. When the edge of the lust smoothed from sharpened stabs to a continuous pulse, he looked at her again. Her eyes glowed in the restroom’s halogen lights, a catlike gold.

She purred and licked his throat. “Don’t stop.”

“Christ.” He picked her up and pushed her against the wall. Her feminine core met his straining erection through their clothes. The tight friction caused her to gasp. He arched his hips into her. She gripped his forearms. He met her seeking mouth with a plundering response. Her tongue lapped at his like a cat at a bowl of cream.

His blood boiled in his veins. If he didn’t replenish the supply, he’d starve with a raging hard-on. Not the true death he imagined. But he couldn’t do it. Not without her permission. “Jame,” he said through their mutual lust. “I can’t keep this up much longer.”

She stilled, her body humming with desire. “What’s wrong?”

“Blood. I need blood.” His fangs ripped through his gums with such force, he knew he’d waited too long.

Her cheeks stained a brilliant pink. “Take mine then,” she whispered, so low he wasn’t sure he had heard her right.

“What?” He inhaled to try to stifle the nagging hunger, but he breathed too deep. Her sweet orange scent mingled with her arousal, creating a heady concoction he couldn’t resist. He swallowed. “Say it again.”

“Mine,” she said louder. “You can take mine.”

With the last vestiges of sanity remaining, he bit out, “Are you sure?”

Jame pushed the stray hair off her neck and arched her head back. “Yes.” Her legs trembled around him. As he brought his lips toward her neck, she shoved a hand on his chest. “Wait.” She looked into his eyes. “Will it hurt?”

He breathed easier. If she refused, he didn’t know how he’d step away, but nervousness…that he could handle. “No, luv. Not at all.”

Her hands ran through his hair, dragging him closer. Those cat eyes sparkled with excitement. “Okay.”

Drake savored her acceptance before sating his hunger. Now that he knew the moment would come, he could take his time appreciating her. He sniffed along her neck, inhaling the very essence of her desire deep into his lungs. That spicy tinge coated his nose and hardened every muscle. He held her pressed between the wall and his body with one hand under her perfect ass. The other hand freely roamed from her sleek neck, down her shoulder, to cup one breast in his palm.

She moaned and arched into his touch. Using his thumb, he brushed her tender peak over and over until she dug her nails into his shoulders. The razor tips hinted at the claws she’d let slip. “All right. Enough playing.”

Faster than any known predator, he dug his fangs into her neck. The erotic blood poured into his mouth, calling to him. She cried out, but not in pain. Her hips bucked against his as if seeking relief. The secret of a vampire bite rested in the saliva. One bite could cause the most vicious pain or the sweetest ecstasy. With his fiery shifter, all he wanted was her screams of desire.

Cursing himself for not stripping their clothes, he ground into her through the damnable jeans. Writhing against him, she sought the relief they both desperately needed. Well at least he could fix her ache. He mimicked the movements he’d like to do to her in bed and rubbed against her most sensitive spot.

Her blood would have to do for him…for now.

Damn.

Her moans soon turned to whimpers as the sensations overwhelmed her. Drake could feel the buildup of her climax through her blood. His thoughts shattered so all that remained was the feel of her body, the scent of her skin, the rush of her blood. When she screamed his name and her body convulsed around him, an equal wave of ecstasy coursed through her blood and pulsed in his veins. He retracted his fangs and licked the wound closed before he did something stupid. Like tear her clothes into shreds and pound into her until they both surrendered to mindless passion.

“What?” Her forehead fell against his neck. She exhaled a slow breath. Her body sagged in his grip. He lowered her to the ground, holding her up until she stood on her own. She took a step toward the counter and held onto it with a white-knuckled grip. Her eyes blazed pure gold. “How?”

Before he could answer, a jarring ring sliced the air. Jame jumped. He cursed. She patted down her pockets for the offending noise and then unzipped one compartment at her hip and extracted her cell phone.

“How much do you carry in those things?” He ran his gaze over her fatigues. She carted around at least twenty pounds of weapons and gods-knew-what in those military pants. In the heat of the moment, he hadn’t even noticed her personal artillery. Or maybe he just hadn’t cared.

She cast him a wicked smile and then answered the call. “Agent Bradshaw.”

With his vampiric sense, he heard the other side of the conversation. “Bradshaw, this is Agent Frost. I have news on the Capitol situation.”

Chapter Sixteen

Dive In Tavern, Washington, DC

Business. Case. Code black. Any of this ring a bell? Jame tried to concentrate on the call and rubbed her legs together to stave off the unbidden bite of lust—bite being the operative word. Not in a century or more would she have imagined a vampire gnawing on her neck could cause that much pleasure. Her body tingled with sensation. The one orgasm didn’t even begin to ease the desire. She wanted more, much more, but…with Drake?

Hello. Earth to Jame. Bigger things to deal with now. She shook her head and shifted the cell phone at her ear. A chilling voice spoke through the line, “Bradshaw, did you hear me?”

“Agent Frost, yes. Thank you,” Jame said as steadily as she could manage, turning to glance in the bathroom mirror. She scrunched her nose and squinted at her reflection. Her cheeks bore a pink hue, a token of the heat between her and the vampire, but otherwise she looked semi-composed. Now to sound it. She added some steel to her voice, “You said you had information for us.”

As the unit leader for Districts One, Eleven, and Twelve, and one of the fearsome five agents who practically ran PCD, Frost easily outranked her. Didn’t much matter to Jame, the woman spelled trouble with a capital B. Beware the mega Bitch. Despite the warning to herself, she couldn’t help adding, “I have to say I wouldn’t have expected an update from you.”

“Yes, well Mack has been quite diligent about going through the evidence you collected at the code black and Senator McDonald’s home last evening.” The frigid mess-with-me-and-die tone guaranteed Frost’s orders were always followed. It ruffled Jame’s feathers worse than her ex-boss, the straight-laced Talon, ever had. She stifled a retort as Frost continued, “I don’t have time to waste with idle conversation, so allow me to get to the point.”

Oh please do, so I can get off this phone. Jame turned to Drake with a dramatic—but silent—huff. He shrugged with a smirk on his face. His gaze roamed from her face right to the spot where he had bitten her. Although he’d healed the puncture wounds with his tongue, she could still feel shivers rack her body. She angled the now invisible mark away from his prying eyes.

“Bradshaw, we have reason to suspect that an anti-SUB group is behind the code black.” Frost cut into the silent byplay between Jame and the vampire.

“What’s come up to support that theory?” Jame didn’t like the sound of it. Right on the surface of things it seemed the most logical account, but something darker roamed behind the curtains. She could almost touch it. If she just thought on it longer, or if they had more time, she knew the answer would come to her.

“I do not consider it information you need to know. You will be sent all the relevant details.” The sound of clicking computer keys passed over the call. “I expect the leader of this hate group to be in custody within forty-eight hours. Is that understood, Bradshaw?”

“And what evidence do we have to issue a warrant for his arrest?” The nagging pain in her gut flared to the size of a grapefruit. This was off, way off.

“I’m issuing PCD executive order one-one-two and a red alert for the DC area. The civilian curfew will go into effect tonight at nine p.m.” Frost’s biting words cut the air like glass.

“That could drive the city into a panic. Are you sure this is necessary?” The grapefruit morphed into a basketball.

A low-pitched growl caught Jame unaware. Frost exuded cold and detached better than any statue caught in an ice storm. Jame must have hit a nerve to elicit that response, but a moment later, the unit leader sounded all business again, “Martial law will be in order until this man is in custody or dead. Is that clear enough?”

“Yes.” Jame knew better than to argue. “So how do we find him?”

* * *

Twenty minutes and scraps of data to her cell phone later, Jame and Drake were heading back to slum row. Turned out what Frost thought Jame “needed to know” wasn’t a whole helluva lot. Apparently, the anti-SUB group had called into the local TV station and claimed responsibility for the code black. Considering the account of the crime splashed all over the evening news last night, Jame thought the timing a tad suspect and the evidence more than lacking. But whatever, the higher-ups wanted this leader, Kuruk, brought in. Like a good little agent, she would follow orders. For now.

“This is like looking for fresh fruit in a cereal box.” She slumped in the passenger seat, letting Drake drive the trek back to the ghetto. He whipped along the streets as if training for NASCAR. She didn’t complain. The faster they got Frost’s orders out of the way, the faster they could solve the case. Hopefully, her team had more luck on the intel than them. “This is a colossal time suck. We should be concentrating on a finatite dealer or a link between the senators.”

“Daft PCD leaders love their power trips.” He swerved around a biker a tad closer than Jame liked. “Don’t worry. We’ll get it done.”

She couldn’t stop brooding. Every block led them back to the place they had started hours before. “Maybe Mack found something that Meg didn’t pick up.” Her fingers zipped along her collarbone until she threw up her hands. “If these assholes did call in and claim responsibility for the crime, well then, they need to be brought in anyway.”

“True.” Drake pulled into the narrow alley that functioned as the invisible border between the “good” and “bad” parts of town.

Jame rested her fingers on the door handle but turned to Drake before opening it. “You up for this, vampire?”

He leaned across the armrest between them, inches shy of her face. “Don’t be coy, luv. You know I’m up for anything. All you have to do is ask.”

She searched his face, starting with those full lips that might have looked too pretty on any other male, but instead accented the vampire’s angular jaw. Her exploration traveled north from his straight aristocratic nose to those impossibly dark eyes. His gaze penetrated through her, blacker than night with a subtle glow in its depths. She continued higher to a small scar over his right brow. It must have been from his human life, as vampires didn’t scar. She swallowed, wondering more about the man behind the vampire and not liking the direction of her thoughts. Ripping her eyes from his too-appealing face, she got out of the car and closed the door with a bit more force than necessary.

Following her out, he raised a questioning brow at her. She ignored the silent inquiry and waved for him to trail her down the alley. The street changed with every step, from a non-threatening pedestrian walkway into a festering hole. Leftovers from the greasy spoon to the right battled with sewage stink from a broken manhole cover and the gods-knew-what garbage from a butcher shop on the left.

Her gag reflex kicked in big time. She covered her nose and mouth with her palm as her boots sloshed through brown puddles. Toward the end of the alley, she caught a glimpse of familiar silver stilettos disappearing around a corner. Without daring to take her hand away from her mouth, she motioned for Drake to hurry up with her free hand. They jogged down the alley and rounded the corner until they came face-to-face with the hooker from before.

“Hey there, honey pie. Didn’t expect to see you again?” The woman’s bright lipstick formed a red O when she puckered her lips at Drake. “You came to see Miss Cherry Pop?”

Cherry Pop? Jame held back a sneer. Her cherry was popped a looong time ago.

When Jame would have started her bad cop routine, Drake laid a hand on her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “I’ll take this one.”

The bastard vampire had the nerve to wink and then stroll up to the whore with cool assurance. He shot the woman one of those devastating smiles, the type that sent Jame’s hormones into overdrive and her common sense spinning off the radar. The hooker’s breasts bounced in her hot pink bra and fishnet shirt as something Drake said caused her to laugh.

Jame planted her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. She would not be jealous. Oh hell no. Not happening. As she watched the two whisper to each other like old pals, her fingers tingled with the need to shift. Then again, scratching the bitch’s eyes out might be too catty even for her. Maybe she’d tear out the whore’s throat instead, you know, give her a bloody necklace to match her name. That fit her badass agent image much better.

Seething under her skin, Jame shifted her inner ear canal to a dog’s sensitive biological makeup. The extra muscles would allow her to hear the conversation between Drake and the hooker better, and with luck, prevent her from unleashing a beat-down on the pair.

“Cherry luv, we’re looking for a wanker that might frequent this alley.” Drake ran his finger up and down Cherry’s bare arm. “Care to help us out?”

“Oh honey, you’re a cutie, but nothin’ in this world is free.” She cast a look to his jeans and cocked her head to the side. “What’s it worth to you?”

“I knew I’d like you. No bull.” Pulling free his wallet, he whipped forth a few bills and tucked the leather away again faster than the hooker or Jame could track. “Now, how about a ten for every question that’s more than a yes or no answer? Five for the latter?”

“Call it twenty and ten even, sugar, and you have yourself a deal.”

“Hard bargain.” He flipped a twenty from the stack. “Have you met a man named Kuruk?”

“I meet a lot of men, sweet lips. You’ll need to do better than that if you want answers.” She snagged the first bill from his hand.

“Agent,” he turned to her. “Be a luv and bring over that description, huh?”

Jame picked her cell from her pocket and tossed it at him. If she walked a step closer, she would haul off and belt Miss Cherry Pop in the mouth. Shifter territorial instincts. Nothing to do with Drake talking to a hooker. Nothing about the asshat vampire at all. She didn’t swallow that pile of crap, but it stopped her from committing hooker homicide.

“All right, Cherry. Our boy’s about six-five, two twenty, and of Native American descent. Bad attitude and probably ranting about vampires, shifters, psykes, or all three. Here’s a photo.” He held up the phone’s screen. “Ring any bells?”

“Oh, that Kuruk.” A knowing smile flit over Cherry’s face. “Yeah, I know him.”

Drake freed a ten and handed it to her. “What do you say to an even hundred, if you tell me where I can find him now?”

“I’d say Cherry Pop ain’t no con artist.” Sliding up to the vampire, she tilted her lips toward his ear and cupped her mouth. “Can’t tell you where he is now, but I can tell you where he’ll be later.”

“Good enough, luv. Let’s hear it.” He extracted a hundred-dollar bill and tucked the rest into an interior jacket pocket.

“Kuruk doesn’t partake in the finer delicacies of our fair street.” Cherry sneered as if the man’s choice not to indulge in hookers lowered her opinion of him. “He goes there,” she pointed to the middle of the alley. “The butcher gets him what he needs every Thursday right around ten.”

“Music to my ears, my dear.” Drake placed the money in Cherry’s outstretched palm. “Quite the pleasant exchange.”

“Oh, we could have much more pleasantries, Mr. Vampire. You just come a-callin’ for sweet Cherry Pop.” She sauntered away on those silver stilettos with more flair than Jame would ever master in heels.

Once Cherry rounded the corner out of sight, Jame laughed at the absurdity. Green-eyed envy for a hooker. Who would have thought? Turning to the vampire, she watched as Drake rearranged the content of his pockets. He placed a small gold lighter that she had seen him fiddle with earlier against his chest in a pocket an inch or two above his heart. Meanwhile, he returned the wad of cash to his wallet and put that inside his jacket. She stepped closer and pinched the bottom of his coat. “And you say I carry too much.”

“Only the necessities.” He patted his chest where the lighter rested.

She had never seen him smoke but shrugged it off. If he wanted a little firepower, who was she to argue? After all, she carried enough stock for a one-woman army. Laughing in silence at her joke, she ran a hand over her fatigues and touched the various weapons stashed throughout for comfort. “So, next lovely denizen of slum row?”

“Lead the way.” He swept a hand toward the alley.

Crinkling her nose, she braced for the stench. It didn’t bowl her over this time, but damn it’d take a month to unclog her nose. The sewer and slums all in the same week. How’d I get so lucky? Just as she was about to admit defeat and shift into a duck’s beak or something, she caught a whiff of Drake’s natural cologne. The heady scent of merlot mixed with a hint of something nutty but sweet. “Amaretto?”

“What now?” He stalked steps behind her, surveying the street.

“Nothing.” The pungent aromas of the alley didn’t stand a chance against Drake’s intoxicating scent, and neither did her libido. She sucked in gulps of air through her mouth. No more risking her nose, one way or the other.

The butcher shop fit in with the oppressive atmosphere of the slums, and yet managed to stick out thanks to its large window. It featured meats at various stages of preparation, with thick parallel bars protecting the merchandise. An alarm company tag displayed prominently in the lower corner read “Dead Meat is Our Business.”

Jame snickered. “No kidding.” She eyed the inconspicuous metal door that stood slightly ajar. An overcast sky painted the small peek inside with shadows. “What other business are you in, butcher?”

The interior held little more promise than the outside. The stench of the butcher shop reeked something fierce. Good gods, and I thought the outside was bad. Bile rose in her throat. She stepped back, colliding with Drake.

He clasped her shoulders. “Steady.”

“I’m all right. It’s just the smell.” It permeated every speck of oxygen and seeped into her clothes. Raw meat and pigs’ guts. Ugh, she’d never look at an animal the same way again.

“Can’t help that much.” The butcher smacked his hands against his bloody smock. Bushy brows pulled together as his steel gray eyes regarded them. “Not if I want to run a proper business.” Dirt and grime coated the wide palm he now held out to them. Jame stared at it. Her face must have shown her horror because he pulled it back with a laugh. The deep chuckle made his chest rise and fall. “That’s fine.” His grin appeared friendly enough, but his stiff posture spoke otherwise. He stood behind the counter as large as a linebacker, ready to charge at them. “What can I do for you?”

Scrounging around for her moxie, she straightened her back and put on her best poker face. “You can start by telling us about this man.” She held up the same picture from her cell phone Drake had shown to the hooker. “Know ’em?”

The butcher spared a glance at Drake that said without words, Is she for real?

She walked up to the counter and planted the phone under the man’s nose. The butcher’s six feet and likely three hundred plus pounds—mostly in his gut—wouldn’t intimate her. His dismissive attitude meant even less. Let him underestimate her. She had learned over the years bigger just meant they fell harder when she knocked them down. “Take a closer look, cupcake. Maybe you didn’t see it from where I was standing.”

His grin widened into a full-blown ear-to-ear smile. “Oh I see now.”

“Great, so then you can tell us all the dirty details.” She kept her face blank of emotion.

“Now why would I do that?”

Spying the one spot on the counter not coated in crust, she set her cell aside and rifled through her fatigues. Her pants pockets resembled her closets at home—an organized mess. About four inches into the deepest compartment, she snatched her badge.

His plastered-on happy face dropped as he eyed the PCD insignia on the gold-plated shield. The right corner of his mouth twisted into a sneer. “Pigs.”

Her insides bristled at the insult, but before she could respond, Drake stepped in.

“Bloody hell, talk about the tosspot calling the kettle black.” He strolled up to the counter with a laidback air and cocked an elbow on its questionable surface. “Have you looked around lately? Or better yet in a mirror?”

“Aren’t you clever, cop?” The butcher placed a meaty fist on the counter next to Drake’s arm. “We don’t talk to your kind around here.”

“Maybe you’ll talk to this kind then.” Drake rose to his full height and extended his fangs. His eyes held the threat of violence, an icy black intensity. Every muscle vibrated as if he held back with the barest restraint.

Jame swallowed. Note to self, don’t piss off the vampire.

The butcher held his own for a second or two before shrinking back and taking out the rack behind him. Cans and jars crashed to the floor. The metallic clanging on cement accosted her ears. A side of beef suspended above swung several times before the butcher wrapped his arms around it and slowed its movements.

Jame laid a hand on Drake’s arm. He spun on her with speed not even her shifter sight could track. Her senses spiked to full alert as his teeth grazed her ear. “Easy, vampire. Don’t lose it now,” she whispered to him with more gumption than she felt. “Let’s try this another way.”

He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. Silently, he floated to the corner, his boots not making a single noise on the ground. He crossed his arms over his chest and saddled the butcher with a lethal stare.

“Now butcher, listen.” She hopped onto the counter, cringing at the bacteria already attaching to her fatigues. Years of training to play the good cop—as in the talk to the sexy cop’s cleavage kind of good cop—had her slipping into the old routine. She may have hated it, but nine times out of ten, it worked. Bending at the waist, she made sure he got a decent eyeful. “We can do this the easy or hard way. But, one way or the other, we’ll get what we want.”

The butcher let out a whistle. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, darling.” He pointed at her breasts. “Doesn’t do a thing for me.”

Damn it. A hooker and now a gay butcher. Jame snuck a glimpse at Drake out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t move, but the look on his face showed his surprise. Maybe Drake should have stayed playing good cop. Ah well. Too late. She jumped off the counter and wiped all the crap off her pants. Her pulse spiked from adrenaline. This asshat would not deter their investigation.

“Okay, hard way.” She picked up the swing-top counter and headed to the back room without another word.

“Wait,” the butcher called. “You can’t go in there. Where’s your warrant?”

“Actually, a red alert was issued for the DC area. Hadn’t you heard?” She shouted over her shoulder and kept going. “Martial law. No warrant required.”

Hearing the butcher run toward her she whirled around to plant a fist in his face. Drake sped forward before her punch could connect, leaving her swinging at empty air. He clamped the butcher under his arms and around his neck in an impressive full nelson. “Go. See what this wanker’s hiding. He’s not going anywhere.”

Jame nodded and disappeared behind a thick plastic curtain. The cold hit her like a blast of arctic wind. It bit to the bone. She rubbed her palms over her bare arms and pushed forward. Raw beef hung from the ceiling in haphazard fashion. Cardboard boxes, stacked from the floor to well over her head, took up three walls. Zigzagging through the meat maze, she spotted the shortest stack.

The first box at the bottom had no markings anywhere and the flaps pulled down to cover its contents. She drew the right side slowly toward her, not sure of what might leap free. When nothing emerged, she opened it all the way and gasped at the sight.

“Well, what do we have here?” Neatly piled inside the box sat enough assault rifles to arm a street gang…or an anti-SUB terrorist group.

Rifling through the next package earned her a glimpse of sophisticated communications equipment. When she had searched three more containers, she added night vision goggles, infrared scanners, aura readers, and a mini-EMP device, but not until she got to the last box did her heart start to pick up speed.

In a metal compartment, six glass test tubes rested against foam cushion. The contents of the tubes took her back to tenth grade chemistry. She shuddered. In one such class she might have instigated a minor chemical reaction that resulted in her penciling on eyebrows for about two months. She palmed the cylinder and held it to the light. Inside, faint traces of powder flickered. She eyed the contents and then popped the small rubber stopper. No explosions. She raised an eyebrow—not penciled on. Good start.

Holding the tube under her nose, she sniffed. “Whoa.” She put the lid on and placed the metal compartment with the remaining test tubes back in the box. This tube, however, was coming as her insurance policy. She headed to the outer room.

Drake still restrained the butcher. Although, the vampire had let the man put his arms down, gripping him instead around the biceps. The butcher snarled at her approach. Drake’s fingers dug into the man’s flesh.

“Drake,” she said with a smile in her voice. “You’ll never believe what I found.”

“No?” His eyes snapped to the test tube she held in her outstretched palm. “Well, don’t keep me waiting.”

She inched closer so the light hit the tube. The contents shimmered with shades of red and yellow. “It seems our butcher friend here is a finatite dealer.”

“Ha, brilliant.” Drake let the man go but slapped him hard between his shoulder blades. The smack cut the air. “Then we’ve some questions for you,” his mouth widened, revealing those lethal fangs, “friend.”

Chapter Seventeen

PCD Headquarters for District One, Washington, DC

“Slick? Slick? You awake?” Meg played soft wind chimes over the computer. The stubborn shifter didn’t budge. She amped up the noise and changed over to a dog barking. Not a peep. Under the desk, she bounced her feet on the floor. He can’t be dead. “Slick!” she shouted over the communications systems, letting the call reverberate through every speaker in District One headquarters. Nada. Oh my gods. Oh my gods. She tried a blaring alarm next with the same results.

Could do a mind nudge. If he’s alive, that’ll wake him. If he’s not… She sucked on her lower lip and then shook her head. “No, he’s fine. He’ll wake up with a little help.” Imposing on a fellow agent’s brain was way against the rules. Even a harmless teeny nudge had the big kibosh stamped on it. But as icy chills sucked the air from her lungs, Meg so didn’t care.

With a flutter as light as a butterfly’s wings, she sent her psyke power seeking over the sound waves to lock onto Slick’s neural signature. Her sensory telepathy allowed her to read a person’s thoughts if she connected to their voice. The tremors and inflections in audible patterns ordinarily burst before her eyes like exploding stars. Yet since Slick slept, she needed to recapture his rich baritone from memory and push even harder in order to make a connection.

In her mind’s eye, a bright silver vortex swirled around as fast as a tornado. It represented the hue for shifters and the turbulent blueprint of their minds. Once she had a perfect picture of it, she added in a touch of green to embody his human side. With a deep breath, she recalled his voice. “Meg, my love, come to bed.”

Okay. So… He had never really said that to her, but as long as she got the voice right, she could have him say whatever she liked. She smiled at the thought and reached for him. A cold sweat formed on her brow. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. The NeuroNet device hummed on her desk. The electric headset helped her tap into the superhighway of the internet with blazing speed, but in this endeavor, it would be no help.

“Come on, Slick. Give me something.” She concentrated, straining for a way in. Her pulse pounded at her temples. When she huffed and started to pull back, he murmured something in his sleep. “Yes!”

Relief washed through her. He’s okay. She should back off…like now… But I need to tell him about…

He turned in his sleep, rolling on his side.

Maybe just a bit more to wake him.

Meg’s focus shifted to a laser point. Capturing the sound of his murmurings, she tapped on his mental walls. Slick, she whispered into his mind. A narrow door opened. She slipped inside. Images flashed like pictures on a movie screen until they settled on one scene.

With her body safe and secure in her office, she flushed from head to toe as her mind link with Slick revealed his dream. He stood naked before a kneeling—and equally naked—dark haired woman. Her curvy form hinted at more than a few pounds past average, but Slick looked at her with heat flashing in those golden-green eyes.

She cried out the one thing guaranteed to break this moment. “Dane!”

The link severed as Slick’s mental walls slammed shut. Meg blinked several times, her mind struggling to reorient itself. Her hands rested over a large-scale keyboard. She stretched her arms and then took in her surroundings. She sat at her desk at Communications Control Beta. Her monitors revealed the bunk room of District One headquarters from six different angles. Slick appeared on every screen, lounging shirtless on one of the lower bunk beds. She snapped her fingers. “Right, Slick.” She used one of the monitors to zoom-in on him and start up a com link.

His eyes opened. He rubbed his chin and looked around. Rising to his feet, he stretched his arms overhead. His long lean muscles expanded under sun-kissed skin. Meg tried to get out a word of greeting, but her voice disappeared. She watched, entranced by his movements and the memory of his dream.

Slick stilled. His eyes darted over every inch of the room. “Hello?”

The noise startled her from her peeping. She swallowed and forced the normal zest into her voice. “Hey! I’m glad you’re okay. You wouldn’t wake up for anything.”

“Meg?” He breathed her name and then flipped his gaze toward the camera in the corner.

She switched the monitor’s image to the corner camera and zoomed in closer. “Yup, it’s me. Been reviewing the evidence. Got some news for you.”

“That’s great.” He covered his mouth over a yawn. “Meant to check in with you after I linked up the senator’s computer to your system.” He yawned again. “Sorry. Needed some shuteye.”

“Well after last night’s debacle at the senator’s house, I’d imagine so.” She bristled over his stupidity of going in alone.

“Yeah, yeah. Save the ‘I told you so’ for later.” His hand motioned toward the door. “Lemme grab some clothes and I’ll meet you in the com room, Miss Eye in the Sky.”

“Oh yeah. S-sure. Of course.” She grimaced. A knot of guilt sat in the pit of her stomach. Granted she had mind-nudged him for a good reason, making sure he was alive and all, but still. She should have stopped before waking him. He didn’t know she’d caught a glimpse of his dream. She tried to keep her voice from cracking. “Sorry for invading your privacy.”

As he pulled a shirt over his head, he turned and smiled at the camera. “Oh, you feel free to check up on me anytime you like, sweetness.”

Her cheeks heated. “Okay,” she whispered. “M-meet you in the com room.” She flicked off the monitor and used her remote access to load up the system. The communications room held two desks, four computers, and scattered electronic gear. Being that District One’s jurisdiction ran from Baltimore to Key West, the headquarters needed so much more, despite its current size and sub-offices scattered amongst the region. Meg sighed as she eyed the sparse setup. All PCD struggled with funding issues and minimal manpower, and no matter how much she and Mack contributed their psyke abilities, it was never enough.

“Now, baby doll, where were we?” Slick leaned over one of the desks, revealing a snug Army-green T-shirt and a killer smile.

Meg’s solemn mood broke at the sight of him. Hard to stay depressed with that much yummy goodness staring at her. She flashed a goofy grin into her webcam and loaded it onto his screen.

“Hey! Hot pink today. I like it.” He eyed the colorful strands of her hair with an approving nod.

She couldn’t hold back her glee and let one of her signature smiley faces bounce across the screen. “Thank you.” The materials she had discovered earlier flashed in a new window as the download finished. Her excitement faded. Calm down, girl. He’s an agent, not a play toy. She clicked on the photo gallery from her findings and shared it on his screen. “So, check out what I found.” The first pics loaded onto the monitor. “Looks like Senator McDonald and Adriana Farrington had some dirty little secrets.”

“Besides them both being phage?” Slick parked into the leather seat, plopped a hand under his chin, and stared at the computer.

“Don’t look so bored,” she chastised and enlarged the images. “These are pretty racy.”

His eyes went owl wide. “Hell and a half. Are they—”

“Yeah.” Meg fumbled through the photos, everyone worse than the last. The pair of phage had enough graphic pics to create a Kama Sutra book. “Got all of these off the senator’s hard drive. Seems the two were a hot item.”

“No lie.” Slick snorted. “Explains their connection.”

“Uh-huh.” She flipped over to some other interesting details she had extracted. Her head pounded from lack of sleep. Part of the insomniac night was spent worrying about Slick, and the rest of the hours she’d put into cracking the senator’s encrypted PC. “By the way, next time you want me to hack a government official’s computer, I’d appreciate not having to do it remotely.”

“I know, sweetness, but getting it to you would’ve taken days and put the case in limbo even longer.” He wiggled his brows. “Besides, I thought you liked a challenge.”

“Sure, just not when I stayed up half the night because some bone-headed shifter decided to play Rambo.” Lowering her glasses to the tip of her nose, she gave him her I-mean-business stare.

“Point taken.” He flicked a hand toward the screen. “Now what else you got?”

An electronic brochure for a fertility clinic and an article about vampire reproductive organs popped up next. “Found these two items in the same folder as the racy pictures. Looks like the happy couple wanted to be parents.”

“Well, can’t speak for the senator, but the world’s better off without more little psychopaths like that Adriana running around.” He rubbed his chin. A light stubble of five o’clock shadow ran along his jaw. Meg imagined what it’d feel like against her cheek and missed his next question. “Right?”

“Huh?” She berated herself inwardly.

“I asked about phage. They can’t have kids. Can they?” The chair rolled a few inches from the desk as he leaned against the leather backing. “They’re like vampires.”

“Yes. From what I can tell, it looks like the phage are sterile like vampires. They can’t have children through reproduction.” She massaged her neck. The dream sequence from earlier kept playing through her mind. The more she stared at the mouth-watering shifter on the other side of the screen, the faster her heart raced. “Um. Vampires and phage offspring are created through bites and the host sharing a part of their essence.” Her hair stood on end as she remembered the process. “It can’t be a simple bite. The originator has to actually impart something into the one being made.”

“Yeah. I remember from the Luminari memo.” Darkness rolled over his face like a black cloud. “Seems McDonald and Adriana were trying a new way.”

Meg shied away from that bleak expression. Even miles away, she could feel the weight of his mood. “What is it?”

“Meg, you don’t think those phage in the basement…” He trailed off. His jaw clenched so tight his cheeks reddened from the strain.

The light bulb flickered on. All her senses heightened. Even the base of her skull tingled with the realization. “The senator, Adriana, they were trying to get the pair to breed.” Her insides recoiled. “Eww.”

“What a shit storm.” He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Think the murder was to stop this…ah…mating thing?”

“No. It doesn’t make sense. Why kill the other senators? And who would know about it?” She picked up her apple-green pencil and tapped it to her temple. “My bigger worry is why Mack didn’t catch this. This computer would’ve been the first thing to go through. After Decoder’s death, he should have run the gauntlet getting intel on McDonald. The girl died in the senator’s office for gods sakes.”

“The pictures were all on the senator’s office computer?”

“Yeah.” She punched in Mack’s number. For the third time today, it went to voicemail. “Wasn’t even hard to find.”

“That’s twisted.” Silence stretched out too long between them before Slick said, “Hey, Meg, I’m sure Mack did everything he could. He’s a good agent.”

“Thanks. It’s not like him to miss anything though. He had to have searched through it.”

“Well, the higher-ups ordered us not to go after Adriana. So maybe he didn’t think the pictures were important to the case.” He shrugged. “Or maybe he had orders not to make waves for the same reason. The whole phage bid for government representation has all the admin in PCD tense.”

“I guess that could be it.” She bit down on the pencil hard enough to leave teeth marks. “But why would the PC and date book appear back in the senator’s office? Why wouldn’t it be catalogued into evidence?”

“Good question. Think someone planted it?” He swallowed. “Could Mack have put it there?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time he left me a trail of breadcrumbs to find. He craved the competition, making a game of it.” Her breath hitched. “I just wish he’d take my call.”

“Well, I gave the rest of the intel from the senator’s home to Agent Frost this morning. She was turning it over to him to investigate.” He tapped on the monitor. The noise echoed over her side of the line. “That’s probably what’s keeping him tied up. Don’t worry, okay?”

“Sure.” She managed a weak smile and then waved it off. Mack always got absorbed in his work. She loved him to death, but her brother tended to turn people off with his robotic demeanor. He shut his emotions behind a ten-foot-high wall that not even she could penetrate. He’d return her call when he was ready and not a moment before. And if these pieces of evidence were one of his mental games, he’d really make her sweat it out. Worrying herself sick would help no one and change nothing. You can’t fix him. Stop trying. She looked at his number one more time and then clicked the call window closed.

“You still with me, baby doll?” Slick leaned toward the webcam. His eyes appeared to sparkle under the office light.

“Yeah. I’m here.” She gathered herself together and pressed on. The warmth in his gaze helped her push past her brother’s rebuff. Another file blinked in the corner. “Oh, I forgot!” She clicked open a new window and shared her desktop. “Check this out.”

“Solar Energy,” Slick mumbled, scanning the words around the blue circle and bright yellow sun. “The Future is Now.” He snorted. “How very Earth-friendly.”

“You have no idea. McDonald played the human act to the letter. Turns out, he was popular amongst human constituents. So much so that they had him slated for a potential candidate in the next Triumvirate elections.”

“You’re telling me that a phage posing as a human could have been one of the three leaders of good ole Northern United America?” His fist slammed on the desk. “That’s insane.”

“Yeah, no lie. But one little snafu in the senator’s plans.” She slapped up a photo from an Earth Day protest rally. “He didn’t care too much for the environmentalist vote. So when these Solar Energy files started popping up in conjunction with his name, I did some digging.”

She paused for dramatic effect and watched as Slick inhaled, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and then stared at her again. With a drawn breath, he said, “And?”

Her smile shot ear to ear. “And, being the brilliant master of the web that I am, I uncovered this gem.” She switched the picture to a group of senators sitting at a conference table. “This is a snapshot pulled from a security camera inside the Capitol building. It’s a meeting of the Solar Energy Project Committee, and everyone in it is a victim of our code black.”

Chapter Eighteen

En Route to PCD Headquarters for District One, Washington, DC

“Oh Kitty, the look on that sod’s face when you threatened to cuff him.” Drake let go the laugh he’d held since the butcher shop. “Priceless.”

“I can’t take all the credit.” She gave him a coy smile and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The motion zeroed his attention on her sleek neck. He snapped his gaze to the road ahead with a jerk, keeping his hands—and his fangs—to himself.

The attraction to Jame sharpened his last ounce of control to a fine edge. He had fought it for four years, trying to give her time to come to terms with her feelings. Her ridiculous and childish affection for that sod, Talon, almost undid his patience. Thankfully, the male shifter had never looked at her as anything more than an agent and colleague. Stupid bloke. Lucky for him, though. Drake had hated the thought of having to kill him. Now with Jame’s blood swimming through his veins, he wouldn’t think twice about eliminating anyone who stood between him and his feisty feline.

“Could you believe how fast he started talking?” Jame kicked her feet onto the dashboard and sank into the passenger seat beside him. Her hands rested behind her head. The movements mimicked Drake’s habit almost to the letter. He blinked twice. Her ample curves filled his peripheral vision. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, her breasts rising and falling with the breaths. In a whisper, she said, “We finally have something to go on.”

“Yes. Seems so.” He pushed on the accelerator. The car sped forward through the DC streets. He tried to feel her contentment, but something kept poking at his memory. If he could snatch hold of it—

“What is it?” Her boots thudded hard on the car’s floor. She bolted upright in her seat. “Why do you look like your dog just died?”

The thought slid from his grasp again. He snorted. “My dog?”

“An expression, Drake. You’re…I don’t know…gloomy.”

“Gloomy?” He cocked his head to the side.

“Yeah, one second all laughs, and the next second,” she snapped her fingers at him, “like this. It’s a regular Jekyll and Hyde routine.”

“Sorry, luv. I’ll try not to be so…gloomy.” His chest shook with contained amusement. “Don’t think anyone’s accused me of that before.”

“Whatever.” Jame rested against the seat once more but kept her hands in her lap. A minute of silence later, she threw them in the air. “The butcher gave us all the goods on the anti-SUB group. Their leader, Kuruk, is coming to the shop tonight for supplies. All things considered, this couldn’t be better. So, what’s your deal?”

“It’s a bit convenient, no?” Drake shook his head. The circumstances fit together too well for his liking, but it was something else, something he couldn’t put his finger on. His eyes narrowed. The sun started its descent into dusk and the harsh light cut across the dashboard. He flipped down the car’s visor.

“You think it’s a trap?” Jame dipped lower in the seat beneath the sun’s rays. A sigh emanated from deep within her. “Yeah, that idea hadn’t escaped me either.”

A fierce wave of protectiveness coursed through his veins. Her eyes lost some of their usual fire. Her body curled inward and her shoulders slumped. She looked so damn small and vulnerable in that instant. His Kitty didn’t do fragile. Yet every now and again, he glimpsed this side of her, an uncertain part of her, full of self-doubt. He wanted to take her away, keep her some place where the world couldn’t harm her anymore. When her lips curved into a frown and her scent dulled, he sensed that, like him, she had been hurt enough.

He fought the urge to whisk her off. Every muscle in his body twitched, screaming at him to make good on his instincts, but it wouldn’t help her. He didn’t play hero. Will you rescue me like the prince in the story? His sister’s innocent voice wafted through his mind. A phantom memory from a long-buried life. Always, poppet, now off to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning. But no, he wouldn’t see her in the morning. He didn’t play the hero. Not then. Not now. He choked on the wave of nostalgia that threatened to crush him, curbed this stifling protective need, and said instead, “What do you want to do then?” To drive his decision home, he added, “Boss?”

Her eyes widened. The fire began to return, gold sparking from the hazel hue. “We go in. If it’s a trap, it’s a trap. We’ll deal with it.”

He kept one hand on the wheel and reached for her with the other. His palm landed an inch above her knee. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. She half smiled. With a devilish raise of his brow, he let his hand travel higher up her thigh. She slapped it off with a laugh. “Drake?” The way she said his name with a hint of breathless wonder knocked every thought from his head. The top one at least. His cock strained against his jeans. “About what happened before?”

Bloody hell. And there went his hard-on. Almost. His nose picked up her sweet orange scent. He wasn’t the only one remembering the heat between them. “Yes?”

“You drank my blood.” Her heart sped up, the sound like a war drum to his ears.

He murmured his agreement.

“How is that possible? I thought vampires could only drink human blood. I mean I offered, but…” Her hand shook as she ran it over her hair and brought it to the base of her neck.

“Not a worry.” He swallowed a mouthful of gravel. The hunger rose to the surface. “Most vampires drink from humans because the blood is easier to handle. Shifter or psyke blood can be more…” Intoxicating. Delicious. Irresistible. All true, but he settled on, “Difficult.”

“How so?” Her gaze fell to his shoulder, perhaps remembering her own bite along his skin.

The spot burned behind his muscle, despite having healed. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and focused his concentration on the most clinical explanation. “It may have to do with the Luminari essence. Our Luminari ancestors mingling with humans enabled us to come into existence. But two alone are warm blooded: shifters and psykes. Vampires go through a rebirth. Our blood is different.”

“Because you have to die to become vampire.” She bit her bottom lip. “Phage too.”

He hissed at the name of those monsters. His teeth clamped together. Forcing him to chew shards of glass would be kinder than comparing his kind to those…things. Bollocks. He wouldn’t be like the hellspawn bastards, vampire or not. Phage needed to die permanently, and he would make sure of it. As promised. The memories of his human life, of his sister, danced behind the surface. He stuffed them down and bit out, “Yes, phage too.”

“Not that you’re like them,” she added quickly. The car shot to the right as he took the turn toward headquarters at an awkward angle. She sucked in a breath. “So does shifter or psyke blood help you?”

“Yes, but for a younger vampire it can be dangerous.” His mind kept turning to the images of the phage that changed his life so long ago. He had to keep his eyes glued to the road to push the nightmares away.

“Why?” She laid her hand on his knee as he had done to her before. It helped anchor him to the here and now.

“Their blood, your blood, it’s like liquid fire, like the most potent alcohol.” The remembered taste of her coated his tongue as if he’d taken another mouthful of her precious blood. “It’s addicting.”

“You can become an addict?”

He tilted his head toward her. “For you, luv? Oh yes, I certainly could.”

Her lips pressed together, and her cheeks took on a pinkish tint. “I see.”

“The younger the vampire, the more intoxicating the blood. Too much and they become like a human does on narcotics.” The cement building that housed their headquarters loomed only a handful of stories toward the sky, but created an ominous presence in downtown DC. Drake welcomed the sight and steered the car around to the parking lot.

Her rapid breaths cut through the small space between them. “Did I put you at risk, Drake?”

He slammed on the brakes three feet shy of the designated parking space. “What?” Her question came out so soft. He needed to be sure he heard her right.

“My blood?” She cleared her throat, fiddling with her seatbelt. Unfastening it, she swiveled in the seat to face him better. “Letting you drink my blood…” Her hands twisted the hem of her T-shirt. “You said you could become addicted, and it’s like a narcotic. Did I—”

He silenced her worries by slapping the car into park, reaching across the console, and dragging her into his lap. Her startled cry tasted like candy under his tongue. Perfect. His senses reached in every direction, seeking her. Only her.

Jame sat rigid in his embrace for a second before her body melted into his. Her breasts rubbed against his chest as she angled closer. The friction sent waves of heat rocketing deep within that mixed blood. He deepened the kiss, parting her lips and invading her mouth with his tongue. She kissed him back with equal fervor, meeting every stroke with one of her own.

The confines of the car became too small, fast. When she adjusted her legs to straddle him, she bumped into the steering wheel and set off the horn. The noise blared through the empty lot. Her eyes widened with the sound. She jerked back and stared at him. Really stared at him. Her mouth pinched into a grim line. He’d seen that look before. Bleeding hell.

She let loose a sigh that spelled regret. “Drake, I—”

“No.” He held up his hand. “Don’t say anything, all right?” His index finger tapped her temple. “Whatever’s going on up here was not happening just a minute ago.”

Her lips parted in protest, but he silenced any objections by covering her mouth with his palm. “No, listen. I don’t know why you’re fighting this. But understand, your blood is not going to harm me.” He leaned closer, capturing her eyes with a cold stare. “I’m over a hundred and fifty years old. I can handle shifter blood.” She snorted into his hand. He smirked. “Even yours, with all that heat. Besides, if you say no, then that’s it. I won’t bite you again. So don’t use it as an excuse.”

She rolled her eyes skyward.

“I’m taking my hand away now.” He pulled it back slow, waiting for her to rip him a new one. Silencing a shifter…yeah, not his smoothest move.

Her scent roared around him, thick as a windstorm. He inhaled to take the aroma deep into his lungs. The orange tang filled him with longing. Cursed. His speech about handling her blood would be shot to hell if he didn’t get control of these wayward feelings. Pathetic wanker.

“Are you finished now?” The venom in her gaze would cow a lesser man. Her eyes thinned to slits.

Drake cracked a grin. “Stage is yours, luv.”

Huffing, she climbed over the console separating their seats. Her heavy boot knocked the gear stick into reverse and the car started to roll. Drake managed some quick maneuvering, saving them from hitting a cement column while she fell into the passenger seat. She glanced out the rear window and winced. The pole stood inches from the bumper. She sucked in a ragged breath and then blanked every emotion from her face.

“Look, this,” she motioned at the space between them, “whatever this is, it’s a bad idea. We work together. I’m team leader.”

“Boss.” He brought the car safely into the spot and killed the ignition.

“Huh?”

“Boss, luv. You’re more than team leader. You’re the boss.” He draped an arm over the steering wheel and rested his back against the door, his body strung tight as a live wire.

“Right. That’s my point.” She tapped her collarbone as if lost in thought. A glimmer of doubt crossed her face before she put on that stoic front. “We need to be partners, not partners. You know?”

“No. Why don’t you explain it to me?”

She growled in her throat. Her neck vibrated, drawing his attention to her pulse. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”

Yeah, he did. No reason he had to admit it though. “Do I?” Palming his lighter, he extracted it from his pocket and let the metal surface warm his hand.

“I don’t have time to play these—” A dance mix blasted through the car, announcing the singer to be both sexy and knowing it. Her tirade interrupted, she searched her pants for her cell and flicked the call on. “What’s up, Slick?”

Drake raised an eyebrow at the chosen ringtone for the half-breed sod.

An amused expression brightened her features. She cupped a hand over the receiver and mouthed, “Lost a bet with him. Price was the stupid song.”

The explanation eased the knot in his chest. Having her offer the knowledge without his asking, well now that just might have him breaking into a song of his own. Then again, probably not, but it did mean her little speech about being “partners” and not “partners” held a whole lot less weight. The mongrel, on the other hand, was another matter. The bloody mutt and he needed to have a discussion about boundaries. The very idea of another man’s claiming, well, anything from Jame—even something as innocent as a ringtone—set his insides burning. So fucking screwed. Oh yes, he really needed to get a handle on this situation. Fast.

“Yeah Slick. Calm your shit. We’re in the parking lot,” Jame snapped into the phone. “All right. We’re on our way up.”

“Problems?” Drake slanted his head and picked up the subtle change in her scent. Anxiety tore a darker aroma like overripe blackberries through her usual perfume.

“Is there ever a day without them?” She shoved the phone into her overstuffed pockets. “He heard from Meg. Got some new intel for us.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” He flashed a cheeky grin and then sped out of the car. Before she even turned her head, he had her door opened.

She spun around with a breathless gasp. “You really need to not do that.”

“Do what?” He held out his hand to her. “Act the gentleman?”

Eyeing the palm with an apprehensive glance, she cocked her head to the side. “New game, Drake?”

“Not a bit. Same as always. Different strategy is all.” He continued to hold his outstretched hand.

“Ah-ha.” She batted his arm away and climbed from the car. “Won’t work. I’ve seen it all before.”

“Oh luv, I promise,” blocking her escape, he leaned in close and let his breath tickle her ear, “you’ve seen nothing yet.”

Chapter Nineteen

PCD Headquarters for District One, Washington, DC

Chills slithered down her neck even as fire coursed through her blood. How did the vampire manage to cause gooseflesh along her skin while igniting an inferno inside her? Letting him bite her had been a mistake. Huge. Colossal. Gargantuan mistake. Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she’d eventually believe it. Fail. Total fail, Bradshaw.

She climbed the parking lot stairs two at a time. Drake kept right at her heels. His presence encircled her like an electric storm, all turbulence and unbridled passion. Yet somehow, she stood at the center, safe and protected in that swirling chaos. Oh dear gods, this is so not happening. As her feet echoed along the cement steps, she imagined her mother’s voice with the same booming cadence.

Hey mom, so I kind of have this thing for a vampire. Evelyn Elizabeth Montgomery, feminist, shifter, and criminal attorney would flip her shit big time. Jame had seen it happen once or twice…okay so, maybe a half dozen times growing up. The more memorable mom meltdowns occurred after her dad left, when her grandmother died, and the night Jame snuck her human high school boyfriend into her bedroom. You will not be having boys in this house, especially some fragile human rat. If humans registered as rodents on her mother’s radar, then vampires qualified somewhere around fleas or possibly amoebas.

“What’s going on in that busy head of yours?” Drake tapped a finger against her temple again. She swatted it away and shook her head. “All right, don’t tell me. I’ll find out anyway.”

“Stuff it.” She sped through the front door, letting it swing behind her.

Drake stopped it with an open palm and called after her retreating form, “Not nice, luv. Running won’t help.”

Without looking back, she flipped him the bird. The mess with the insufferable vampire could wait ’til later. As evening fell, the code black approached the thirty-six hour mark. Every wasted minute took them further away from catching the bad guys. If the lead on the anti-SUB group turned out to be a dead end, they would be at square one. Her love life needed to take a backseat. Pronto.

The conference room door stood ajar. Inside, Dee and the Old Man sat next to each other, chatting while Slick paced the length of the table. At her approach, he stopped and shouted, “Finally. Thought you’d never get here.”

“I was only in the parking lot.”

“Where’s the bloodsucker?” Slick rocked on his heels, to the balls of his feet, and back again.

“Right here, mutt.” Drake entered behind her and took a seat across from the other agents. “Miss me?”

Slick didn’t respond but continued his kid-in-a-candy-store bouncing routine. Jame took the head chair and waved at him. “Sit down. You’re making me dizzy.”

“You’ll never believe what Meg told me,” he said all in one breath. He plopped next to Drake, a sure sign of his excitement. Under normal circumstances, the two maintained a wide berth.

A lingering silence punctuated his declaration. Jame sighed. “Skip the dramatics. What did you find?”

“First, Adriana and Senator McDonald were more than just friends, if you know what I mean.” He grabbed a laptop from the corner desk and set it on the table. As he typed, he continued to relay his findings. “The two were hot and heavy. Apparently, they wanted kids the old-fashioned way.”

“That’s not possible.” Drake spat the words. “They’re phage.”

Dee’s mouth dropped open. “No way. They can’t have children.”

“Seems it didn’t stop them from trying.” Slick’s fingers pounded over the keys. “But that’s not the sick part. When they’re little experiment didn’t work, they found new and younger phage.”

“Oh gods.” Bile sped up her throat so fast Jame put a hand over her mouth. Her brain processed the realization faster than her body could handle. When the acid receded without embarrassing results, she gasped, “The phage in the basement.”

“You got it, Boss. Seems our twisted couple thought a fresher pair of phage might be able to reproduce.” He flipped the computer screen around to show all of them. “This was the fertility information Meg found on the Senator’s computer.”

“Then, the anti-SUB group does fit.” She rested her back against the chair and tapped her fingers along her collarbone. The subtle motion helped clear her head. “If someone got wind of these phage trying to have natural offspring—”

“It would be the perfect ammunition for a hate crime,” Drake finished for her.

“Yeah. The only thing that doesn’t add up is this.” Slick changed the screen to an environmental poster.

Jame leaned toward the computer and squinted. The words on the poster read Solar Energy. The Future is Now. “I’ve seen that before.” It looked cleaner than when she’d last laid eyes on it, but the picture of the sun and the hokey slogan sparked her memory. “In the senator’s office.”

“Meg found it along with a bunch of other files. The connection?” He double clicked on a thumbnail photo. “This is a picture of the Solar Energy Project Committee. Look like a group we know?”

“Well, hot damn.” The Old Man about read Jame’s mind.

“I’d say so.” She scooted closer to the computer. “All of the victims of the code black were members of this group?”

“Yes. Every one of them.” Slick enlarged the picture. It showed each of the senators and Adriana sitting around a large conference table, not all that different from the one her team sat at now. The coincidence of five agents searching for the killers of five victims didn’t sit well with Jame. Not that she bought into the superstitious mumbo jumbo, but still.

“It fits with what we found.” The Old Man nodded at Dee. “Tell them about the shifter senator’s ex-girlfriend.”

Dee pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose. “That chick was batshit crazy.”

“Dee!” The Old Man’s brows shot to the roof like a shocked father whose baby girl never cursed.

“What? She was.”

Drake covered up a laugh with a cough. Jame eyed him but ended up doing the same. When she had enough control not to let any snickers escape, she said, “What made her crazy, Dee?”

“Okay, so first the ex-girlfriend’s name is Luna. I mean, come on, that’s like a letter away from loony, but whatever.” Dee shrugged. “Then, she tells us this Senator Irons had some interesting pillow talk.” Her face scrunched up as if she had bitten into a lemon.

“And it was?” Jame prodded.

“Some nonsense about how this committee he belonged to would change the future. No more nuclear power or oil consumption. Free energy for all. Yada yada.” She waved her hands. “I lost track when she read us a sonnet he’d written for her.”

“A sonnet? From a male shifter?” Drake rested his elbows on the table and leaned closer. “Are you certain?”

“Oh yes, Shakespearean, not Petrarchan. She made sure to specify.”

“Damn. Bloody wanker had it bad for her then. Why’d they break up?” His head tilted to the side, giving Jame a better angle of the spot she had bitten. Her teeth itched at the memory.

“Who cares why?” Slick spat. “It verifies our evidence about this solar energy group.”

“What it doesn’t tell us, mutt, is who killed them or why.” Drake lowered his voice to a quiet bass. It demanded attention. “Or more importantly, how.”

“How?” Jame’s body coiled in response to the vampire’s confident tone. Her clothes, although not binding, felt tight and too hot against her skin. The shifter buzz electrified the air.

Drake turned those midnight eyes on her and the world stopped. Her heart beat too loud in her ears. He pitched his words even lower, “Yes. Whoever killed those people took out a vampire, a shifter, a psyke, and two phage. Our three legal SUBs would put up enough of a fight, but two older phage, serving as generals to the queen like McDonald and Adriana, would be even harder to kill.”

Jame concentrated on his words but couldn’t deny the stab of lust. She had to look away from him. Like now. Really, now would be good. Shit. She cursed her stupidity and stared at him. “We know that Adriana was the phage queen’s general. Why do you think McDonald was too?”

“If a phage has mental faculties, then they’re a general. Reyna wouldn’t let her minions walk around with their wits intact without binding them to her.” His gaze flared hot, an emotion she couldn’t name swimming in those depths.

“How do you know all this?” Slick hit the table with a loose fist, shaking Jame from the spell the vampire had woven over her.

“I’ve dealt with them before.” Drake rounded on Slick. “Strife can confirm this information, if you need another’s word.”

His accent intensified, a hint of his mood. Great, now she was picking up on his subtleties? So screwed.

Slick’s fist tightened perceptibly. “I don’t need another bloodsucker’s opinion, especially not one from a vigilante group like Veritas.”

“Ease off, Slick.” Jame clenched her jaw. The last thing she needed was an all-out war between the two.

“Then I’m sure your dear Meg can find the same with some careful searching.” Drake remained eerily calm. It unsettled her more than if he had risen to Slick’s bait.

Slick blinked, apparently caught off guard as well. “Yeah, all right.”

“Great,” the Old Man mumbled. “Now can we get back to work?”

Dee cocked her head to the side like an inquisitive puppy. “So uh, we’re looking at an anti-SUB group that doesn’t like environmentalists?”

“Sounds too off the wall.” The Old Man scratched his weathered cheek. “Maybe a coincidence?”

“Come now, someone of your years doesn’t believe in coincidences.” Drake’s lids fell to half-mast, sizing up the shifter.

“I believe you take the prize for oldest in the room, coffin dodger.” The Old Man met the vampire’s stare with a healthy dose of back-the-fuck-off.

Slick burst out in a fit of laughter. “Coffin dodger. Nice.”

Drake snorted. “Longevity does have its price, though I daresay I’m the most virile male amongst this lot. Wouldn’t you agree, Kitty?” His fang-filled smile set her teeth on edge.

Jame didn’t bother with a response, though her traitorous body sent another bout of desire pulsing through her. Of all the idiotic moves, Bradshaw. She shot daggers at the vampire. It was so his fault she couldn’t control her hormones. Crossing her legs, she willed her mind back to the case and purposefully ignored him.

“Anyway, like Dee said, we’ve got an anti-SUB group taking out every person affiliated with an environmental organization. Thoughts?” The shifters fidgeted in their seats while Drake continued with that knowing grin. She looked pointedly away from him and focused on Dee. “What do you think?”

“It’s a cover,” Dee said without preamble. “It has to be.”

“Good thinking, but a cover for what?” A light shone behind the psyke agent’s eyes. Dee excelled at puzzles. Jame only needed to stir the pot. “Why the senators?”

“Could be a cover for Adriana and McDonald’s sexual experiments, but the senators wouldn’t get involved with that.” Her eyes flitted side to side as if reading an invisible book. “No, we’re missing something.”

A sharp bong had everyone, except Drake, jumping in their seats. The bastard vampire managed to look calm despite the intruding noise that blared like an ancient Chinese gong.

“Emergency call from Special Agent Meg Foster.” A computerized voice echoed over the office’s speaker system.

“Transfer it to the laptop. Wireless ID one-two-two-eight.” Slick turned the computer to him, flicked a sequence of keys, and then spun the monitor at an angle everyone could see. Meg’s face popped on the screen. A rich sweep of pink highlights framed her pixie face. “Perfect timing, baby doll. Was just telling the others what you found.”

“Oh good, did you mention the committee?” Meg’s words carried a singsong quality to them. An apple green pencil, tucked behind her right ear, danced up and down as she bobbed her head.

“Solar Energy Project Committee,” Jame cut in before Slick could answer. Better to remind the team of her authority. Being team leader and all. Yeah, big bad boss man. Woman. Person who can’t keep her hormones in check around an annoyingly hot vampire. Gah. She sucked her cheek. “We know all about it, Meg. Dee was just theorizing about the connection to it and the victims. We think it’s a front.”

“Hiya Dee!” Meg waved, showing off a purple butterfly ring. “Totally agree. I did some more digging. Turns out the date book and McDonald’s computer are legit. Seems my twin left them for you all to find.” Tapping bounded over the speakers. “Mack’s handywork is all over the computer files.”

“He’d play games with evidence?” Jame bristled at the implications.

“It looks like PCD higher-ups discovered McDonald’s identity as phage and wanted to keep it under wraps with the executive order in effect.” Meg snorted. “Mack put an e-note on the hard drive to me.”

“What did it say, Meg?”

“Not a lot. See for yourself.” A new box opened on the screen. A file that mimicked a lined notebook page read:

Sis,

Ignore red herrings. Hunt for gold.

Fire burns, but ice kills.

Be careful.

- M.

Dee leaned so close her nose almost touched the computer. “Red and gold. Fire and ice. Any idea what it means, Meg?”

Meg’s image replaced the strange note. Her mouth pulled into a tight frown. “No idea. Though I know it’s Mack for sure. He’s got a penchant for cryptic. There’s more on the hard drive, but so far, I can’t crack the dang encryption on the committee’s files without my brother.” A lock of her hair—a brown strand—fell in front of her eyes. She batted it away. “Unfortunately, Agent Frost informs me that he’s still indisposed. Her words, not mine, but whatever. It’s not like I wanted to kidnap him or something. But he can’t just leave me this note without explanation. I don’t care if he’s busy, I have a right to—”

“Meg, what did you uncover?” Jame infused an undercurrent of command in her question. Hey, maybe she was getting better at this whole leader thing. She grinned.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, couldn’t break in, but I did find a nifty little detail. There’s a safety deposit box at the First One Bank on National Drive with Senator McDonald’s name on it.”

Jame’s smile widened. “I think we can work with that.”

Chapter Twenty

PCD Headquarters for District One, Washington, DC

“What have we got?” Drake leaned against the wall of the communications room, eyeing Jame warily. Her feet tapped an antsy rhythm under the desk. Rest of the team had stayed back in the main office when she had left to make a quick call. Drake didn’t do waiting and had followed her instead.

She held up her hand to him and spoke into her cell phone, “Can you make it happen?”

Watching her work gnawed at something deep within him. A natural leader, she did her job well. It made him…proud. Yeah, that was it. This insatiable craving for her had to stem from pride. Couldn’t be anything else. Right.

“Bollocks,” he grumbled.

Her braid smacked her cheek as she whipped around and raised an eyebrow at him. He shook his head to wave off her unspoken question. No reason to distract her. Well, maybe he could think of a few reasons, but none of them included talking. His lips stretched into a lazy grin. Her eyes widened until something said on the other end of the call switched those hazel beauties into slits.

“Talon, doesn’t Judge Johnson owe you a favor? I know this is out of your district, but you two go way back. Call it in for me.” The corner of her mouth dropped in an impressive scowl. Too bad Talon couldn’t observe it from his side of the call. Drake would’ve loved to see the uptight shifter’s reaction. “Look, Slick and the team are going in with or without the warrant. With the red alert in effect, I wouldn’t even need the damn thing, but the safety deposit box belongs to a phage.”

A heartbeat of time flicked past. Jame’s brows pulled together. “Yes, I know PCD’s got a ban on bringing in phage. That’s why I need you to call in the favor. I don’t care what type of case the higher-ups are trying to build.” She snorted. “Right, we peons aren’t privy to the executive team’s plans, so I’m assuming a bigger case is the reason for not allowing us to pursue phage on criminal investigations.”

“Ridiculous. Bureaucratic bullshit.” Drake paced the floor. That ban had been in effect for ten months. If the PCD’s unit leaders were up to some big phage shakedown, they were sure as hell taking their sweet time about it. Those monsters needed to be taken down, not allowed free reign. Curtains on the floor. The creature above her bed. He clamped down the memory that haunted his existence and focused solely on the present.

“The evidence is piling up. Something big is going on here, Talon. It’s more than it seems. I know it. I can’t let the higher-ups know. They’ll stop it before we ever get a chance to investigate.” She huffed. “Yeah, covert operation. Whatever. Can you get me the warrant or not?”

Oh, he’ll get it, luv. Drake’s mood lightened at his Kitty’s determination. If for no other motive than to get you off his back.

“Good. Thanks, Talon. Talk to you soon.”

And there’s the cincher. He bit his cheek to hide his amusement. “I take it he can do it?”

“Yeah, we’ll have the warrant for the bank in two hours. I’m having Slick, Dee, and the Old Man go in as soon as it comes through.” Jame ran a hand along her collarbone and scrunched her nose, a subconscious move on her part that he now recognized and found irresistible.

He couldn’t hold back his smile. “That takes care of the team. Now what about us?”

Her hand flattened against her chest, a visible tension stiffening her body. “What about us?”

What do you think I mean about us? A hundred different scenarios of what that simple two-letter word suggested shot through his mind. Us? He trampled that train of thought with a sledgehammer. “Our butcher shop lead. We going after it?”

“Oh, yeah.” She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing. “The red alert curfew goes into effect at nine. All civies should be off the streets by then and the blue boys out and about. It’ll make it easier to track our perp.”

“True.” Her relief bothered the hell out of him, although he hid it behind a blank expression. She’s afraid I want something more. Do I look like a hearts-and-roses bloke? His pulse sped up, mixing the remnants of her blood with his. The desire to sink his teeth into that fair skin again clawed at him. He stared at the throbbing vein. “You know, I’m not the gentlemanly type.”

“Huh?” She bolted from her seat and stood rigid a foot from him. “What are you talking about?”

“Before, you accused me of wanting to use you.” He stalked closer, trapping her between the desk and his body.

“Drake, don’t do this—”

“No. You’ll hear me out.” His breath blew against her hair as he towered over her. “You’re right.”

She sucked in air through clenched teeth.

“I do want you. I want to bite and devour you.” Bending down, he forced her to lean back and look him in the eye. “I want to strip and pound into you until we’re both senseless.”

Her heartbeat thumped like a symphony to his ears.

“And if it was just that, if that was all I wanted, I would have had you four years ago and been done with you.”

“Screw—” When she started to protest, he clamped a hand over her mouth.

“You wouldn’t have said no, luv. I would have had you, and you would have enjoyed every minute of it.” Her teeth scraped against his palm, but he held fast. “Maybe I should have just done it and got you out of my system.”

Hazel eyes turned black with fury.

“But I didn’t then, and now, I can’t. I’m not a good man. I’m a vampire. And even for the undead, I’m a real son of a bitch.”

Gold flecks bled through the anger, softening her face.

“No. Don’t bother to deny it. It is indeed a fact. But it doesn’t change anything.” He brought his face an inch from hers, their noses almost touching. “I can’t quit you, luv. I just can’t.”

Her face drained of color. Slowly, he took his hand from her mouth while inwardly cursing his stupidity. What the bloody hell made him go and say all that? He really was a gods damned monster.

“I…I…” She ran a shaky hand over her hair. “Drake…”

“Hey, Boss. Did we get it?” The world’s most annoying voice interrupted from the hall. A beat later, the mongrel half-breed extraordinaire walked in.

Her gaze stayed on him a moment longer, and then turned to Slick. “Ah, got what?”

“The warrant,” a lingering silence carried over the awkward pause, “for the bank?”

“Oh.” Jame shook her head. “Sure, right. No problem. It’s coming in two hours.”

“Excellent!” The lanky bastard cocked his hip against the desk. “What’s the plan?”

“Yes, Kitty.” Drake inclined his head to her. “What is your plan?” He stood beside the doorjamb, crossing his arms over his chest. “Want to share that with the class?”

He caught the tick in her jaw. “I said…” She turned to the half-breed, fixing Slick with a do-not-try-my-patience stare. Drake had seen the same look often enough. Nice not to have it laid on him for once. “You and the others are going to the bank. The vampire and I are heading to slum row to follow our lead on Kuruk.”

“You’re going to follow the suspected leader of an anti-SUB group with just the vampire?” Slick’s chin jutted forward.

“Nooo.” Jame bit her lip and stood taller. “We’ll follow him. If things get hairy, you and the others will come and back us up.” When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up her hand. “After you’re done at the bank. Not before.”

“It doesn’t take three of us to check out a safety deposit box. I should come with you.” He cast a sneer in Drake’s direction.

“Don’t look at me. I’m not running this show.” Drake narrowed his eyes. His fangs sharpened at the mongrel’s blatant disdain. I’ll deal with you later. Thoughts about finally getting his shot and kicking that mutt’s ass cheered him. Under his breath, he whispered loud enough for Jame to hear, “Your call.”

She nodded. Her muscles tensed, showing the subtle power in her small frame. The air charged as her shifter buzz rose to the surface. To Slick, she said, “I need you leading the others. We don’t know what’s in that box and I want someone there I trust.”

“The others are trustworthy.” He extended his neck as if stretching, but the move took advantage of his height. Drake’s blood churned, and a predatory growl lodged in his throat.

Jame pitched her voice deeper. “Slick, I’m not arguing with you. You’ll go to that bank, or you’ll stay here.”

“This has nothing to do with trust. You’re afraid. You don’t want me in the danger zone.” His face went slack. “This is about last year. Again.”

“Yes,” Jame whispered and paled. A clammy sheen broke along her forehead.

Drake stepped forward; fists clenched. It took all his willpower not to strangle the asinine mutt. “Out.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with you, bloodsucker.” The shifter vibrated with raw energy.

“This has everything to do with me, pup.” He grasped Slick’s shoulder and squeezed hard. The bones under his palm creaked with the pressure. “If I remember correctly, she’s not the only one who hasn’t gotten over that particular incident.”

A vein pulsed in Slick’s temple, before he hung his head. “True.” In an uncannily wise move, he stepped free of Drake’s grip. “I’m sorry, Jame.” He nodded in her direction. “You’re team leader. You call the shots.”

“Thanks.” She raised her chin. “Let me get used to the leader idea a bit longer. Then you can charge in wherever you like. Okay?”

“Whatever you say.” Slick headed toward the door.

“Good,” she called after him. “Because the second that warrant comes in, you better be ready to move out. No excuses.”

His laughter echoed from the hallway.

“As for you,” she turned on Drake. “Get your head in the game. We’ve got a job to do. Everything else,” her hand swung between them like a fan set on high, “us. Whatever the hell this is. It goes on the backburner until we take down these perps. Got it?”

“Kitty, I’m always the consummate professional.” He smoothed down his hair, wiped his hands along his jeans, and straightened an imaginary tie. The heavy tension in the room dissipated as he intended, and a brilliant smile lit up her face. “I’ve not a clue what you’re referring to.”

“Ever hear of sexual harassment?” A feminine giggle snuck past her lips. She clapped a hand over her mouth in horror.

It touched something with him, feelings he’d long buried. Dragging her hand away from her face, he turned it palm down and planted a chaste kiss in the center. Her eyes widened and a faint blush slid onto her cheeks. His gut clenched, completely taken off guard by her shy reaction. Rather than release her hand, he kept it against his mouth and sucked at each knuckle, his teeth gently scraping the surface.

She gasped. “Drake? Do I need to call HR about this? PCD has clear policies on unwanted contact with co-workers.”

He laughed low and long. “No, luv. That won’t be necessary.” His thumb stroked absently over her tender skin before releasing her hand. “Since it’s not unwanted, we don’t have any issues.”

“Drake,” she said in warning.

He waved at her. “I know. On the backburner. I got it. Although…” Motioning toward a clock on the wall, he stepped closer. “We do have a few hours until the meeting time. What do you suppose we do with them?”

A fire swarmed her gaze, alight with passion. His heart stopped. She trailed her fingers down his arm, and then gripped his wrist and pulled down hard. He bent at the waist. She caught him around the neck and whispered in his ear, “Oh I have some ideas.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“Slum Row” Section, Washington, DC Outskirts

How in the hell did Jame get herself into these messes? Seriously, anymore of this crazy horseshit and she was parking her ass at a shrink for some major self-evaluation time. Hell, maybe she would drag old broody vampire right along with her. After teasing the heck out of Drake, he’d slammed on the brakes and insisted they go over the evidence again before the meeting time to spy on the anti-SUB group.

One minute he’s all get-it-on, good-to-go, and the next minute, whammy, emotional snake pit. She sucked in a frustrated breath. What does he want from me? His eyes followed her keener than a hawk’s. Even with her back to him, she could feel the intensity of his stare. She glanced over her shoulder discreetly and drank in his dark countenance. From the tip of that aristocratic nose to those full, sensual lips, past his broad shoulders, and all the way down to his long muscular legs, every inch of him stirred her longing. Gods, what do I want from him? The chemistry between them was obvious, but…

“I don’t want to think about it,” she whispered, snapping her gaze away from the blasted cause of her inner turmoil. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Yet the vision of him stayed transfixed on her lids. Dressed in black from head to toe with a cap pulled over his spiky hair, he should’ve looked like a ridiculous cat burglar. Instead his pale skin stood in stark contrast, emphasizing his physique and drawing her in like a magnet. Only that bastard could manage to look good on a stakeout.

“See something you like?” He crouched beside her, brushing his thigh against hers. His rich wine scent filled her nose. She leaned closer, despite her resolve to keep Drake at a distance. Anything was better after the acrid stench of the alley. Between the sewage outside and the thousands of odors inside this greasy spoon, she’d be sniffing flowers and perfume until her nasal passages cleared.

“Don’t even start,” she mumbled. Her ears pricked at an argument between the host behind them and a customer. “Quiet,” she hissed at the pair. “PCD investigation in progress, remember? Take it somewhere else.”

“No need to be rude,” the host said in English while the customer said something clearly uncomplimentary in some Slavic language, although she couldn’t say which one. “This way, sir.” He ushered the patron to the other end of the restaurant.

Drake’s chuckle pricked her last nerve. “You certainly have a way with people.”

“Even more so with vampires.” She rounded her back to stay hidden under the large window but rose high enough to knock Drake onto his ass with a strong shove. “See?”

“Oh yeah. I see.” He squatted on his haunches and wiped at the seat of his pants. Remnants of some unknown liquid clung to his palms. “Christ, when did they last clean this place?”

“Shh.” She flicked a hand at him without breaking her view. “You’re messing with my concentration.”

“Ah yes, it takes endless attention to stare out a window.” Angling his head so that his nose sat level with the ledge, his mouth rested within inches from hers.

“It’s a fine art.” The heat from his thigh grazed her hip. She bumped him aside. “Now, move over. You’re crowding me.”

“You love it.”

A snort stuck in the back of her throat, coming off as an awkward hmph-growl hybrid. Drake sucked in a breath that reeked of fighting off laughter.

“Just shut it, you leeching blood-monger son of a—”

A hand clamped over her mouth in a move that was becoming painfully familiar. Letting her teeth grow tiger-sized gave her a cheap thrill until the vampire’s eyes narrowed and his free hand pointed to the window. “Look.”

As he gently angled her head with his palm still fixed to her lips, she spotted the figure through the glass. A man stood across the alley in front of the butcher shop. Garbed in a dark gray, hooded sweatshirt and black jeans, he blended in with the shadows creeping along the building’s brick façade. Yet Jame’s shifter vision allowed her to spot each detail of his appearance. With rich butterscotch skin and straight black hair marking a Native American ancestry, the man fit their profile of the anti-SUB leader. She nodded and inclined her chin to the door.

“Right.” Drake released her and crawled toward the exit.

She followed in his wake, holding her breath to avoid the smells. Worst stakeout ever. If only they could land some evidence against this perp, it would all be worth it. “Wait.” Clamping a grip on Drake’s ankle, she halted him from reaching for the doorknob. “We’ve got to track this guy without him catching on.” Her eyes wandered over the vampire. “We follow him until we find this anti-SUB group. Once we do, we call for backup. No mistakes.” Her senses tingled under her skin. A clammy sensation wormed its way up her back. Not like last time.

“I know. We’ll be fine.” He laid a reassuring arm around her waist and dragged her closer. That she didn’t bother arguing about it frazzled her worse.

Pulling away from his comforting grip, she straightened and cracked the door open. “I go first.”

“Always.” The sensual weight he leveled in the one word had a rush of heat swirling between her legs. She bit her lip hard and gave him a reproachful look. His innocent shrug didn’t fool her, but she turned thoughts of play aside as their suspect started down the alley.

The butcher emerged from the doorway and called, “See you again soon, Kuruk.”

The suspect turned swiftly toward the butcher and cast a suspicious gaze over every corner. Jame smacked Drake in the chest, motioning him away from the door. “Son of a bitch is trying to sell us out,” she whispered through a mouthful of choking anger.

“Easy.” Drake’s hands rubbed down her arms as if soothing a puffed up cat. “We’re not done yet.”

As the seconds ticked by, and the suspect continued to scan the street, Jame’s desire to sock the traitorous butcher in the head increased tenfold. If not for Drake’s chest resting against her back and his iron grip clasped around her arms, she might have bolted across the alley and unleashed a bit of shifter fury on the douchebag—lead be damned.

“Breathe, luv.”

Ten-nine-eight. The counting helped marginally. On the third round of the ten counts, the suspect headed in the butcher’s direction once more. “Don’t push me, Murdoch,” he said with a fist thumped against the heavier man’s chest. “There’s other places to do business.”

“Sure.” The butcher pushed out his chest, causing his round belly to protrude even further. With a sharp look in their direction, he snorted and dashed inside.

Kuruk’s eyes followed to where the butcher spotted them, but Jame and Drake dashed behind the doorframe before he could track them.

“When I get my hands on that fat bastard—” Her fingers fisted as she hissed the words.

“Take a number,” Drake whispered in her ear. “But he’s a mere guppy. Let’s fry the bigger fish.”

Vampire had a point. Peeking around the edge of the door, she eyed their suspect stalking away. His dark hoodie—now pulled over his hair—provided decent camouflage. Yet his head darted side to side as if looking for trouble in the darkness.

“Our guy suspects something now. Thanks to that damn butcher. We’ll have to be even more careful.” She cast a glance over at Drake, wondering if the vampire could do inconspicuous. His confident air and inherent good looks demanded attention in any situation. The concealing clothes did little to diminish that swagger.

He must have caught the doubt on her face. “Did you forget my trick with the senator’s security camera?” He stroked a long finger from her temple to her chin. “I can be quick when the equation calls for it.”

The sight of him blurring past her to take out the camera at Senator McDonald’s office flashed through her mind. She nodded begrudgingly. “Okay, but follow my lead and stay hidden.” Without waiting for his response, she removed her jacket and shimmied from her pants. Drake’s brows rose to his hairline. “Oh, and hold all this stuff for me, will ya?”

Her mouth twitched as she handed pieces of her clothes to him. When he took them from her with a small tremor in his palm, she stifled a laugh and shifted. An orange tabby cat purred against the vampire’s legs, and then bit lightly at his calf.

“Perhaps I should be calling you tabby cat.” Claws grazed his boot in answer. “Or not,” he said, picking up the remainder of her clothes. He grimaced at the fatigue pants loaded down with weapons. “And what about this then?”

Jame hopped her four legs on a table and swiped a bag with her teeth. The restaurant’s red checkerboard logo stood in contrast to the white plastic.

He pulled it from her mouth, stuffed the clothes and weapons inside, all the while grumbling about women and their accessories. Had she been in human form, she’d have had a thing or two to say about sexist stereotypes and egotistical vampires, but as such, she had to settle for hissing at him. Landing on his neck as he packed away her things, and hearing his yelp of surprise, brought a Cheshire grin to her face.

“Bad kitty.” He swatted at her tail and then stuffed the loaded bag under his arm. “All right luv, after you.”

She perked her ears up and took off into the stinking alley. A strong mist rolled in, narrowing her vision. To tail their perp, she needed to follow the scent trail, but her stomach rolled at the thought. The putrid stench assailed her snout full force, making her gag as if a hairball lodged in her cat throat. So not my night. Pushing through the onslaught, she catalogued the smells until she found a distinct aroma. Gotcha.

Musk mixed with smoked wood. If Jame didn’t want to haul this guy’s ass in for questioning and charge him with a laundry list of crimes, she might have thought his scent appealing. As it stood, however, her nose twitched. She meowed into the darkness. Eerie silence answered her. Where is Drake? A gnawing unease clawed her gut…over him. Not that she’d admit that to him, of course.

Her hiss echoed in the alley. A slight noise to the right drew her attention. Black eyes gleamed at her from the shadows. A portion of that sinful face came into view. Drake winked, inclined his chin forward, and then disappeared once more. He had her back. Always. The way he had said the word earlier reassured her as nothing else could. She practically purred.

Boots slapping the asphalt shook her from those cotton candy ideas. I did not just zone out in the middle of a chase. Her claws extended, scratching the pavement. She broke into a run. The scent trail, thankfully, remained strong. Blasted vampire’s messing with my head now. If she were honest, he took up residence in more than just her thoughts. Her heart beat a double-time tempo, matching the swift stride of her paws. Truth was an overrated commodity anyway.

The punishing pace took her down six blocks when the suspect suddenly entered a vehicle and took off. Cursing her lack of foresight, she prepared to shift into a panther and follow, screwing stealth. Before she could complete the change, Drake pulled up in their unmarked sedan. Her cat eyes went as round as milk bowls.

“Get in.” Drake waved at her.

Meowing her response, she hopped through the driver’s side window and landed on his lap. He wasted no time and gunned the engine.

“Over there.” He pointed at a bag on the passenger seat. “Time to change skins.”

A small sense of modesty pricked her, so she extracted her clothes one at a time from the bag with her tiny teeth and laid them on the seat. With the car flying over the pavement to catch up to their suspect, she doubted she could manage the tricky shift into her clothes, but…well…

He must have caught onto her predicament because he said, “Kitty, I won’t stare at you, just move it along.”

The un-Drake-like statement dropped her jaw nearly to the seat cushion. As she shimmied her cat body in position to give herself a better chance of making the shift with clothes on, he added, “Not that I wouldn’t mind a peek.”

Her fur puffed up so that as she sucked it in and changed skins into her human form, it pushed the sports bra slightly off the mark and caused a gash in her panties. Running a list of appropriate names for the vampire in her head barely tempered her anger. She swore aloud as she adjusted her bra and shoved her pants over her hips. The unsalvageable panties, forcing her to go commando, however, doubled her ire.

“You are the most dimwitted, perverted, pigheaded son of a bitch I’ve ever met.” Her fist thumped the inside of his shoulder hard enough to crack the collarbone of a lesser man. Fortunately—or unfortunately as was her current take on the matter—his vampiric strength didn’t even allow the blow to make a dent.

“Come now, you could hardly blame me for preferring you naked.” He cast a glance in her direction and then slowed down as their suspect’s car came into view two vehicles ahead. “But I promise you, I didn’t look. We don’t have the time for the seduction I’m planning.”

“You have plans, do you?” She pulled her T-shirt over her head and checked each one of the weapons weighing down her pants pockets. “’Cause I’m thinking of one or two myself.” Her black-hilted military knife warmed her palm.

He laughed. “I bet you are.” A dark promise coated his next word. “Later”.

Her answering snuff ushered another snicker from him, but as their quarry turned onto a side street and led them into a deserted industrial district, all laugher died. She examined the ominous surroundings. “Where’s he going?”

Chapter Twenty-Two

First One Bank, Washington, DC

“I can’t believe she’s got the three of us executing a warrant.” Slick slammed the door to the large black Suburban. “I should be tracking down our perp, not shoving a piece of paper in some two-bit security guard’s face.”

“And what about us, hotshot?” the Old Man grumbled as he jumped from the passenger side and banged the door closed. He shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his tan jacket and stepped to the curb with Dee beside him. “We chop stew or something?”

Dee stayed quiet as usual, staring at the white laces on her black Nikes.

“I didn’t say that.” Slick guffawed at the Old Man’s complaining. He held the stupid paper in his hand. The search warrant issued strict limitations to the safety deposit box inside the vault only. He batted the form at the Old Man. “But it doesn’t take all of us to do this.”

“Then let’s get it over with and get back in the game.” The Old Man tore the warrant from Slick’s handed and stalked toward the bank.

Dee squeaked and hauled ass behind them.

First One Bank took up half a city block, the limestone façade and temple-like portico reminiscent of some bygone era. If not for the large modern windows and twenty-four hour on-site staff, it might have passed for a worshiping ground of gods and goddesses long forgotten. Although, the security guard standing watch in a cheap green jacket and matching pants didn’t exactly fit the image of a vestal virgin.

Slick snickered, picturing the portly man in one of those ancient togas. Just outside the glass doors, he snagged the warrant back from the Old Man and plastered it eye level with the guard. “PCD.” He flashed his badge next to the paper. “We have business in the bank.”

The guard’s eyes flickered over the many lines of text. He mumbled to himself as he read. “Seems legit.” He pulled a walkie-talkie from his holster. “Mr. Barnes, we have PCD at the door. You’re going to want to come down here, sir.” Without awaiting a response, he snapped the radio back to his belt and ushered them inside. “Come in.”

A man in a three-piece gray suit descended from an office on the upper level. His crisp haircut and wire-rimmed glasses gave him a sharp look. The power emanating from him beneath the polished exterior hinted at a supernatural aura and an eye that didn’t miss much.

“Psyke,” Dee mumbled into her hand. She scratched at her nose, covering the remark.

“Got it.” Slick met the man at the bottom of the staircase. “Mr. Barnes?”

“Yes.” The man extended his hand. “You must be the agents. What brings you to our establishment at this time of night?”

He wrapped his hand around the man’s palm and exerted a measured pressure. The action said, I’m not here to play around. Don’t screw with me.

Barnes squeezed back, not forcefully, but enough to demonstrate his own strength. His unspoken response, You’re in my house.

Slick smiled. With that small display, he knew more of the man in front of him than a thousand words could have achieved. “You look like a man who doesn’t need the bullshit, so I’ll give it to you straight.” He flapped the warrant at Barnes and pointed to the important spot. “Safety deposit box twenty-two, registered to Senator McDonald. We need inside.”

“I see.” Barnes took the paper in hand, lifted the glasses to his forehead, and zipped his eyes over the words. In a breath, he looked up and winked. “Speed reading. Don’t need the specks for it.” He gave the warrant back to Slick. “I suspected PCD to have it in order. Glad to see I wasn’t disappointed.” Slipping the glasses to his nose once more, he ushered them forward. “This way please.”

Slick followed in Barnes’ wake. An unsettled knot took root in the pit of his stomach. What’s throwing me? Before he could put his finger on it, Dee brushed up beside him and tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. He bent toward her and slowed his stride. She whispered, “Do you feel it?”

“What?” He kept his voice low.

“Off. Something off.” She tapped her temple. Her own psyke abilities worked by assessing patterns. If the status quo were interrupted, Dee would sense it. “Strange energy.”

The Old Man sniffed the air, walking close behind them.

“Yeah.” Slick sucked in a breath. A hundred different scents clogged his nostrils—sweet perfumes, heavy colognes, woodsy, floral, fruit-infused, and some sour. Patrons and bank staff of every variety left their own unique aromas, but underneath it all…something. “I don’t smell anything weird, but you’re right, Dee.”

Pushing between them, the Old Man muttered aloud, “You all get the sense a critter is walking under your skin?” He shrugged his thick shoulders. “Gives me the willies.”

Slick eyed his surroundings, trying to pinpoint the odd sensation. The Old Man’s assessment was dead on, but what the hell was causing it? Six glass panels atop a thick granite base occupied the left-hand wall and provided a layer of protection between the tellers and patrons. Currently, only one employee stood at that post, waiting for any late-night guests. But the space between the velvet ropes, indicating where the line should form, remained empty. Boring job.

Glancing to his right, Slick spied a row of desks separated by sleek columns and solid marble dividers. The excessive and lavish details inside matched the building’s ornate exterior, but he still gasped at the overt opulence. Isn’t a bank supposed to be about saving money? He snorted at the irony. Despite the pompous air about the place, nothing accounted for that odd feeling.

“Keep your eyes open,” he whispered to the team and caught up to Barnes. The bank manager stood beside a round metal door, the kind you only saw in cheap action movies. The thing looked like it ran at least ten feet in diameter with a series of bars across it. The handle consisted of a wheel with six spokes jutting from the center. To the left, an access panel loomed about three feet off the floor, then ran up to Slick’s chin. The complicated set of buttons, dials, and keypads might even give Meg a run for her money.

Slick shook his head and turned to Barnes. “Is this a joke?”

“Why no, agent. This…” He placed his hand against a scanning device inside the access panel. “This is the most advanced vault on the market.” The doorframe lit up an eerie yellow color and a red digital clocked appeared overhead. “It requires several passes to open, including a palm analysis, retina scan, and access code.”

Eyeing the clock above the door, Slick realized his error. It wasn’t telling the time. The numbers ticked down from 1:00 by the second. “A countdown?”

“Yes. If the correct sequences aren’t met within one minute, an alarm is activated.” A beeping sound emanated from where Barnes input a long number sequence into a keypad. “Not to worry in this case, of course.” The door slowly swung open. Its metal hinges didn’t render even a single creak. “Here we are.”

“Why the wheel?” Dee swiped her fingers over the lowest spoke as it passed her.

“Failsafe.” Barnes pointed to a flap at the center of the wheel. “The vault has a limited scope generator in case of a power failure. The same scans can be executed here, but the wheel needs to be turned manually.”

Dee gazed at something on the door. Her brown eyes narrowed, and then widened suddenly.

“Fascinating.” Slick blocked her from Barnes’ view and motioned into the vault. “Can we get to the security box now?”

“Certainly.” The bank manager disappeared inside.

Slick inclined his chin at the Old Man, beckoning him to follow. With a grunt, the irritable special agent went after Barnes. Once alone, Slick turned to Dee, “Okay, what’s up?”

“This.” Her nail tapped against a word branded on the bottom of the wheel’s center flap.

“Vanguard,” Slick muttered. “As in Unit Four Leader Vanguard? The same Vanguard who runs the Rocky Mountain districts?”

“Yup. He owns the Vanguard-Hoff Corporation.” She shrugged. “Guess they manufacture safes.”

“Dee,” he pulled her into a huddle, “you’re the pattern girl. Does this add up?”

“I…um…” Dee backed away from his hold. The hair on her arms stood on end. Her gaze skittered around the room. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. Don’t push it.” Waving at the vault, he smiled to reassure her. “It’ll come to you.” Having worked with the jumpy agent for a month now, Slick learned that Dee’s confidence wavered on the best of days. Today didn’t look like a good day for her. He tapped her shoulder. “In the meantime, let’s see what else we can find.”

The Old Man met them at the vault’s entrance, grumbling. “Wondering what took you so long. Come on, we going to see this or what?”

Three rows lined the vault, each containing safety deposit boxes of various sizes and shapes. Toward the back of the middle aisle, Barnes held one such box. Long and thin, it stretched the length of his forearm. In the locking mechanism, Barnes placed a squat key. “Here you are, agents. Number twenty-two.”

Slick took the box in his hand, opened it, and uttered a curse. Through gritted teeth he said, “How can the damn thing be empty?”

The Old Man’s snarl echoed his thoughts.

Back to square one. What the hell? Slick tightened his grip on the useless thing. How can this be possible?

Barnes’ brows furrowed. His eyes stared at the empty container without blinking. “This is not possible. The safety deposit box hasn’t been touched since the senator opened it and placed the contents inside.”

Dee’s gentle touch swept over every square inch of the safety deposit box, no doubt asking the same questions. When she finished her inspection, a light glowed behind her brown eyes. “Mr. Barnes,” she said in her quiet voice. “I assume the bank has video footage?”

Way to go, kiddo! Slick nodded at her and waited to hear the bank manager’s response.

“Video footage?” Barnes seemed to rouse from his shock as he turned to Dee. “Of course. But your warrant only covered the security box.”

“We don’t need a warrant,” the Old Man said. His shifter vibe buzzed too hard.

Slick placed a hand on the agent’s shoulders and gave him a warning look. Last thing they needed was for the agent to fly off the handle. The bank manager’s surprised reaction to the lack of contents, whether genuine or faked, didn’t matter. They needed his cooperation to get to the bottom of this mess. “Yes, Mr. Barnes. The city is on red alert. We needed a warrant for this box because it was registered to Senator McDonald.” He gave the box over to the Old Man to hold. They could fingerprint it later, though he doubted the results. “He has government immunity. The bank, however, is a private enterprise and under your authority, is it not?”

“Yes.” Barnes nodded as he exhaled a breath. “That’s true.”

“Then under martial law, we are allowed access to those tapes.” Slick headed out of the vault followed by the team and the still-stunned bank manager. “Yet it would hold up better in court if we have your permission.”

Barnes closed the vault with another long number sequence. Although the door glided along as quietly as before, the silent movement had a note of finality in it. “Agent, you may have access to anything you require to find out who broke into my vault.”

Slick laughed and patted Barnes on the back. “I was hoping you’d say that. Now let’s catch this thief.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Industrial District, Washington, DC Outskirts

Power lines and four distinct smokestacks outlined the starless night. A gravel road, bisecting the main street, led to a set of dome-shaped storage units. The three one-story buildings stretched at least a hundred feet apiece. Behind them, looming in the distance, a factory jutted into the sky. Its thick cylindrical stacks gripped the dark clouds above like mutant fingers.

Jame’s instincts spiked a warning. “What’s hiding here?”

The suspect’s car pulled between the two buildings farthest from the road.

“Only one way to know.” Drake parked the vehicle behind a dilapidated structure. Once upon a time, it might have been a main office for the factory or a temporary housing unit, but either word would be too generous for the heap of busted bricks and broken glass.

Palming her gun, she eyed the darkened sky. It had to be around eleven by now, if not later. The business at the bank… Slick and the others must be done with it. She should call for backup. No telling what they would find in this place. Her fingers slipped into her pocket and brushed across her cell phone. She needed to call in the team, to call Slick. Smoke billowed from the factory stacks, rising into the air like silent wraiths. Why the smoke if it’s empty? She mused, but the images haunted her, daring her to look away. For a moment all she saw was that gray mass…

Smoke. Her nasal passages burned, ears clogged, mouth dried. Smoke. Gotta move. Need to move. Her arms and legs…they don’t move. Not smoke, fumes. Something in the air. Vapor seeping into every pore. Freezing. Burning. Her hand flops useless at her side. Her legs are tucked into her body, a wall at her back. Why can’t she move? Gods, help her.

Movement to her left. Heavy breathing. “Slick?” she cries out, the sound muffled like speaking underwater. A groan. He is alive…barely. Her fault. All her fault. The bomb, the smell of it, she knew it, sensed it. Why didn’t she stop? Pride brought them to this. Her best friend. She’d led him to his death. They would die here.

The horrible memory hit her full force. She ripped her eyes from the distant smokestacks and curled her hand into a fist. This job requires stealth. Besides, they hadn’t found anything dangerous. Just the head of an alleged anti-SUB group leading them into a potential death trap. No big deal. She would call if they needed it. Uh huh. Maybe later she’d buy that bridge for sale in Brooklyn too.

“I am an idiot.” The weight of her ultra light phone lay heavy against her thigh. She ignored it and gripped the gun tighter. Her boots crunched the rocks beneath her feet. Cursing the noise, she tried to tread softer as she approached the suspect’s car.

“Kitty.” Drake got out of the car and pulled his trench coat from the backseat. When he wrapped it around his muscular frame, he looked like an avenging angel in the darkness.

“Or a devil,” she muttered.

Standing by the hood of the car, he pointed at a path between the two buildings. “He went that way.”

Her eyes skimmed the dirt road to the sight that lay beyond. The moon slipped between the clouds to pierce an eerie light through the gray mist. It illuminated the smokestacks and cracked windows of the horror-flick-inspired factory. “What were the building requirements for the contractor? Make it creepy as all hell?”

As she started down the road, Drake flanked her left side. He slowed his stride to match hers and shot her the half smirk that usually made her want to sock him in the face. She found herself grinning back instead. His actions shouldn’t have given her that warm feeling inside, what with her insistence on their—cough—platonic relationship. But her nerves eased, nonetheless.

Shaking her head of frivolous daydreams, she assessed the situation with a critical eye. The factory appeared long abandoned. Outer walls showed signs of decay. The brick frontage had faded to a weatherworn mottle of gray and beige where graffiti didn’t cover it. Not a single piece of glass rested in the window frames, replaced by solid looking metal panels. A double door entrance rose like an imposing giant at the center of the factory.

Jame stared in awe of the sight. Where do we start?

“Back door,” Drake’s words tingled along her neck.

She jumped and yelped too loudly, “What?”

“He didn’t go in through there. It’s locked tight from the looks of it.” He tapped her shoulder and pointed to the side of the building. “Bound to be another way in.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks burned hot. “Right.”

They crept along, sticking to the shadows as they searched for another entry into the factory. With the windows covered, no light shone from within. The lack of streetlamps and a sliver of crescent moon limited the light outside too. Jame crouched and sniffed the cool night air to pick up the suspect’s scent trail, but it eluded even her sensitive nose. All she could smell were residual chemical odors and something else… Clay? Sawdust? She couldn’t quite place it, but it didn’t match their perp. “I can’t find his scent.” She eyed the storage units, wondering if their suspect could have slipped inside one of them. “You sure he came this way?”

Drake knelt beside her, followed her gaze, and then swept his eyes toward the factory again. “Yes.” His long fingers swiped at the dirt in front of them. “Footprints lead around here.”

Peering into the darkness, Jame squinted. “I don’t see anything.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and motioned to the ground. “Look closer.”

Human eyes wouldn’t cut it. She shifted her sight to an owl’s. The large globes encompassed a third of her face, making her feel like a mismatched anime character. But the sharp night vision helped her identify the prints at once. “Ah ha. Got ’em.” She grinned as the trail snaked around to the back of the factory. “You were right.”

Drake didn’t so much as flinch at her altered face, earning him a few brownie points. Of course, he had to go and ruin it a second later. “Kitty, when will you learn?” He followed as she stalked after their suspect. When they approached the side of the building, he said smugly, “If you always assume I’m right, you’ll never be wrong.”

The need to roll her eyes had her trying to shift the owl’s immobile orbs and sent a sharp pain through her forehead when she made the attempt. “Shit.” Massaging her temples, she forced a last glance toward the factory and caught the path leading to a rear door. With the suspect’s trail confirmed, she shifted her vision to normal.

“You well?” Drake’s presence crowded her senses, invading her personal space.

“I’m fine.” All her instincts called to this blasted vampire. As much as she fought the feeling, the truth was simple. She didn’t want to push him away. Hell. “I’m fine,” she repeated more for herself than him.

“Okay.” He didn’t question her, a small reprieve for which she was grateful. His hand skimmed across her lower back. “Ready to get our perp?”

She snorted. Hearing his slight British accent sneak into the PCD lingo made her smile. “Ten-four.”

His brows rose. “Are you laughing at me, Agent Bradshaw?”

A grin broke on her lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Agent…” What is his last name?

“Drake, luv. Just Drake. Vampires don’t have last names, remember?” His knuckles gently grazed her cheek. “We give them up with our humanity.” After a slight pause, he snatched his hand away as if burned. “If we’re given the option that is.”

She sucked in a quick intake of air. He’d told her his story in bits and pieces over the years. Drake was his original family name when he was…human. “To become vampire, you mean? Whether you’re given that choice?”

“Yes,” he hissed.

“But it’s illegal to make a human into a vampire without consent.” She shook her head at how naive that sounded. Her entire job involved hunting down criminal supernaturals. She knew laws could be, and were often, broken.

“It is.”

Silence stretched between them. She wanted to ask him, to know if it was his decision, but she couldn’t find the words. Her mouth opened, but nothing came of it.

“Strife would never do that,” Drake said fiercely, as if reading her mind. “It was my choice.”

“Good.” A shudder ran through her. “Choice is important.”

A maniacal laughter crashing through her psyche. Noxious chemicals in her bloodstream. Clawing her way through a crippling black void. Her body jerking and twisting beyond her control. A scream climbs up her throat, but never emerges.

The buzzing pierces her brain. A thousand fire ants crawling over her nerves. The toxins blaze every time she takes a gasp of air. She tries to stop, hold her breath. Failing over and over. That’s all she is…a failure. “Let me die.” She curses the gods, the phage, PCD, everything. Her head lolls on her neck. She can’t control it any longer. Even the subtle inhale and exhale is becoming harder. If she could just stop, just let go…

Drake’s throaty growl brought her back to the present. “Come on. Let’s see what this bastard’s hiding.”

Jame shook her head hard to clear it of the memories. She had dealt with them all, or so she thought, but this setting kept bringing them to the forefront. She’d have to do better, try harder, push them deeper inside.

Staring at the entryway, she analyzed every square inch. The lack of security worried her. When the door creaked partially open, just begging them to step inside, her nerves kicked up another notch. “This is too easy.”

“No cameras. No locks.” His lip quirked up at the corner. “Think he’s inviting us in?”

“Hmm.” Fear nagged at her psyche, but she refused to give it power. If this was a trap, so be it. She had been through worse. Another memory tried to rise to the surface. Much worse. It was all she’d allow before squashing it down.

Drake peered at her. She sucked in a breath.

“Well, we shouldn’t keep him waiting.” Throwing open the door, she stepped inside. Her boots squeaked along the sleek floor. With the gun firm in her grip, she raked a careful eye over a short hallway. “Clear.”

Drake stepped in front of her, cracking one door at a time as he strode down the corridor. “Closet,” he murmured at the first. “Empty,” he said at the second. He approached a third room and called, “Got something.” His hand rose to cover his nose. “It’s a chemical plant.”

Joining him at the entrance, Jame took a tentative step into the third room. Huge vessels rose high toward the ceiling, only a few feet short of touching the top. Series of pipes connected the mammoth barrels to each other, creating a network of intricate plumbing. “What’s it producing?”

Drake ran a hand over the instrument panel on the wall. He palmed loose wiring. “No electricity.” His finger poked at the useless buttons and levers. “Looks like it’s been down awhile.”

“Yeah. The outside was worn too.” She shrugged and kicked the shortest vat. A hollow sound echoed inside. “Well, whatever this place made, it doesn’t seem to be making it anymore.”

An intense mask fell over his face. He tilted his head to the side. With frightening speed and purpose, he leapt to the top of the closest vessel and gripped the edge.

“Drake!” She hissed, trying not to raise her voice too high in the vacuous space. “What the hell are you doing? Get down!”

He didn’t even glance at her, proceeding instead to slide open the vat’s chained cover. The metal links scraped against the side of the vessel, creating a huge racket.

“This is a bad idea.” She eyed the door. It remained blessedly empty, but that didn’t appease the unease dancing in her stomach. “We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with.”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” he called down.

The cover slid open, every inch of noise sending another bout of tension through her. “Then hurry it up!”

At her words, he disappeared into the vat.

“Drake!” Her heart squeezed behind her ribs.

Before the panic could set in, he reemerged. Vaulting from the vessel, he landed beside her far too smoothly. He held two fingers to her in front of her face. “Red and yellow powder,” he said with a hint of fire in his dark eyes. “Know what this means?”

She sniffed curiously, detecting a trace of something. Her lips pursued. “Sulfur?”

“You have it, luv.” He brushed the powder between his thumb and forefinger. “Same stuff we found at the senator’s office. Remnants of it in its passive state.”

“Finatite,” she gasped. “Okay, so we know the butcher’s a dealer. Maybe Kuruk is the manufacturer?”

A frown crossed Drake’s face. “That hooker said Kuruk got supplies from the butcher, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t say what. Besides, I don’t exactly trust the word of Cherry Pop.” Her lips pressed flat.

“It’s not that. This place looks like it hasn’t been used in years.” He brought the powder to his nose. “The scent is there, but the residue is grimy.”

Shuffling along the far wall drew her eye. A door opened and shut. Jame snapped at Drake and motioned around the vats. “Let’s go.”

Their combined steps echoed in the open space.

The door led to a sort of processing room. Test tubes, glass vials, and plastic jars lined long tables from wall to wall. Slivers of moonlight from the high narrow windows reflected off all those containers, making them sparkle in the dark. The surreal quality to the light set Jame’s stomach reeling. Everything felt off, artificial, as if staged for some unknown purpose.

“Hold up.” Drake put a staying hand on her arm, but she had already stopped in her tracks.

“I know. I feel it too.” Her spine went rigid. She snaked along, watching where she placed her feet. Each step weighed her down, heavy. She glanced over her shoulder, Drake at her back. “What is that?”

The scent drifted over her senses. With slow familiarity it seeped into her pores. It reeked of secrets and dark places, of pain and suffering. Her blood ran cold. She froze. Her breath came in small choking gasps. She scanned wildly, hoping her senses betrayed her.

Drake’s dark eyes gleamed from the shadows. His nostrils flared. He knew that smell too.

“You shouldn’t have followed me here, agents.” Kuruk emerged from his hiding place in the corner. His face masked with a deadly stillness. “Now I’m afraid I can’t let you leave.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Industrial District, Washington, DC Outskirts

The containers broke one after another in rapid succession, a shrill pop-pop-pop clattering around them. Drake snarled. His fangs ripped through his bottom lip. A slight sting assailed him as the blood slipped onto his tongue. He locked eyes with the man in the corner. Their suspect stared back, his intent blazing through cold pupils.

“Jame, stay behind me,” he snapped. This would not happen. Not again. A flicker of his sister’s broken body blurred his vision. It shifted in a wash of colors to Jame, bloodied and beaten, in the torture chamber of some sadistic bastard. Drake’s lungs burned with primitive fire. He cut off the unwanted images with a blink.

“Drake,” Jame whispered. “We’ve got to get out of this room.”

The smell, the sickly smell, he’d sensed it before. A poison that caused shifter muscles to atrophy, the one used on Jame and Slick last year, but it shouldn’t affect him. He shook off her hold and lunged toward their perp. The ground collided with his face. Surely, the floor had to have moved. He couldn’t have stumbled. A vicious crunch snapped him into focus. Blood stained the floor.

“Drake!” Jame’s scream vibrated in his ears. Her fingers dug into his arms. He tried to press himself up, but the solid weight of the cement beneath him drew his body down like a magnet.

“Just…hold…on…” Her words drew forth sluggish. “Got…to…move.”

A warmth seeped through his jacket and stretched along his left side. His lids opened and closed in a lethargic rhythm. How? The question swam through his mind, swirling in a haze. He fought the poison’s hold, willing his limbs to function, to move. Yet the more he struggled, the heavier his body became.

“Can’t…get…air.” Her short staccato breaths rasped along his senses. He fixed his gaze on her. A naked fear turned her eyes watery.

“It will be all right,” he managed to say, slowing his breathing, already aware it was too late. Hell, he wished he could hold her, brush the hair from her damp forehead. The beads of sweat shimmied along her brow. With the last vestige of strength leaving his body, he willed his hand to move. It flapped across the floor like a dying fish and landed just shy of her cheek.

He rallied inside, cursing every higher power he didn’t believe in.

“Easy now.” A pair of thick-soled biker boots filled Drake’s vision. “Easy.”

“Bleeding bastard.” It didn’t hold the volume he wanted, and probably slurred more than he imagined, but Drake needed to let the man know the truth. Kuruk was a dead man. Drake just hadn’t killed him yet. “Dead.”

“You’re not dead, my friend.” Kuruk bent down and tapped two fingers to the side of Jame’s neck.

Drake growled.

“She’s fine, I assure you. The poison is meant to subdue, not kill.” A whistle pierced the air as Kuruk stuck those same fingers into his mouth. Shuffling footsteps encircled them. The noise kicked up Drake’s heartbeat. A rush of fear stung his blood, bitter and cold. His own life didn’t matter. Hadn’t for a long time. But Jame. He couldn’t let anything happen to her.

Many. They drew closer, something unknown, unseen, unnamed. Too many. The roar bubbled from somewhere deep inside him but had no outlet. His mouth ceased to heed his commands. Get up, damn it. Get up. Nothing responded. His body refused to cooperate. Have to… Pictures twisted around his mind. Colors and lights shimmied in a kaleidoscope. Save…her. As the circular rainbow dissipated into a black void, Drake didn’t know if it was his sister or Jame he meant to save, but he knew in his soul, he had failed them both.

* * *

Drake stumbled down an alley, singing and sloshing a tankard. His friend, whose name he no longer recalled, walked beside him. Arms draped around each other, each hoping the one would hold up the other. They were young, foolish aristocrats from old family lines with few cares, no worries, and little sense of the world outside their sheltered existence.

A bell chime rattled around his brain. He blinked bleary eyes. He knew this place, this time. His tongue flicked along his teeth. This was London, 1872, and he was human.

“Shite.” He grabbed his friend’s shoulder and staggered into a wall.

“Whoa, theh.” The man steadied him. “Ease off, eh?”

Drake released the death grip on the man’s shoulder. A tankard clenched in his other hand. He dropped it, listening to its clank as it rolled down the alley.

“Come along.” The man motioned him forward. “This way.”

His feet moved without his permission, taking him closer to a house he never wished to enter again. “No,” he screamed silently, for the word wouldn’t leave his lips. “I won’t.”

The friend paid him no attention and pointed to a door. “Heah we on then.” A solid pat on the back. “Ya have a goob nigh. See ya on the morrow.”

The man left. Drake stood alone, staring at the door. “Don’t open it. For the love of all that’s holy, don’t open the door.”

But his body didn’t belong to him. It carried him through memory. Heeding the pattern of a human boy-man that no longer existed.

Tripping over his family’s threshold, Drake tossed his coat toward his father’s precious grandfather clock. The ugly monstrosity dominated the foyer. Without thought, he turned to the clock, slurring obscenities, and aimed a kick at it.

Deep in this hell-spun nightmare, he tried to talk sense to his human side, to demand they leave, to spare this carefree version of himself the pain of what was to come. But his words floated through thought, softer than a feather on the wind.

Drake missed the clock. The barkeep’s new brew had wreaked chaos on his senses. He slid across the stone floor and tumbled into a puddle of blood. The red liquid glistened, coating his hands. He moved his fingers as if playing the piano. The gleaming light of the hall sconce illuminated the thick substance. Squinting and shaking his head, he spotted the source a few feet from where he lay in the puddle.

Tightness and burning assailed Drake’s chest as he retched the contents of his stomach. He shouted internally at the boy-man to get the hell out, to leave this place forever. But his eyes remained transfixed on the grisly sight.

When the gags turned to dry heaves, Drake crawled forward and gingerly reached out to touch the mutilated body of his mother. His hand whispered over her soft hair when the cry of his twelve-year-old sister tore his gaze away and up the stairs. He rose to shaky feet and mounted the stairs with more dexterity than his addled brain should have allowed. The bone-chilling screams brought a rush of adrenaline, sobering his mind.

Drake didn’t want to go, couldn’t bear to see. Yet an invisible force pulled him to that bedroom. He knew what he’d find, and no power on Earth would have dragged him back there…except his memory.

He stood in the doorway. His breath catching, mouth dropping. Thick burgundy curtains sat in a heap on the floor. A creature poised above his sister on the rich oak bed. Its wide jaw clamped down on her delicate arm. The wooden bedframe rattled the wall as the bastard feasted on her soft flesh.

Rage. Palpable, all-consuming rage contorted his features. The carefree boy-man died inside him and a monster without name took his place. Funny, the vampirism would come later, but it was in this moment the real fiend was born.

Drake charged for the bed, vaulting atop it and latching onto the beast’s throat. Yet the creature proved too powerful, flinging him into the wall with ease. He shook off the pain, blinded by the need to kill. Grabbing his sister’s vanity chair, he heaved it over his head and slammed it with all the force within him onto the creature’s back. The beast slanted his large ungodly eyes upon him. After a heart-pounding minute, it turned away, jumping off the bed and disappearing out the window.

He approached his sister, watching as her face drained, an ashen hue overtaking her small body. A single gasp broke from her lips. He cradled her in his arms and howled his grief, and then crooned to her, “All is well. You will be well. All is well. You will be well.”

Drake closed his eyes to the memory. All was not well. All would not be well.

The doctor’s arrival was treated like an angel’s descent. Yet after a few short moments, he uttered, “Nothing more can be done.” The weight of it crushed Drake and reignited the rage. Had his sister’s weak moans not brought him to her side, the doctor would have joined the phage’s flight from the window. If only he had been strong enough to truly destroy the monster. But…he hadn’t.

“Brother?” The word spoken so soft, he had to lean in to grasp it.

“I’m here, princess.” Each breath from her was more precious than gemstones or gold, a treasure beyond worth. He listened for hours, and then longer, far after her breaths had stopped.

His sister had lived a night and a day before falling into death’s grasp. The grief had struck him in the gut, stealing his sanity. He had searched for the creature that took his family’s lives through all the corners of the underworld. Back alleys, seedy bars, questionable establishments, all of these subterranean areas became his home for the next half decade. It was there, in one of the many unnamable haunts, where Strife had found him and offered him the keys to revenge.

One short day after meeting her, he accepted her proposal and died with her blood coursing through his veins. In the night, he rose as a vampire. The price for his new undead existence was service to Veritas, but only after they helped him hunt down and eviscerate his family’s killer. After six years of searching, Drake had gotten his revenge. And Strife had gotten her minion—a century of service to Veritas.

Phage fell by his hand one after the other. It mattered not. No number could ease his suffering.

The grief…the grief never ended.

* * *

Darkness. All around him. Darkness. Covering his body, surrounding his soul. A constant, ever-present nightmare. Gut-wrenching darkness. Gods, he was so alone.

“Drake,” a whisper in his mind.

He moved toward the voice, a calm wave in a black storm.

“Drake. Wake up.”

His lids cracked open. Yellow light stabbed his pupils. He focused on the woman calling his name. “Jame?”

“Yeah. It’s me.” Her small black boots encompassed his vision, and then her slender legs. She knelt beside him, until their eyes met. “You okay?”

Groaning, he pushed himself to a sitting position and stared at her. “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine.” The pale hue to her skin said differently. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“No, you’re not.” He inched closer, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her against his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Her hands curled into fists, gripping his shirt. She didn’t pull away from him. “For what?”

“The poison. I didn’t expect it to affect me.” He tightened his hold. “It was a foolish mistake.”

The sweet orange scent, all her own, filled his nose. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I put you in danger.” He looked down at her hair, willing her to meet his gaze. “That is not acceptable.”

Jame’s head snapped up. Light once more radiated from those hazel eyes. “Hey, I’m team leader. You’re my responsibility. I put us in the hot zone.”

Drake growled. “I’m not questioning your abilities, Kitty, but understand this well,” he leaned in, brushing his lips against her ear, “you are mine.”

She shivered. “I’m not—”

“Am I interrupting?” A thunderclap before an oncoming rainstorm.

He knew that voice. Shoving Jame behind him, he leapt to his feet and approached a set of metal bars. “What in the hell is going on here?”

“Easy, child.” The hard obsidian eyes stared at him as if from the grave. “We have much to talk about.”

Jame gasped. “Strife.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Communications Control Beta, Location Classified

“What do you mean they’re gone?” Meg snapped her lucky pencil in half. It had been hours since the check-in. Slick, the Old Man, and Dee should have been on their way to back up Jame and Drake, but the pair hadn’t phoned in. No GPS signal on the phones, no text, no call, nothing.

“It’s like they vanished. The phones go to voicemail and the locator’s dead on both their lines.” Slick’s words sounded in a stream of consciousness, falling from his lips like a tickertape. “Meg, I can’t find them.”

“Okay. Let me think.” She paced around her office, wringing her hands through her hair. The netcam’s motion sensors tracked her movements. “Tell me again what happened.”

“Jame and Drake went to track our perp. Dee, the Old Man, and I visited the bank to search Senator McDonald’s safety deposit box. The thing was empty. We went upstairs with the bank manager to check the security footage.” He swallowed. “As the man went to turn on the feed, my instincts flared, Meg.”

A pause had her pressing for more. “Go on.”

“I can’t explain it. Ever since the…thing last year, Jame and I are more in tune. And I…”

Pressure gripped her heart. A weight like a ten-ton block sat on her chest. Not jealous. Not jealous. She scolded her feelings as pure stupidity. Focus. This is not about you.

“Hell and a half. I don’t know how to explain it.” His voice strained. “Meg, she’s my friend, team leader, and I know something is wrong. I feel it.”

A whoosh of air expelled from her lungs. You’re a horrible person. She was so kicking her own ass later for the dance with the green-eyed monster. Focusing on the monitor, she schooled her features and captured Slick’s attention. “Dane,” she began, using his real name so he knew she meant business, “I believe you. We’ll find them.”

He must have straightened his spine because he sat taller on the video feed. His features set into hard lines. “What do you need me to do?”

“Did you review the security tape?”

“No, once I had the…instinct about Jame, we hightailed it out of the bank. But Dee’s got the copy of it.”

“Okay. Send it to me. I’ll deal with it later.” Tapping over the keyboard, she pulled up Jame and Drake’s cell phones. A second later proved Slick’s findings correct. “You’re right about the phones. Dead end. What about their car? Did they take a PCD vehicle?”

Slick’s fist banged on the desk. “Hellfire. Of course!”

“Which one?”

“The unmarked sedan. License JS-1228.”

“Got it.” Running the tracker on the car took the work of a moment. The red dot blinked on the digital map, not moving. “Slick, I have the car. Looks like some sort of industrial park. DC outskirts. Sending you the coordinates.”

“Thanks, Meg. I’ll call as soon as we’ve got them.”

“Okay.” She killed the video feed, but whispered over the line, “Be careful.” Her insides ran cold. Every agent was her ultimate responsibility. Losing even one tore at her soul, but the thought of losing him…

“No,” she said aloud. He might be pissed at her later, but she was not letting him…them…walk into another unknown and likely hostile situation without more help. She had to make the call. Mack might not like her stepping into one of his districts, and she’d certainly be reprimanded by the higher-ups, but none of that matter.

Gulping back her nerves, she dialed in. “Agent Frost?”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Industrial District, Washington, DC Outskirts

“You bitch of a walking corpse.” Claws mutated Jame’s hands into fatal weapons as she sliced at the bars. The anger choked her throat, rendering speech impossible. Her tired muscles, courtesy of the damn poison, reduced her movements to those of a snail.

Strife didn’t budge or even acknowledge Jame. Her bottomless black eyes locked on Drake. “My child, I am sorry for this subterfuge.” The rainstorm of her voice grated along Jame’s every nerve ending, but Drake looked downright lethal.

“Why?” The lone word fell from his lips like the bang of a steel drum. The pain of betrayal shone in his eyes. It put a balm on Jame’s own ire as his hurt ripped at her. She went to him, sliding her hand into his. He took it without comment or turning his gaze from his maker.

“I am truly repentant for this situation.” Strife’s obsidian eyes dulled even under the glow of the halogen lights as if all the spark in them had died. “I could not risk these people to your vengeance.”

Drake’s fangs elongated, spilling over his lower lip. It made his speech slurred. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

The same curiosity warred within Jame, but she knew it best to remain quiet. This was between Drake and his maker—for now. When they got out of this cage, she would have a few words, and a helluva lot more, for the vampire bitch.

“You harbor hatred in your heart for these people, Drake.” Strife began to pace in front of their cell. The motion was so unlike the normally reserved vamp that Jame’s eyelids popped open. It may have been a simple act of nervous walking, but in this case, it was akin to seeing beyond the wizard’s curtain. The vampire was not as cool and collected as she always appeared.

“I’m done with your games.” Drake exploded forward without warning, crashing into the bars with enough force to shake the ground. Yet the metal didn’t budge.

Jame stood, dumbfounded, but after a second of shock, she regained her senses. “Strife, what the hell is going on? Why are you with Kuruk? What are Drake and I doing in here?”

Strife stroked a hand through her long black hair. Her agitation continued, so far from her usual demeanor. “I shall explain. I just… It will be difficult for you to hear.” She stared at Drake with a sense of abject grief.

“Tell me,” he demanded in a low voice that would broker no argument.

“You hunted these people all your vampiric life, my child.” She sighed. “Kuruk is a leader. His people are hiding here. They are not an anti-SUB group. They are refugees, not terrorists.”

A silence dropped over them, so loud in its emptiness and encompassing in its grip, Jame feared to break it, but her special agent training kicked in.

“Say we believe you,” she began. Drake’s growl said that he did not, but she put a hand on his arm gently. He glared at it like an offending snake that coiled around his forearm, yet Jame persisted. “Say we believe you, Strife. What are these people doing here?”

“I speak the truth, but it would be best if Kuruk told you his story. It is his to tell.” Strife pierced Drake with her gaze, locking his eyes with her powerful stare. “You must listen.”

Jame could feel his shaking under her arm. The rage coiled inside him—a living thing clear to anyone within his vicinity. She thought he would refuse, but instead, he breathed, “Bring him.”

“Drake?” Jame sucked in some air. The tension in his body spoke of barely leashed anger. “Maybe, we should—”

“Now, Strife.”

Strife left the space outside their cell, disappearing through a door to the left. When she had been gone five seconds from their sight, Drake turned to her.

“Are you all right?” Jame whispered and wrapped her arms around his waist. She didn’t fight the instinct or analyze her behavior. It just…well…it felt right to offer him comfort.

He took it, enveloping her in an embrace and pressing his cheek to the top of her head. “I am not sure.”

The admission tugged at her heartstrings. Drake was never off, never anything but a hundred percent confident, often too cocky for his own good. But this…this was altogether a different side of him. Had he not been hurting so severely that she could feel it in her own soul, she might have liked this tender part of him.

“I know it seems bleak.” She pulled back a step to look in his eyes. “But let’s hear them out. There may be an explanation.”

“Kuruk is phage. They are monsters.” His gaze darkened impossibly more than his already midnight eyes. “What could he possibly say that could change that?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, uncertain of the answers, but determined not to fall into this despair overwhelming him. “Yet we’re going to see.” Commanding her shifter strength, she added, “Okay?”

His face turned from grief stricken to the ghost of a smile appearing across his lips. “All right, luv. You’re in charge.”

She smiled. “That’s more like it.”

As the tension eased a bit, their suspect entered. Strife did not reappear. It brought the pressure right back up and beyond.

“Special Agents.” The man known as Kuruk bowed before them. “I do apologize for these conditions, but I could not let you harm my people. And I needed the opportunity to explain myself to you.”

To his immense credit, Drake didn’t launch at the bars again, although he stood stiffer than before. Jame didn’t exactly feel at ease but, seeing as how her vampire practically vibrated with wrath, she had to stay the level-headed one. “Kuruk,” she said simply. “Strife tells us that you’re not what we think. We’d like to hear your story.” She snuck a glance at Drake. “But we’d prefer it on equal grounds.” She inclined her chin toward the bars.

“I understand.” He nodded to accent the point. “As you can see, I’ve allowed you to keep your weapons.” He pointed at her fatigues. “I do sincerely apologize for the use of the gas, but it was the only way to ensure my people’s safety from…”

As he trailed off, Jame answered for him, “From us.”

“Yes.”

“And just where did you acquire that particular concoction?” Drake ground out through a jaw so tight, Jame feared he’d break his fangs.

“Ms. Farrington was not the only one with knowledge of this weapon. The phage have been perfecting it over time to target other SUBs while building up a tolerance to it. The gas, however, has been modified to subdue only.” Kuruk motioned to them. “My people and I use it for self-defense. It will not leave any lasting effects. I swear it.”

“It better not,” Drake growled, looking over at her again.

“It will not.” With that, Kuruk headed to a panel on the wall that Jame hadn’t noticed before. The covering slid away to reveal a series of electrical wiring. Kuruk twisted a blue and red wire together, and the bars of their cell slid into the floor.

Jame quickly clutched for Drake’s arm. He turned to her and smiled as her fingers wrapped around his wrist. “I’m all right, luv. I won’t bolt for his jugular,” he looked pointedly at Kuruk, “yet.”

“Come then, let’s take this into a more amenable space. Although I fear such is hard to come by here.” Kuruk led them through the door where Strife had gone earlier. Down a long hallway, past several doors, and into an inconspicuous entryway, they arrived in a large room with various sets of bunk beds. It looked like army barracks from old war-time movies. “This is the sleeping quarters.” He motioned toward the beds. Some people sat talking on a lower bunk while a pair of teenagers played cards on the floor.

Jame eyed them carefully but couldn’t put her finger on their species. The scents were not shifter or vampire. They appeared human, yet power radiated from them. It wasn’t psyke energy. They must be phage. But…how?

As she and Drake had subconsciously stopped walking, Kuruk suddenly appeared between them and the group of unknown people they had been staring at. “Follow me, please.”

They continued into a living area with couches scattered about, a ping pong table with deep scratches took up one corner, and a TV that had to be from the stone age played a scratchy program in the other. Again, people mucked around, some talking quietly, others staring at the screen.

Jame didn’t slow this time, but Drake stopped once more. His breathing became shallow, and he couldn’t seem to keep the shock from his face. She doubled back and took his hand gently. “Come on,” she coaxed. “The sooner we get to wherever he’s leading, the sooner we find out what this is.”

The promise of answers seemed to snap him back. A stoic mask appeared on his face and he began walking again. At last Kuruk motioned toward a door on the far side of the room. As they entered, Jame spotted Strife sitting behind a square table. Kuruk took the seat beside her and indicated for them to take the two remaining seats on the opposite side.

A table between us. Not much, but he’s smart to do it. Jame sat, but Drake continued to stand, glaring daggers at his maker. “Drake?” she tried. She tugged at his shirt. “Answers, remember?”

Begrudgingly, he lowered his body into the chair. “Talk.”

Kuruk folded his hands over the table. It was a negotiation tactic Jame recognized. She often used the strategy in her work. It showed the other party that you had nothing in your hands, a sign of peace. Well, she was willing to hear him out, even if a part of her wanted to kick the shit out of him for using that damn gas on her.

“Phage are not unlike vampires. We each have a maker, one who has brought us from the world of humans into this new existence.” Kuruk’s eyes, like the bark of a maple tree in the dim lighting, seemed to spark with his words. “I was made by the queen herself, the one you know as Reyna. It was before the creation of the government we now call Northern United America, a time when my people, the Blackfoot, dwelled across the Great Plains. My human life is a distant memory, yet it brings me comfort to this day.” He sighed deeply, as only one who has seen too much can. Jame knew the sound all too well.

Drake’s hands fisted atop the table, although he said nothing to interrupt.

“At that time, humans had formed the Eurasia government in the old world and then began to branch out across the vast expanses of the ‘New World,’ the land of my people. You know the history and how my people fared in that exchange, but what the human history books fail to mention is disease and war were not the only threats.” Kuruk paused as Strife placed her hand on his arm, a clear gesture of comfort.

Jame wondered briefly how far their relationship went before Kuruk continued again. “With the humans came hordes of SUBs, but none more powerful than the phage queen. She saw this new land as rich with opportunity for exploitation and to create an army under her rule.” His rich butterscotch skin paled visibly. “I came across her while hunting one day, not knowing that I was the one being hunted.”

Next to her, Drake seemed spellbound. He didn’t move an inch or breathe more than a few shallow intakes. In truth, Jame felt equally as captivated by Kuruk’s story. Something in his words drew them in.

“I will spare you the details of that attack. Yet understand it was brutal, and when I emerged from it, I was phage—mindless, starving, and completely under her control. I would stay that way for sixty years before Reyna finally gave the command that freed my mind.”

“Sixty years?” Drake’s shock couldn’t be hidden. His whispered were words no longer laced with the rage of before.

Jame asked the question she knew was on her vampire’s mind as well. “How did you survive?”

Strife answered for him. “From what I have learned in my time with Kuruk, phage differ from vampires in this regard. While newbie vampires may have the hunger and can be,” she looked meaningfully at Drake, “difficult to handle. They are not mindless. Still beholden to their makers, they can think and reason. Phage, however, cannot.”

“It’s true.” Kuruk placed his palms flat on the table as if fighting back some unspoken emotion. “Had I been coherent all that time, I would have gone mad.”

Strife gave his arm a squeeze. “Anyone would. It is not the fault of the phage.”

Drake let loose a huff but did not comment further.

“I know it is hard to believe.” Kuruk inclined his head at them both. “Yet I thank you for listening. Allow me to tell you the rest, and perhaps you’ll have a better understanding.”

Jame glanced at Drake. It should be his call this time. She raised a brow at him. He answered by nodding at Kuruk and said, “Go on.”

“Thank you.” Kuruk took a long breath. “When released from my ravenous mindlessness, the queen dubbed me one of her generals. If my prior state was bad, this new existence was pure torture. I had my faculties once more, but I was still under Reyna’s command. I had no free will, except for what I could hide from her. And given her abilities over her generals, it wasn’t much.”

“But Farrington and Senator McDonald,” Jame interrupted. “They seemed to hide a whole lot from this queen.”

“As we grow older, we grow stronger,” Kuruk said. The lights in the room flickered as if to accent his point. The air around them grew colder, wrapping a breeze of icy tendrils over their bodies. She didn’t know if it was his words or some phage power, but the atmosphere matched his story now. He continued, bringing her attention back to him. “It becomes more possible to have a longer leash from the queen, but it is still a tether.”

“And are you tethered still?” Drake inquired, his lids narrowing.

“Your inquiry leads to the most important part of my tale. It was within the past year that the queen made her ultimate mistake.” Kuruk rose and pressed a panel on the wall. Monitors behind Drake and her sprung to life. They rotated in their chairs to see. Displaying different areas of the compound, the screens showed people of various ages, ethnicities, and genders in each part. “Reyna had me turn each of these people. They are all phage, but unlike my maker, I have given them their freedom. I could not do this while under Reyna’s thumb. But…”

Kuruk walked to the monitors and laid a hand on the highest one. “Last year, she made her gravest error. After Adriana defied the queen and left so many of her children to die, Reyna was outraged. The queen’s final command to me, although she had not intentioned it to be, was this: ‘Kuruk, do whatever it takes to protect my children.’” The room’s lights brightened, and a smile broke out across Kuruk’s face. “With that she gave me the power to break free of her at last. For the biggest threat to the phage is not an outside enemy, but the queen herself. In order to protect them, I had to be free of her. I had to be able to free those that I had made from the mindlessness and give them back their free will. I had to break the chains.”

“Then Reyna cut the ties that bound you to her without even realizing it?” Jame’s eyes widened with the revelation. It was a serious mistake on the queen’s part. Creating Kuruk, and keeping him as a slave for so long, would make him a potent enemy once freed.

“Yes. And this is the result. All these phage are now free as well.”

“And what’s to stop them from decimating the human population with their hunger?” Drake rose from his chair. His words slammed down like a gauntlet. Tension vibrated through his body, clear to Jame’s shifter senses.

“Drake,” Strife warned, coming around the table to stand between her child and Kuruk.

“No Strife.” Kuruk placed a hand on her hip. “He asks a fair question.” Guiding Strife back to the chairs, he bade her sit with no words spoken and took his seat again.

“Well, I want to know.” Jame tugged at Drake’s sleeve. “You?”

He sat again without words, the snarl on his face enough comment.

When the room’s tension seemed to dissipate a fraction, Kuruk answered the question. “My trips to the butcher served dual purposes.”

“Wait,” Jame exclaimed. The solution appeared far too simple. “You’re telling me phage can survive on animal meat?” She thought back to the cats in the senator’s basement. Slick would have nightmares about them for weeks. Yet somehow the senator and Farrington had used them to keep the young phage couple alive while conducting their experiments. Perhaps it was possible.

“It’s the equivalent of a human living their life on an all-salad diet.” Kuruk sighed. “Not fulfilling and certainly not pleasurable, but…”

“It keeps you linked to your humanity,” Drake said, and all eyes turned to him.

“Yes,” Kuruk breathed.

Drake reclined in his chair. The air of confidence that Jame now expected from him had returned. She wondered if he had settled his internal argument or if he employed a new strategy with Kuruk. Before she had time to consider too long, he spoke again.

“And the finatite?”

For the first time, Kuruk looked rattled. His brows shot skyward, apparently without his approval. He tried to school his face again, not quite achieving the effect. “Why would you ask me that?”

“We’re sitting in a chemical plant that appears to have once produced the stuff. And you’re getting your meat products from a finatite dealer.” Jame caught his gaze and held it. “Why wouldn’t we ask that?”

“The butcher provides us with meat. That’s all.” The unshakeable phage appeared quite shaken.

Drake snorted. “Right, and you acquire no means to protect yourselves?”

Strife had stayed quiet for so long, it was strange to hear her speak again, “Of course, they have. They need to, but finatite isn’t their style, my child.”

“Tell that to the special agent that died.”

Strife rose again, but Kuruk grabbed her forearm. When she sat without further comment, the phage said, “That wasn’t us. My people would never take a life if lives can be spared.” His hand drifted through his hair. “But we will defend ourselves.”

“All right.” Jame pinched the bridge of her nose. They were going down a rabbit hole, and she had the suspicious feeling it was about to get worse.

“Where did you hear that we were acquiring finatite?”

The cold feeling in her stomach intensified to an icy frost. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, the queen, you see, she’s been trying to get the law after us by accusing me and my people of being terrorists. But…” Kuruk’s words tapered off as if he couldn’t quite figure out how to phrase it.

“Best just say it.” Strife’s words fell once more like the raging storm.

Kuruk swallowed. “I didn’t realize it, but it can only mean one thing. The queen has infiltrated the governing ranks.”

“That’s not possible.” Even as Jame denied it, the pieces slid into place: a red alert, martial law, the higher-ups holding off on arresting phage. Something much bigger than she could have imagined was happening. Yet she couldn’t, she just couldn’t. “It can’t be.”

“It’s the only explanation for—” A deafening blast like a foghorn on steroids cut off Kuruk’s response and rocketed the room. Lights flickered and popped to life in long rows, illuminating an exit path.

Strife kicked over the table while producing a wicked looking blade from a pocket at her hip. Jame had never even seen its sheath. The vampire waved it in front of her face and used it to usher them toward the exit. “Let’s go!”

“What’s happening?” Jame tried to make her voice loud enough over the horn.

“The base is under attack,” Kuruk yelled. “We’ve got to get everyone out!” He followed Strife toward the door that led back into the populated rooms.

Before Jame could follow, Drake put a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Whatever happens.” He grabbed her other shoulder and spun her to face him. “Don’t leave my side. Understand?”

As the horns continued to blast, and the exhilaration of an upcoming fight surged through her, Jame smiled. Before he could react, she flung an arm around his neck and planted a fiery kiss dead center. “You don’t leave my side, vampire, or you’ll have to answer for it.”

With that, she followed the pair into the fray, but behind her she heard the best sound in the world. “All right, luv. Let’s do this.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

En Route to Industrial District, Washington, DC Outskirts

The tires screamed for help as another layer of rubber burned off and disintegrated into the pavement. Slick couldn’t press the pedal hard enough. As it was, his boot hit the floor mat. Another bend in the road lifted the right side of the car inches off the ground.

“In the name of—” the Old Man bellowed as he squeezed the “oh shit” handle in a death grip. “Boy, you gotta get us there in one piece, or we’ll be no use to anyone.”

His foot refused to move off the accelerator. The irrational fear drove him, a warning beating at him to push the vehicle past its limits. “We can’t slow. We won’t make it.”

Dee whimpered just slightly when the back end fishtailed around the next curve. Although huddled into a ball with her seatbelt fastened too tight, she didn’t protest or cry out. He felt bad for scaring her and rattling the Old Man, but they had to make it. They had to get to Jame and Drake. Seconds could mean… No, he wouldn’t think about it. They would be okay. They had to be.

“In one mile take a left. Your destination will be on the right.” The computerized voice rattling off directions fired his blood to boiling. Can’t this damn sedan go any faster? A mile? It felt like they had been driving for eternity.

A red light winked at him as a beacon. He didn’t slow, didn’t even blink, but blew past it.

“Slick!” The Old Man yelled his name as if a curse. “Watch it.”

Another red light. Headlights at the intersection, barreling from the side. “We can’t slow.” He repeated it again and again, a mantra that would ward off the other car. He didn’t back down. The screeching of the oncoming vehicle reverberated along the cement. It swerved hard, skittering across the road, and halting just short of the sidewalk. Slick barely gave it a glance in the rearview as he bolted onward to their destination.

“Do you think they’re okay?” Dee spun in her seat to look out the back window. “Should we—”

“We’re not stopping.” Slick didn’t care. The other car hadn’t hit anything. The driver might be unnerved, and any passengers startled, but they would have a good story for the night to tell their buddies. The crazy driver that almost killed them would become the stuff of legends. Those people weren’t harmed at all, but his people very well might be.

Got to make it. His fingers latched tighter around the wheel.

As the street gave way to a dead end, Slick at last brought the car to normal speeds. To the side lay their destination, a gravel road that cut to the right. He killed the engine and shot from the vehicle. Only the Old Man’s reflexes had him slowing as he rounded over the hood and started down the path.

“Whoa there,” the Old Man cried with an iron clasp around Slick’s bicep. “Easy.”

“I can’t. We’re wasting time.” Madness drove him, the gnawing inside him grew ever worse with each second that ticked on.

“We need a plan. We can’t just go in there like a herd of cattle. Think. Look.”

As Dee came around to face him, a silent entreaty in her expression begged him to do as the Old Man asked.

Slick tried to assess the situation rationally. He took a deep breath and peered along the path. Four colossal smokestacks jutted into the sky. Power lines zigzagged from their distant masses to closer buildings. A set of circular storage units and ranch-style structures stretched over the industrial park as large as a football field. Stacks like vicious pipes gripped the sky and led to a factory below.

“The factory.” He couldn’t say how, but he knew it. The same gnawing burned through him, a need pulling him in that direction. That’s where they would find their missing teammates. “Come on.”

He struggled not to run. The crescent moon illuminated the gravel just enough to give it a lustrous shine as it crunched under their boots. Think. Breathe. Need a plan. He scanned the factory walls for the best entrance, but before he could find it or assess the situation, shadows on the rooftop caught his eye.

“What the—” Slick didn’t have time to wonder as a blazing alarm rang through the night. It blared and blasted, forcing them to cover their ears. As if on cue, the shadows descended, crashing through metal panels that enclosed the windows instead of glass, and slamming into brick walls. He attempted to identify the shadows, but the lack of light and their rapid movements made it impossible. All he could spot were humanoid forms, clothed in black, ramming into the factory with intense force. Inhuman howls pierced the air, mixing with the alarms and creating a cacophony.

The Old Man shifted from his clothes, transforming into an armadillo, likely to keep the noise at bay. Slick was tempted to take his signature snakelike form, but it would leave Dee the sole one amongst them unable to shift. He slung an arm around her shoulders instead and ushered her through a hole in the brick wall created by one of the shadows. Stealth hardly mattered now. A fight was brewing.

Once inside, the alarm sounded muter, as if filtered through a speaker system that reduced it to bearable levels. The Old Man changed back to his regular form, quickly donning the clothes he had stashed in a bag on the armadillo’s back, and glanced at Dee. “You all right?”

Dee nodded, but shook slightly under Slick’s arm. He glanced at her and then the Old Man. The weight of the situation tore him in two. The shadows ran ahead en masse, a black wave overtaking anything in their path. The psyke decoder by his side was not a fighter. The Old Man could hold his own, but leaving her alone?

“Both of you stay here.” Slick rounded on the Old Man before he could protest. “And don’t say anything.” He stuck a finger in the older shifter’s chest. “We both know that whatever is going on up ahead, it’s going to be hell breaking loose. I’m not bringing our best case-cracker into it.” He tried to take back the bite of leaving her behind. Truth be told, Dee’s abilities far surpassed fighting skills. He could train anyone to battle to a strong enough self-defense level, but what the psyke could do? That couldn’t be taught.

The Old Man narrowed his eyes a heartbeat and grumbled a string of curses, but acquiesced with one word. “Go.”

Slick inclined his head and then booked it into the fray. From a cavernous room with vats into a narrow hallway at the end of it, he ran. Yet the shadows still managed to outpace him. When he would have turned at the next bend to follow them, a figure tackled him to the ground. The air expelled from his lung as he hit the deck hard. “Owf.”

“Pup?” an obnoxious British accent assailed his ears.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the blond-streaked monstrosity. “Get off me, bloodsucker.” Despite the pain and the general frustration Drake caused, he breathed a sigh of relief to find the vampire alive.

“Heh, it is you.” Drake’s brows rose. “You’ve some impeccable timing.”

Slick rose to his feet, dusting off his jeans. “What the hell is going on?”

“Good bloody question. But no time for explanations. Those things are on the loose.” The vampire motioned toward the shadows congregating up ahead. “We’ve corralled them here. Better chance at taking them out.”

“Where’s Jame?” Slick asked, assessing the vampire’s plan. The mass had been huddled into a joining point. The hallways led to four different exits with Slick and Drake at the southern end. At the three other connections, thick bars slammed from ground to ceiling, cutting off escape. Several stories above, two parallel skywalks stretched over the middle. It was on the northern one that Slick spotted her. “Jame!”

The shadows turned toward Drake and him with his shout. With the fluorescent lights glaring their bluish hue from above, Slick could at last see their quarry in plain view. “Fuck,” he said through gritted teeth. “Phage.”

“Phage,” Drake repeated, lengthening his fangs into weapons more deadly than any blade. A smirk curled his bottom lip upward. “And not the ‘good’ kind either,” he said, making air quotes on the “good.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Slick asked while the phage turned their full attention on them and began to move forward.

“No time.” Drake grabbed him by the belt and hauled him back.

Jame screamed from above, “Farther. You’re not clear yet.”

“I know, luv,” he yelled over the roar now emanating from the gaping jaws of the phage villains. “Just close it. We’ll make it.”

With no further warning, Slick felt his body being flung backwards like a wave had slammed into him. In reality, it was a tsunami, Drake dragging them past some unseen line as the bars that blocked the other three exists suddenly sealed this final passage. They stood on the other side of the bars, looking through to the captured phage.

“This will hold them?” Slick asked, staring at the metal in doubt.

Drake smirked again. “It worked on me.” He motioned toward a circular stairwell. “Now come on, let’s get a better view.”

He didn’t need to be told twice and followed Drake up the stairs. Every stomp on the steel boomed with an answering echo in the tight passage. When they at last reached the landing that led to the skywalk opposite Jame, a gunshot followed by a startled feminine cry pierced through the phage’s wails. Racing onto the platform, Slick sucked in a breath at the source of the problem. Jame hung onto the thick corrugated wires that held up one end of the skywalk and prevented it from plunging into the phage below.

“You will tell me, agent, or you will die.” A voice from somewhere in the high rafters above them shrieked at Jame. “Where is Kuruk?”

“Jame!” Drake gripped the guardrail of the southern skywalk as if about to leap over it.

Slick shifted his arms into a bear’s paws, not quite as smoothly as he’d like, but it would do the trick. He grasped Drake around the midsection and chest and hurled him back from the edge. “That won’t work. You’ll bust the rest of the skywalk, and then you’ll both drop into that mess.”

The phage snapped their massive jaws like sharks that sensed blood in the water. Their keening yowls turned from a frantic cry to a triumphant wail. The timber and tone mixed in a sickening chorus of eager hunger.

Thinking through the haze of fear turning his blood cold, Slick refused to see his friend die and shouted at her, “Shift. Shift now.”

Jame’s eyes fixed on them and sorrow swam in their depths. “I can’t.” When the wiring spun her around, Slick saw it. A dart sticking out of her lower back. “I…can’t…move.”

The pain squeezed his heart. Their shared nightmare returned. Not being able to move. Not being able to shift. Gods, no.

Drake struggled in his arms and fought free of his hold. Before he could grab for him again, the vampire was sailing over the railing. In the same breath, the voice from above shouted, “Too late.” Another gunshot rang out, shattering the wire Jame clung to and sending the skywalk along with her, into the throng below.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Industrial District, Washington, DC Outskirts

The earth stopped spinning. It wasn’t the slow motion shot of the action movies, but an actual end time, apocalyptic moment of his world shattering forever. Drake had jumped before she started to fall. If asked why, he wouldn’t have been able to give an answer. In that breath all he knew faded to the abyss, and his only driving force was her. To get to her. To make it to her…before the end.

The skywalk crashed into the mass of phage, scattering the herd into the four exit points sealed by the unbreakable bars. Drake landed smack in the middle, rolling with the fall, and managing to do little more damage to his body than a dislocated shoulder and cracked hipbone. Considering the distance, it was more than he deserved. With his vampiric healing, he’d be mended in no time.

Spinning around to find the sole person on this planet who mattered, he spotted Jame. She had not been so lucky in her descent. The dart in her lower back had not just prevented her shift but locked her body in place around the wiring. When it had been severed, it propelled her to the ground in the same position. Her legs had shattered upon impact, leaving the bones sticking through the skin in several spots. Yet Drake didn’t spare those injuries more than a perfunctory glance. The piece of steel, once part of the skywalk, protruding through her neck, millimeters above her collarbone, caught all his attention.

“No,” he whispered the word, too afraid to give voice to his deepest fears.

While he gingerly touched her cheek, willing her to be all right, the throng of phage regained their senses and began to close in for the final kill. He had no fight left, but he would not let them have her. Not now. Not ever. Baring his fangs, he spun into a crouch and prepared for whatever foolish creature attacked him first.

His eyes widened as the first fool was recognizable. Strife’s midnight eyes met his, and the rage in them fed his own. “See to her. You know what to do.” With that she turned away, her curving blade reflecting the images of the phage. Over her shoulder, she said one last warning, “We’ll kill them all. One way or the other.”

One by one, she began to cut down the creatures as if they were bamboo blowing in the breeze and she an unrelenting storm. A hawk’s devastating cry wailed from above. Its wingspan reached greater than any average animal and created a maelstrom to match Strife’s devastation. When the beast landed, it shifted to its normal form, and Slick entered the warpath with the same fierce determination as Drake’s maker.

But Drake could not take that chance. He had to save Jame. There was only one way.

Steadying his resolve, he took the chance given to him by the brave souls at his back and pulled the steel piping from Jame’s throat. Blood poured forth, but he gave it no mind. Slitting his wrist with a pocketknife, he fixed it at her mouth, and then latched his lips around the hole at her neck. Swallowing her blood held no joy for him as he struggled to get his saliva, a healing agent, close enough to seal the wound. He had long imagined the taste of her blood, how the sweetness would wrap around his tongue and ease the awful, ever present hunger. Yet this…it was ash. The terror that he would fail her soured the sweetness to the bitterest of sand.

“Come on, Jame,” he begged her. Coaxing more of his blood down her throat and continuing to work on her neck had him damn near mad with fear. “Please.”

Her fingers twitched, brushing his side ever so lightly.

“That’s it,” he cried. “A little more. Keep going.”

A painstaking layer at a time sealed over the wound in her neck. Her body began to function independent of the poison from the dart, moving freely once more. She swallowed his blood without aid, taking its healing agents into her system. Her eyes moved, fixing on his face. She pulled her mouth away from his wrist. “Drake?”

“Thank the gods.” He crushed her to his chest, unable to dampen the feeling of gratitude he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Jame pushed at him and managed to put a few inches between them. Her brows pinched together. She gasped, “My legs.”

He stared at where her legs were still badly broken, but she was alive. Her shifting abilities and his blood would heal them soon enough. “They’ll heal, but first we need to get out of here.”

“Slick? The others?” she asked groggily, still likely feeling the effects of near death.

Drake didn’t break his hold on her but turned to scan the masses. Strife had cut a hole through the phage, keeping their enemies at a wide berth and protecting him and his love. He owed his maker once again. Yet she was not alone. Slick kept to her side, cutting down one phage after another. And at the south entrance, where the gates held firm, other players joined the fray through the bars. The Old Man, ensconced in the façade of a grizzly, swiped at the phage with massive paws, while Dee shot them between the eyes with a Colt .45.

“Go,” Strife yelled at him. “South gate. I’ll open it long enough for us to get through.”

Drake needed no encouragement. He lifted Jame over his shoulder, careful to avoid her battered legs, and headed straight for the gate. Strife and Slick followed behind, holding a distance between the oncoming phage and their quartet as much as possible.

“Quickly,” Strife added.

Dee covered the group, shooting with expert finesse he’d had no idea she possessed. When they reached the south gate, Strife pressed a button and the bars shot into the ground. As they passed through to the other side, a scream like that of a raging berserker rang free. The voice from before, the one on high, shouted, “Not this time.”

As Strife went to seal the gate once more, a bullet pierced through her hand and shattered the device controlling the mechanism. Phage began to flood through, threatening to overtake them.

“Keep going.” The Old Man stepped forward to take on the throng and ushered the group behind him.

Jame pounded on Drake’s back. “Wait,” she cried for his attention. “In my left pocket. I have a controller.”

Gods, how could he have forgotten? She had sealed the gates originally. Strife had given the secondary controller to Jame when they made the plan to trap the creatures in that area while Kuruk would lead his people through the underground sewers. He shifted her as gently as he could on his shoulder to reach her pocket. Fumbling for the controller, he found it immersed amongst her heavy arsenal. He almost laughed at the madness of it all but found his amusement had died with her ashen blood, the taste of true death. And still she wasn’t yet safe.

The phage continued to break forward. If he didn’t get the gate up soon, they would be overrun by the monsters. “Rot in hell, you sick bastards.”

As he pressed the control button, the gate rose from the ground, slicing whatever phage stood in the path cleanly in two. The pack remained howling and wailing, caught in the trap as planned, but a good number of them had broken free and followed them.

“Set it ablaze.” Strife spoke into a receiver at her wrist, her gunshot wound already healed. “And get the rest free.”

“We have a fallback shelter about five miles through the sewers.” Kuruk’s voice vibrated over Strife’s wrist com. “But it may be compromised. I trust nothing in this area now.”

Jame’s heavy breathing indicated her pain, but she answered, nonetheless. “Take them to District Thirteen, to Talon. He’ll help you.”

As Slick, the Old Man, and Dee continued to battle the oncoming phage, a firestorm from behind turned the phage howls to cries of agony. The flames swept into the hallways, parting the phage freed from the trap, and causing them to grow frantic.

“Split up,” Strife cried. She pushed at Drake to take the left passage, while the three PCD agents headed right. “And run!”

His maker didn’t mince words, and she was right. The battle had turned from their favor, despite several of the creatures being caught in the fire trap. Too many had managed to make it out, and even with the six of them, plus Jame shooting from over his shoulder, the phage would swarm them if they remained fighting. He didn’t like to run, but he would…for her.

As the team separated into the different passages, Drake knew it would take all the Old Man and Dee’s prodding to get Slick to retreat. He hoped the damn pup wouldn’t be too stubborn. As he’d said many a time before, only he had the right to take out that mutt.

Drake hightailed it out of there, not looking back. The others were left to themselves. His priority was Jame. Strife led the way down and out and, eventually, to a connecting pipe in the factory that led back to the sewer system.

What is it with her and the sewers? The irony of the situation did not escape him, but he wisely chose to remain quiet on his question.

“Take this passage half a mile.” She pointed at the gunk-ridden channel bathed in darkness and filth. “You’ll see a ladder, follow it to the street. A car is parked there. Here.” Strife handed him a set of keys.

Although his instincts pushed him to make for it now and get Jame to safety, he asked, “What about you?”

“We’ll do as your shifter here says.” Strife shrugged. “Kuruk and his phage will go to District Thirteen. Perhaps there we will be able to form something new.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to stop his comment, but it couldn’t be helped. “I still don’t understand why you’re helping them.”

“You don’t have to, my child.” She smiled that dark, enigmatic smile that had so often frustrated him in his youth. “Now go and be safe.”

Running in the opposite direction, Strife melted into the darkness. When she had faded from view, he bolted toward the spot she’d indicated and watched for the ladder. He couldn’t move fast enough. His blood pounded so loud and hard, it would match an army of fireworks. The taste of fear assaulted him, spurring him on faster and faster.

“Drake,” Jame whispered it into his shoulder. “I’m all right.”

“No.” He gripped her tighter around the middle, trying his best not to jostle her. “You’re not.”

For once, Jame didn’t argue with him, just sighed. Perhaps she sensed his mood or didn’t feel up to the fight. As much as he loved their verbal spars, the tension in his muscles eased a bit at her compliance. He needed to carry her, to care for her now. It was the only thing holding him together and keeping him sane. Had she died… No, don’t even think it.

Up the ladder and on the street, he pressed the button for the car alarm. A sleek black beast of a vehicle roared its dissent at being bothered. The Jaguar looked like it belonged under the protection of some swank garage, not blinking in the night of a questionable area. “Bleeding hell.”

“Ostentatious, much?” Even through her pain, Jame had something to say. And although he secretly agreed, he couldn’t complain. The car did have a helluva lot of style.

Drake opened the passenger side and rested Jame as gently as he could on the interior leather. Sparing a look at her legs, he noticed that the bones were already in the process of realigning. The agony of that progression would be difficult for anyone to handle, yet she sat stoically. Only the lines of her brow and the set to her jaw hinted at her discomfort.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered and pushed back a sweep of hair from her face.

Her eyes widened, but she said nothing and simply nodded.

The drive to his apartment took no time in the supercar. It purred on the roadways, smooth as jam, despite the power under the hood. When he lifted her from the passenger seat, she made no protest, not even to ask where they were headed. He didn’t like it one bit.

“Going to take you up to bed now, luv,” he prodded, trying to get a reaction.

She rolled her eyes, and said, “Yeah. ’Kay.”

“Truly?” he baited, taking her up the stairs and through the front door. “No arguments?”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty.” She gritted her teeth. “But not now.”

His teasing died. “Sorry, luv. Let’s just get you fixed up, yeah?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

Drake didn’t push her further. His blood had helped save her life, and her shifter abilities aided in fixing her legs, but it was a bitter recovery. He had to help her. He laid her on the bed, careful to position her legs over a mound of pillows. The satin sheets might be cliché for a vampire, but as her beautiful hair spread over the burnished golden material, he couldn’t regret the indulgence. Slowly, he peeled off the remains of her clothes. She didn’t protest. Another worry. He placed a clean sheet over her to preserve her modesty and cleaned her with a warm cloth. She uttered not a word the whole time. Her face pinched in obvious distress. She’d likely be herself again in an hour or so, a fact for which he was incredibly thankful. However, the time spent would be sheer torment. Perhaps, he could—

“Drake, call the team.” Her breathing labored through the words. “Make sure they’re okay.”

Yes, that’s damn bloody well what he should have thought about doing. But he hadn’t. His mind was too focused on her. Filled with her. And now, we’ve shared blood. Not a single bite, but a truckload of it. The fact should have sent him running. Mixing blood like that only happened for two reasons. The first was to turn a human to vampire and such a combination had to occur with the vampire purposefully instilling his energy into the human. Although Drake was sure he had passed some of that undeniable essence—the part which all supernaturals had from their Luminari ancestors—into her, they didn’t have to worry. Jame was shifter. At most, it would give her some extra speed and strength for a few days, perhaps some sensitivity to the light. The second was more worrisome. It meant trouble in every sense of the word, for the other reason to share blood was to bond.

He picked up his cell and dialed the mutt. Best to get his mind off such concerns. “You still alive, pup?”

“Eat me.” Slick’s words travelled over the receiver. “Then again, scratch that, you’d probably enjoy it.”

Drake laughed aloud. The mutt’s comeback proved his status as still breathing. “The others?”

Some commotion sounded in the background, people talking. “Mostly fine. The Old Man got a bit banged up, and Dee took a swipe to the shoulder. We’re at the hospital now.”

“Tell him I’m on the way.” Jame swayed on the bed, rocking to propel her body upward.

Drake cursed her shifter hearing and laid one palm flat across her abdomen. Her eyes bore a hole into his restraining hand. She batted at his arm, but it would do her no good. Her strength hadn’t returned yet, so he simply kept her immobile. “Glad to hear you’re all well,” he said into the phone. “Jame will be resting the night and checking in with you all tomorrow.”

Slick snorted. “Good luck with that, but agreed.”

“For once, pup…” Drake smirked. “We’re of one mind.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” A deep sigh resonated over the receiver. “Just take care of her.”

Ordinarily a bite of jealousy would have stabbed Drake at hearing the mutt’s words, his obvious care for Jame. Yet somehow it no longer mattered. In the space between her living and almost death, the course of events had been altered. The half-breed on the other side of the phone was her partner and friend, but Drake? He was the one that would be her anchor, whether she yet acknowledged it or not. Nothing could threaten that, and he sensed the pup didn’t want more than he had. It was a strange revelation but not unwelcome.

The blood, he thought, promising aloud to do as Slick asked and ending the call. It’s changed us.

“Why did you do that?” Jame’s ire ignited. She slapped him hard on the restraining arm. “I’m team leader. And if I say I’m going, then I’m going. Get it?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he tried to hold back his delight. His fiery shifter had returned. Injuries be damned, she could still do battle like any avenging angel. “I got it, luv, but you get this,” he bent down so close that their foreheads almost touched, “you are mine. Mine to care for. Mine to fight with. Mine.” Her orange scent assailed his nose, driving him mad with the need to make her understand. “And you are not going anywhere until you are healed. You get it?”

Her breath hitched, and her pulse increased. With his vampiric hearing, he could read it all. Her eyes blazed molten and shifted just slightly to her favorite panther shape. A storm burned within their depths. “You are so going to pay for this.”

“Bring it on.” With the fire smoldering between them, he refused to back down or look away. Neither did she.

“Give me the phone,” she demanded, reaching for it. “And then get me some water. I am going to inform Talon some guests may be arriving in his district soon. After that, you’re going to tell me something I’ve wanted to know for quite a while now.”

He placed the cell in her open palm and smirked. She was taunting him, and damn if he didn’t love it. “Okay luv, but you admit that you’re staying put.”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere.” Her answering grin didn’t bode well for him. “I’ll be right here.”

Doing as she asked, he went to the kitchen to get her some water and waited in the doorway until she finished her call. It took about fifteen minutes for her to explain the phage situation to Talon, but he had to give the shifter credit. Talon had processed and accepted the information a lot faster than he had. Hell, if he were honest, he might never be able to swallow the idea of some phage being “good.”

When Jame hung up with her former boss, she patted the bed beside her. “Now vampire, sit down, and tell me two things.”

His cheek twitched. Her little game of cat and mouse had him burning inside. Had she been healed, he would have already moved to do more in that bed than sit beside her. As it was, he curbed the appetite that insisted he claim her completely, bond her. The blood. The mantra beat at him, a warning. Yet he couldn’t find it in him to care. If the bond happened, if they would be linked as vampires and their makers were, so be it. He would worry about it later.

As he stretched his legs, wrapping one ankle over the other, and crossed his hands behind his head—more to resist touching her than for comfort—he tried not to dwell on anything. Yet she asked the one question he had feared she might.

“What’s happened, Drake?” Her hand strayed to her neck, right to the spot where he’d sealed her wound. “I know you gave me blood. I can feel it flowing through me. It makes me…”

“Hot?” His gaze linked on her mouth. The urge to kiss her, devour her, rising like a storm.

She swallowed and his glance cut to her neck once more. “No…yes. I mean, it does, but that’s not the issue. I feel more…I don’t know…attuned to you?”

Shit. His lust died. If he’d caused a bond without her consent, he’d be the worst kind of monster. But I had to save her. “It was necessary.”

“I understand, but what does it mean now?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “Look luv, I don’t want to cut you off here, but could we save that chat for another time?”

She bit her lip as if in thought. A heartbeat later, she said, “Okay. But then you’re answering my second question.”

Drake knew he was walking into a trap, could sense her curiosity under the surface. “Which is?”

“The phage.” She laid a hand, light as a butterfly’s wing, on his forearm. “I know something happened in your past. I want to know what it is.”

His face hardened into a mask. The ice fell over him as quick as any avalanche. It was his go-to reaction toward those monsters. However, he knew he couldn’t hide it from her. She was in his blood now, literally. If he had any chance at all of keeping her, and gods, that’s all he wanted, bond or no, he had to tell her the truth. But to confess that sin?

The question lit a fire through him. Would she ever look at him the same after? She stared at him now, a light glowing in the blackness of her pupils. He could fall into their depths and never return. Wouldn’t even want to come back. To tell her…no, to show her. It would be the only way.

“All right luv, but you’ll see it for yourself.”

Her head bent to the side, the expression of wonder perfectly adorable. “How?”

“Give me your glass,” he said, reaching for her water cup. She gave it to him, still staring with curiosity. He extracted a pocketknife and slit a shallow cut at his wrist. As he did so, he thought of the night his world had changed forever, the night he lost his family. The gnawing acid coated his throat, but he bit back the bile, concentrating on the memory. As he did so, he poured droplets of his blood into her glass. “This is my blood, and in it the memory you want to see.” He handed the cup to her and then laid his head on the pillow, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to see anymore. “Drink it, and you’ll know the truth.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Special Agent Drake’s Apartment, Washington, DC

Jame held the glass as if a grenade that might explode in her hand at any second. It wasn’t far from the truth. She had asked the vampire for his secret, and he’d given it to her without restraint. Why?

Circumstances had somehow shifted for them. She could sense it, his blood blending with hers, making her stronger. An invisible rope bound them together through this mix of chemicals. And now he didn’t deny her access to the most guarded parts of himself? Gods, she should be terrified. Even as the pain in her legs blazed while the healing process continued, and her heart pounded triple time with the vampire’s nearness, she found her mind ease. Their connection felt…right.

Will it be the same after? Her thoughts churned. The drops of blood in her glass changed the water. Would she be as changed? To know him… Truly know him… Have to find out.

Upending the cup, she guzzled down every ounce, being sure to leave none behind. If she was going to do this, it would be all the way. Beside her, Drake said not a word, just lay with his eyes closed, hands behind his head. If he was nervous, he hid it well. She doubted she could be as calm if their situations had been reversed. And a part of her wondered if she would have to expose herself to him too. One step at a time, Bradshaw.

True. No sense getting ahead of the situation. She had more to worry about now. Her lids grew heavy, an unseen weight pressing on them and forcing them closed. A dreamlike haze swept over her, a sensation of falling, falling, falling through darkness.

“Brother, will you be home tomorrow? Will you spend the day with me?” A girl, no more than twelve or thirteen, stood beside a young man. Her auburn curls shone in the sunlight and her amber eyes danced with merriment. A deep blue dress accented her blossoming figure and rounded in gathered layers to the floor. Her gloved hands held a delicate white parasol.

Jame observed from on high unseen, viewing the display like a watchful ghost.

“Will you, brother?” The girl prodded the young man, tugging on his overcoat.

He turned to her, a wide smile spread across a handsome face. Jame gasped at the sight. Although the spark of vitality invigorated the man’s face, making him appear more innocent and carefree, it could be no doubt that the shining youth beside the girl was in fact the vampire. Drake as a human. The bottomless black eyes she had come to know so well were a rich mahogany. Their range was shallow, as if the man below had not yet seen enough of the world to know its horrors.

“Aye, poppet.” The man grinned and placed a hand atop the girl’s curls. “Of course, I’ll spend the day with you.”

“And you’ll take me to the theater?” Her amber eyes flashed.

A growling laugh barreled forth, so jovial and unrestrained, and so unlike the vampire. “And risk father’s ire? What’s in it for me then?”

The girl’s nose wrinkled, but she said earnestly, “I shall give you a shilling.”

“Well, a shilling for a show? We shall have to see.”

As the girl whined a name, it blew on the breeze, short of Jame’s reach. The winds changed and with it the scene before her. Night fell faster than a storm, causing her to blink from the shift in light. A sliver of moon illuminated the cobblestones. The young man, no the human Drake, stood in front of a door. His hand slid off the handle twice before he managed to open it. He seemed to be humming a tune, offbeat and low.

Jame entered the house behind him, still the unseen ghost of days past. She almost snickered at the idea of becoming a Dickens’ character until she spotted the dreadful site on the floor. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she refrained from crying out. It didn’t stop the young Drake, who had fallen to the floor, from retching the contents of his stomach. She reached for him, the urge to comfort him too strong to deny, but her hand passed through him like sunlight through water. When his hacking ceased, he stretched toward the body of the mutilated woman. As he went to touch her hair, a cry from upstairs tore both their gazes to the ceiling.

Drake rose to his feet and bounded up the stairs faster than most humans would have been able to in that same situation. Jame’s heart leapt into her throat, fearing what lay at the top of those stairs. Yet she followed, unable to turn away. In the doorway of a bedroom, he stood, his body locked with rigidity. She circled around, sidestepping him to peer inside. The darkness that awaited was worse than she feared. The girl with the auburn curls lay in the grip of a monster intent on consuming her—a phage.

Jame’s insides warred with fear and anger. Despite knowing it a memory, she dashed at the creature, trying desperately to save the girl. She launched at the beast and sailed right through him. Drake had no such trouble but presented little match for the phage. It hauled him into the wall like a doll. Still, he rose, picked up a chair, and slammed it over the demon’s head. For a moment, the two stared at each other, both gleaming defiance in their gaze. After a breath, the phage looked away and jumped free through the window.

Before Jame could see the aftermath of the attack, the winds changed again, ushering in a new scene. Clouds swirled around her, presenting a dark alley and a pair in the shadows. Inching closer, she saw the human Drake. His coat tore in several places, and a gash had not yet healed over his brow. Disheveled dark hair matted to his head. Yet his eyes held her attention most. Haunted and bloodshot, they had changed, the innocence lost.

“Why do you want this?” The woman she had not paid any mind moved into the light. Her rainstorm voice appeared as always, cold and aloof.

Strife.

“You know why.” Drake fisted the tatters of his coat tighter around his body as if to fight away the chilled air. Although Jame couldn’t feel the cold in this strange floating form, the breath blew from his nose and mouth in wispy puffs of white. His free hand extended to the wall beside him like it was the only thing stopping him from sinking to the ground. It hurt to see him this way. “Help me.”

At his desperate plea, Jame sped closer like a camera lens zooming onto a target. Yet it was not to her that he spoke.

“Then tell me.” Strife laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Her words held no malice, only demand. “You must say it aloud so there can be no doubt.” Her midnight gaze pierced through the shell of the man that stood before her. “Why do you want to be a vampire?”

A sickening snort and a howl of rage later met the woman’s question. Despite his obvious emotional reactions, Drake straightened up. Freeing his hand from the wall and letting his coat fall open, he raised both hands. “Nothing for myself, vampire.” He showed her the callused and weathered palms. “These hands are for one thing.” He slapped his chest. “This body for one purpose.”

A heavy pause weighted the moment. Strife would allow no compromise. “And what is that?”

Drake gritted his teeth and through the ire of a man already broken, the vampire got her answer, “Revenge.”

Suddenly the world spun around Jame, a kaleidoscope of colors swarming her vision. Her invisible form grew substance. Odder than any of her shifter transformations, her body morphed and stretched, molded and shaped. She imagined the sensations akin to an orange, with the peel still on, being torn apart in a blender.

“What the hell?” She sat on a navy-blue rug, her head between her legs. The texture under her toes was soft and springy like the plush carpets popular in her youth. Her limbs were all intact. She couldn’t say the same for her head, which throbbed like a jackhammer. “Where?”

Jame dared to look around. A beige flowered sofa covered in plastic rested across from a white wall unit with an old school tube TV and an antique record player. An Eagles’ tune scratched along the worn vinyl. The thing had been ancient even when she was a kid…come to think of it…

“No,” she said aloud. “It can’t be.”

Rising to shaky feet, she gave the room a good hard stare. Beige and white wallpaper. Mirrored doors on the closet. The kitchen in the back. Oh gods, please no. Her prayers were not answered. Although she tried to will it away, Jame stood in the middle of her living room, in the same home her parents shared until her junior-high years. Her arms and legs were not as long as she was used to, and her hair only reached her chin. Sucking at her juvenile bottom lip, she felt the same pang of apprehension she had all those years ago. For she knew this instant, this place. In this same spot, she had remained for an hour after her father walked out the door. She had waited and waited, but he never came back. And that brings us to…

Shouts sounded from upstairs. Jame spun at the noise.

“You’re a worthless piece of garbage,” her mother screamed at the top of the stairs, throwing a shoe toward the bedroom. “Just like the rest of your family.”

“Well, you would know, wouldn’t you?” her father countered, ducking the shoe and bolting past her mother. “You’re a product of trash.”

Jame didn’t need to see the rest. Shutting her eyelids tight and clasping her hands over her ears, she huddled on the carpet, willing the memory to disappear. Muffled voices brought the tears, but she would not let them fall. Waiting several heartbeats, she dared to clench her fists and place them in her lap.

“Leave then,” her mother cried. “You son of a bitch!”

Jame opened her eyes just in time to see her father’s back as he walked out the door. Sniffing, she hugged her knees to her chest. A wrenching sob tore her insides but she refused to set it free.

Her mother came over to her a minute or two after her father’s exit. She popped Jame under the chin with a loose fist. “You listen here now,” her mother said with a sense of purpose that later became her go-to voice. “Men are scum. Lower than any creature that ever walked this earth.” Fingers dug into Jame’s shoulder. “Never trust any of them, you understand?”

Jame sucked in a breath, giving the response she knew by heart. “Yes, Mom. Never trust them.”

“Good girl.”

Closing her eyes once more to avoid her mother’s harsh gaze, she heard a voice that reverberated like the echoes in a tunnel. “Jame?”

Who is that? Wanting to head toward the sound, but not daring to sneak a peek, she stretched out her arms. “Where are you?”

“I’m here, Kitty. Right here.” A brush of soft lips pressed against her forehead, cool and inviting, she slit her lids and hoped for a look.

“Drake?” Her arms wrapped around his waist while she rubbed her cheek at his chest like a cat begging to be stroked. She blinked twice to clear the past from her mind and focus on her current situation. “Wh-what happened?”

He may have answered. She couldn’t tell, the thumping of his heart beat at her eardrum. With her face pressed so tightly to his chest, it sounded as loud as waves crashing on the shore. It could call her home if she would let it, but she wasn’t ready for that swim. The terrifying intimacy already felt too much like deep waters, and if she didn’t break for the sand now, she would drown.

He said something that sounded like, “It’s all right. Stay here.” But she didn’t know for certain. Her blood rushing in her veins, the drops of his now fully integrated, jackhammered louder than his heart.

Fear ripped through her. Gods, oh god. What do I do?

She jumped up from the bed, desperate to put some distance between them. Her body felt new again, whole and healed. Still, she kept the sheet wrapped tightly around her. Her nakedness was the last of her worries but no need to flash him either. Right now, it was about her heart, her soul. Breathe. Just breathe. The odd tingling of understanding flowed through her. She knew him, and he knew her, the connection tighter than any had been before. He stared at her, watching her as one might observe a skittish animal in the wild.

“What happened?” she asked again. “What was that?” The lilt in her voice betrayed her fears. And they both knew damn well she understood exactly what had occurred.

Drake called her out as only he could. “You know.” Two words his lone reply. No teasing. No games. The simple truth flowed in the space between them. A space that had shrunken to an infinitesimal amount.

Jame clasped a hand between her breasts. Her nerves pounded an unsteady beat. She wasn’t a shrinking violet, but hell, this shook her to the core. “I don’t.”

“I think you do.” He rose from the bed, stalking toward her, sleeker than any tiger and putting even full-blooded shifters to shame. Her animal of favor might be the jungle cat, but he now seemed to embody the feline’s primal nature. With a growl, he added, “I think you understand it just fine, luv.”

Her heart rattled against her ribcage. This wasn’t what she expected, it was stronger somehow. In the span of breaths, the earth had titled on its axis, and the only thing left, the only thing she could see was him. I am not a coward. She rolled it around in her mind, using it as a declaration to ground her.

He inched closer, cagey and cautious like the hungry predatory she knew him to be. Yet she had never seen quite this look, this feeling, this intensity.

I can match him. I can. With renewed confidence, she refused to back down. She wasn’t the prey, and after tonight, she’d make him believe it.

Without thinking too much about it, Jame pounced and sunk her teeth into the tender spot between Drake’s shoulder and neck. She drove deep, allowing a shift to elongate her teeth into sharper canines. If she was his, then he would be hers.

Blood coated her tongue, a succulent taste more addicting than any drug. A tantalizing array of chocolate and honey, fire and spice, a deep flavor that could be described as ecstasy, as passion, as…Drake. She relished every mouthful. And when she had had her fill, she lifted her head and set him free—for a single moment at least. What she saw on his face undid her.

He smirked. That damn smirk.

“Marking me, luv?” His grin grew with his words. “You can do that anytime.” He grabbed her by the arm, gentle but firm. “Just remember, it’s my turn next.”

Chapter Thirty

Special Agent Drake’s Apartment, Washington, DC

Drake closed the distance between them, crushing her to his chest. His mouth found hers, his tongue diving deep, exploring her depths. He had wanted this for so long, imagined it, gotten tastes of it, but this? This was far better.

“Gods,” she gasped, sucked his tongue, and then bit his lower lip.

The urge to bite, to sink his fangs deep at the same time burying his cock to the hilt inside her, overwhelmed his senses. He had to get a grip and fast. She had to know the truth, before he lost all control.

Grasping her hips, he backed her away at arms’ length. A painful as all hell move, but necessary. “Wait a spell,” he ground out, capturing her gaze. “If I don’t pause now to say this, I never will, and then we’ll both be lost, luv.”

Her cheeks flushed. The same desires evident on her face. She squinted at him. “What is it?”

Lust flooded him, making it hard to think, to concentrate on his words. Never had he revved up so fast. He chewed on each syllable. “First, are you well?”

She raised a brow at him. “What do you think?’

He growled. “Say it aloud. I need to hear you say it.” The fall replayed in his mind. Every protective instinct rose to the forefront with the memory, including the need to keep her safe, even from him. His voice dipped low and soft, “I almost lost you.”

Jame exhaled on a whoosh. The madness happening between them was more than a cloud of lust. It couldn’t be denied. And she seemed to know it too. “Yes.” She cupped his cheek. “I’m fine. I’m strong, Drake.”

“I know that.” He pulled her closer, so their foreheads touched. He needed the contact, any contact. “But before this goes further, I have to tell you. This,” he motioned in the minutia of air he allowed to part them, “this feeling between us. It’s more than a quick ride, Kitty. Our blood is mixed now. If we go forward, there’s no breaking it.”

The dance amid them had been happening for years. But what she chose next could end everything—or start something new. He bit the inside of his cheek hard, not daring to breathe for fear of her response.

She nuzzled his throat, just over the spot she had bitten. “Tell me.”

“It’s a bond, Jame.” He let free the breath. This was it. Do or die time. Make it or break it. Hell, he’d have to chuck the words forth. “A bond like the vampires have—the newly turned and the master.”

She laughed. The sound singed his nerve endings. Did she not understand the seriousness of it?

“Who is the master then?” She scrunched her nose and laughed again.

His eyes widened. With little warning, he wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her tight against him. Her soft curves set his mind racing. Her orange scent drove the fever in his blood higher, but he would make his point clear. “You don’t get it.” He scraped his teeth along the tender column of her throat. “It’s not a game. It’s a link. It may not be one over the other, but it binds us together. Blood, emotions, even thoughts at times are shared. And we will always want to claim one another.” Allowing the weakness, he punctured the skin to gain a mouthful. A rich, succulent taste. He knew one bite would never be enough, but his control only went so far. “Always.”

It should have scared her off. Far less had done so in the past, yet…

“And the problem is?” Jame gripped his hair and yanked his head back. “I’m not afraid.”

Her hazel eyes sparkled as he stared into them. A flame burned in their depths. Had his blood changed her so much? He should keep his mouth shut. Here in his grasp was everything he dreamed, still he said, “You’ve been scared before.”

“Unsure, yes.” Sighing, she released his head and ticked off her fingers. “Reluctant, definitely. Confused, without a doubt. And angry at myself, at my feelings, big old check. But afraid?” Her smile stretched across her face. “Never.”

Something in him loosened at her bravery. His shifter was coming into her own. He had always believed she would, but in his arms? The possibility had seemed too unreal. Too unimaginable to allow hope. Maybe, one more time.

“You’re certain then?” His heart stilled.

“Drake,” she put a depth of command in her voice, “I. Am. Certain.”

His resolve snapped. The last of his patience fell like an anvil. She would be his at last, and he would belong to her. “So be it.”

* * *

Nothing tested her strength more than this pause between them. They had changed. Everything had shifted, no pun intended. Like throwing open a window to the sunshine after a storm. Maybe it was the mixed blood, maybe it was the shared memories, maybe it was the near-death experience, or maybe it was simply giving in after fighting it for so long. But she could not deny it, them, him, any longer.

“I want you,” she whispered into his hair as he sealed the small wound he had made at her neck. The feel of his fangs at her throat held pure rapture. His spicy merlot scent intoxicated her senses.

“And you’ll have me, luv.” Drake didn’t disappoint. Sitting on the bed behind him, he drew her closer into his lap.

She wrapped her newly healed legs around his waist, oblivious to everything save the desire flowing through her. The sheet still tight about her body had hiked up to her hips. As she ground against him, the unwelcome fabric of his pants blocked her path. Growling into his mouth, she commanded, “Off.”

He laughed.

She bit his lip. “Now.”

“So demanding, Kitty.” His dark eyes filled with mirth. “What happened to dinner first?”

“You’ve had dinner.” She pointed at the healed spot on her neck. The feline inside her prowled close to the surface. “I want dessert.”

“Oh luv, this is far more the main course, no?” Tugging at his shirt, he revealed a chiseled chest and rock-hard abs. His belt snapped free. He toed off his boots and lifted her for a moment to shrug out of his pants.

The effect left her eyeing a naked and oh-so-delectable Drake.

“I don’t know. You look perfect for licking.” Unsure where the bravado struck her, she pushed him onto his back and settled comfortably over his hips. The move had her rubbing against his cock and purring at the contact. She dipped her head, flicking her tongue over his pulse.

“Hell, Jame.” Gripping her upper arms, he pushed her from his neck and crushed his mouth to hers.

The sound of her name, so rare from his lips, had her shivering as much as the feel of his body. Their kiss drove all thoughts from her head. Only this rising storm of passion spurred her. Need warred within her, and she had to have him. “Drake.”

He must have felt it too, for he tugged at the sheet wrapped around her. “Take this off.”

“Yes,” she moaned, throwing her head back and tearing the covering away.

His hot gaze took her in, burning like a brand on her skin wherever he looked. “Beautiful,” he murmured and flipped her onto her back. Hovering above her, he openly stared, appreciation written on his face. “Perfect.”

She blushed, trying not to cover up. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. Sure, she had men ogle her all the time. It was practically an unwritten job description to get a suspect to talk. But this? It was a whole other level, like he wasn’t just seeing her body, but actually taking in her soul. Don’t be such a mush.

Chiding her sentimentality, she tried to move this along by drawing him close with her thighs and nipping at his chest, but Drake would have none of it.

“No, don’t rush this, Kitty.” He held her arms at her sides. “I want to see you.”

He’s really not just looking at my body. The thought should have terrified her, but after everything they had already shared, it felt right. “Okay, but I hate waiting.” As desire beat at her, she knew she couldn’t wait long.

“Just another moment.” Bending his head, he not only stared, but sniffed at her, and began to blaze a trail of kisses from her neck down. When he got to her right breast, he lifted his head and blew lightly. The peak stiffened in response to his gentle onslaught. He wasted no time in rolling his tongue around it.

“Drake, please,” she cried, need riding her.

He responded by bracketing her breast with his fangs and sucking her hard into his mouth.

“Oh,” she moaned at the contact, angling her hips closer to his shaft. “Please.”

“Patience,” he said on a smile and switched to her other breast, repeating the same onslaught.

Jame tugged at his hair. “Next time.” Without warning, she pushed him up and spun onto her stomach. Raising her ass in the air, she said, “I need this too much.”

“Bloody hell.” His fangs elongated, and his eyes darkened.

Looking over her shoulder, she urged him on. “I’m a shifter, luv.” She purred the endearment he so often used for her. “You want me? Take me.”

Pushing her ass into his groin, he needed no further encouragement. With one swift motion, he grabbed her hips and buried himself to the hilt inside her. They both groaned at the contact. “You all right, luv?”

Her eyes watered. He fit perfectly inside her, like their bodies were created for one another. Granted it had been awhile, and the initial stroke ached a bit, but hell, it was so worth it. “Yes,” she said, lowering her head and resting it on her forearms to increase the angle. “More.”

“Oh, I intend more. Hell of a lot more.” He set the ideal pace. Gone was the careful male of before. The vampire had emerged. Every stroke set her body aflame with need while building and building toward that peak.

She clenched at his thick cock inside her, feeling the orgasm just out of reach. “Drake, I need—”

Before she could verbalize the desire, he gave it to her. Bending over her, he sank his fangs into her shoulder, pinning her in place while rubbing a free hand just above the spot where they were joined. All the sensations ignited at once and sent her body into overload. She came harder than she ever had in her life, screaming his name.

The feelings took flight like a thousand fireworks all bursting together. It was the most intense experience of her life, bringing her to the height of ecstasy. When she at last drew in a breath and her body sagged into the bed, she felt the weight of him on top of her as comforting as a blanket. He too breathed hard at her ear before rolling next to her and smoothing away her hair.

“That was—” he started.

“Everything.” She smiled at him. His black eyes, which she had come to know so well, stared back at her with an unnamed emotion. But she had a sneaking suspicion of what it could be, and deep within her, she felt it too.

“Yeah, it was.” He grinned lazily. “Want to do it again?”

“Drake!” Her brows reached her hairline. He couldn’t possibly be serious. Not even she wanted to go for round two right away, and she was a shifter.

“What?” His laughter filled the room. “I told you there was more.”

She let loose a giggle, not as adverse to the sound as she once had been. “More sounds good, but a break sounds better. Later?”

“Kitty, whenever, wherever.” His fingers grazed her cheeks. “I’m yours.”

A small thread of doubt seeped into her bliss, making her ask, “You are, right?”

“Always,” he said without his usual playful demeanor. In a serious tone she had so seldom heard from him, he repeated, “Always.”

Sucking her bottom lip, she pushed away the lingering uncertainty and grabbed his hands. “Okay,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “Me too.”

“Good.” He untangled their hands and gripped her waist. “Now about that round two…”

She slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re incorrigible.”

“True, but you love it.”

Angling her head to shoot him that skeptical look, she said, “Oh, do I?”

Instead of responding, he drew her in for another scalding kiss. Their tongues collided, ratcheting up the heat and need inside her once more. By the time he pulled back, they were both breathing hard. “Yes,” he said in a voice confident and solid as steel. “You do.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Special Agent Drake’s Apartment, Washington, DC

Morning sunlight streamed through the burgundy curtains by the time Drake opened his eyes. Not that he was complaining. The night had passed by fulfilling endless dreams of the previous four years. And every moment of it burned into his memory, far better than any imagining he had envisioned.

Sitting up in bed, he looked to his left to see the source of his happiness. Jame appeared serene in sleep, with strands of black and blonde hair covering her face. Her right arm was buried under her pillow and her left wrapped around the blanket. Gods, she was lovely. A fiery hellcat burning for him in a breath, and a shy kitten wrapping around him in the next. He couldn’t have created a more perfect woman.

Yawning loudly, she opened her eyes and peered up at him. “Good morning,” she said sleepily.

“Yes, it is.” He wiggled his brows suggestively. She laughed, as was his intention. “Sleep well?”

“Mmm.” She hummed her response. “Better than I have in a long time.” Her back arched while she stretched like a satisfied feline.

“And you’re okay?” Asking again felt like overkill. He knew the answer, but something plagued him.

“More than okay.” Rising to a sitting position beside him, she placed a kiss between his eyes. “What’s causing these lines?” She poked at his forehead.

Nothing with her, save her near-death experience. He wondered if that was the root of his unease. But no. A solid night of life-affirming sex had put that fear out of his head. So, what was driving this odd sensation in his chest?

“Ever had an itch you couldn’t scratch?”

Her catlike grin spread across her face. “Well, now that you mention it.”

Gripping her by the shoulders, he stopped her when she would have renewed their passions from the prior evening. A most concerning move for him. “No, I’m serious.”

“I can see that.” Her eyes widened as she peered at him. “Not your usual MO.” Taking his hands from her shoulders and bringing them to her lap, she asked, “What’s up?”

“I’m not sure.” He circled the back of his neck and massaged the nape. “It’s like something has been tapping at my mind since we first started the investigation. But I can’t get a grip on it.”

“Here.” Patting at the spot in front of her, she motioned for him to move over. “Let me do that and see if we can jar something loose in that head of yours.”

He scuffed. “You want to pet me?”

Snorting, she crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head at him. “You turning it down?”

“Hell no.” Drake could be accused of being many epithets. Foolish, however, wasn’t one of them. “Have at it, luv.”

Her fingers worked like magic as she began at the base of his neck, a source of massive tension for him, and worked in circles upward. By the time she reached his temples, he would have agreed to do anything and everything she wanted. Sometime during the massage, he had closed his eyes and let his mind relax. As his thoughts floated in a void, patterns he had discarded prior came to the forefront. Opening his eyes, he spotted his gold lighter resting atop the armoire at the foot of his bed. He had emptied his pockets sometime in the night and placed it there for safekeeping. It winked at him, the color gleaming like a beacon.

“Gold,” he muttered as Jame’s fingers pressed at his skull.

“Gold?” Stopping her ministrations, she crawled around the bed and stared into his eyes.

He didn’t have time to explain. The thought could slip from his mind at any moment, and he had to follow it before it was gone. Hopping off the bed, he snatched the lighter from its resting place and held it into the sunlight. The gold shone in the morning rays, a clue somehow that he didn’t yet understand.

“Strife said gold flames lit the sky the night Decoder was killed.”

“Yes, from the finatite.” Jame draped a sheet around her and stood at the window next to him.

“And that’s what led us to Kuruk, a suspected finatite dealer.” The pieces were coming together.

“Right. Agent Frost demanded we follow him.”

“But he’s not a finatite dealer.” He flicked the lighter, open and closed, twice, and on the second time lit the flame.

She put a hand on her right hip. “I think it’s pretty safe to say that he’s not.”

“Yet someone wants us to think that he is. And pin the murder, and perhaps the subsequent murders, on him.” It was close now. He could feel it right on the edge of his grasp.

“Where are you going with this, Drake?”

Closing the lighter, he watched as the speckles of sunlight danced once more on the golden surface. “I don’t know yet, but I think we need to look at the autopsy report on Decoder.”

A hint of a smile graced Jame’s lips. “I can do you one better. The lab has a virtual simulation unit.”

* * *

A night passed in sinful bliss gave way to a morning of potential discovery. Jame couldn’t complain. The evening had been…perfect. She wasn’t the type to get starry-eyed or caught up in a dream world, but even she had to admit that Drake had surpassed her wildest fantasies. Not that she would have admitted to such fictions beforehand. Yet now everything had changed, and she would be an idiot to think it bad. No, the vampire had finally landed her—hook, line, and sinker.

“So, what are we looking for?” she asked, more to get her head in the game than an expectation of an answer. Her newfound love life might be on the upswing, but she was a special agent after all. And they had a case to solve.

He didn’t answer, instead flicking that lighter like his life depended on it and glaring out the passenger window. The fact that he hadn’t insisted on driving should have worried her. As it was, she found herself curious about that little gold contraption.

“Yo.” Taking a hand from the wheel momentarily, she snapped under his nose. “Earth to Drake.”

Spinning as if she had dropped a bomb beside him, he looked at her and shook his head a few times. “Sorry, what luv?”

Not bothering with the first question, she asked instead, “What is with that lighter?”

“This?” He held it up as if he had forgotten it was in his hand.

She nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s…” He closed it up, dropped it into the breast pocket of his trench coat, and patted where it laid over his heart. “Important to me.”

The cement parking lot of the city morgue didn’t provide the best place for a heart-to-heart, but Jame found that she couldn’t wait for his story. Every minute that passed between them drew the connection tighter, and she didn’t want secrets in the middle of it anymore. Not after everything.

Killing the ignition, she turned toward him and captured his gaze. “Please, tell me.”

A smoldering flame burned in those deep midnight eyes of his. She knew it wasn’t anger. So, what could it be?

“Strife,” he replied. Glancing to the window, he seemed caught in a distant past before he looked at her again. “You know how it is for newbie vampires?”

“I know from reports.” She did her best to keep emotion from her tone, believing it easier for him to get out what he had to tell her if she remained neutral. It was impossible to say how she knew that, but somehow, she did. “They’re beholden to their makers for several decades and can’t go into the sunlight.”

He nodded. “The essence, which we now know is from the Luminari that’s the root of all supernaturals, is too fresh and potent when transferred from a vampire into a human.” Swallowing roughly, he cleared his throat. “It’s why many don’t survive the transformation.”

Grabbing his knee, she angled closer to him. She needed to be closer, to let him know he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. “You did.”

“Yes.” He covered her hand with his. “I’m like that.” Chuckling darkly, he squeezed her hand. “Hard to get rid of.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t I know it.” Waving at him with her free hand, she added, “Go on.”

“The beginning is…” His facial features pinched into serious lines. “Difficult.”

“No sunlight.” Jame filled in the facts she remembered from years of PCD research. “And no free will.”

“Right.” Drake straightened, his leg stiffening under her grasp. “I was luckier than most. Strife was good to me and gave me as much freedom as a new vampire can have. I wasn’t,” he hesitated a breath, “I wasn’t always easy to be around.”

“You? Never.” She gave his leg another reassuring squeeze.

“Believe it.” His eyes danced with mirth now. “It took years of cultivation to perfect the refined creature you see before you.”

She smiled, then chided him gently. “Drake.”

“I know, luv.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled free the object in question and passed it to her. “When the time finally came for me to…” A hand snaked through his hair as if he didn’t want to say the rest. She waited until he eventually continued. “Well, for me to bury my demons, I suppose, I had Strife’s full support. And when it all was finished, it was time for me to be free and see the sun again.” He took the lighter from her outstretched fingers and palmed it to his chest. “Strife gave me this as a reminder that light exists, even when it can’t be seen. And every anniversary of my new life in the sunlight, just when the gold has worn down on these little devices, and when I begin to forget again, she gives me a new one.”

Jame sucked in a breath. The story clenched at her heart, and for the second time in the span of mere hours, she saw him anew. “That must have been amazing,” she said, searching his face. Everything about him appeared reborn in her view. “Seeing the sun after so long.”

“It was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen, Jame Bradshaw.” In a heartbeat, he reached for her and drew her into his lap. “Until you.”

The accompanying kiss to his raw declaration burned a fire through her soul. It hit her in the chest like a bullseye and wouldn’t let go. She answered in kind, tangling her hands in his hair and hoping her actions spoke louder than any words she could offer.

When her cell rang, interrupting their moment, she wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. But as she glanced at the screen, she remembered she had a job to do, and now she had a partner who would be her everything.

“Slick,” she said, breaking their embrace to answer the call, but not enough to get off him yet either. “What do you got?’

Chapter Thirty-Two

City Morgue, Washington, DC

“Tell me again what he said.” Drake rubbed at the bridge of his nose, trying for the third time to process what the pup had told Jame. He’d heard it from her twice already and still couldn’t make it add up.

“I told you.” Fiddling with the controls on the morgue’s virtual simulation unit for the past ten minutes had her hunched over the contraption and biting out her words. “Meg viewed the bank feed and saw who emptied Senator McDonald’s safety deposit box.”

“The one that was vaulted and no one other than him should have had access to?” he asked, trying not to piss her off, but wanting to be clear.

“Yes,” she spit through her teeth and pulled a lever on the complicated system in front of her.

“And she’s absolutely certain that the video shows her brother, Mack, stealing the senator’s stuff the day before the code black?” The knot pulled at his insides. It all sat so wrong. What are we missing?

“For the third time, yes. I don’t think she would mistake her own brother!” Beeps beeped and gears ground as something Jame did set the machine in motion. “At last.”

“But why would he do that?” He had asked that question too. Yet it bothered him. Mack was a PCD agent. Only way he was touching that vault would be for one of two reasons: a) he was secretly working for another organization, or b) he was ordered to do it by the higher-ups. Since he had told her that twice as well, he refrained from a three-peat.

“I told you, Meg thinks it’s doctored footage, and she’s setting out to prove it.”

“Yeah,” he intoned and moved closer to the unit as it burst into life. “And I told you that I don’t buy it.”

Sighing, Jame spun to face him. “I don’t either. But it’s her brother. She has to try.” Another button down and a 3D image appeared before them. “Besides, we have other concerns right now.”

“Right.” He leaned in, close enough to the image to touch. Although just a visual mockup of the once living Special Agent Jessica “Decoder” Carroway’s charred remains, the sight did not lessen the impact. The severity of the burns and the decimation of the body showed that she had not died easily. “Hell.”

“Yeah, must have been,” Jame answered, swallowing audibly and stiffening beside the image.

“Here, luv,” he said, handing her the holodoc of the autopsy report the machine had spit out for him. “Read this to me while I look over the virtual mockup.” He caught her eye and held her gaze. “Your voice helps me think.”

Cocking her head questioningly, she took the readout and shrugged. “Sure.”

If she had any idea that he did it to distract her, she didn’t let on, except for the slight smile at the corner of her mouth. It was the sole hint that she knew what he was up to, but she didn’t fight him.

Seeing horrors beyond living comprehension had been his life for over a century. If he could spare her, even in such a small thing, he would. “Right, then?”

Jame made a humming noise and began to read the report aloud. “Subject is female. Burn wounds suspected cause of death. Dermo-epidermal injuries found over the body. Internal examination inconclusive as the upper airway and intrapulmonary bronchi were compromised. Heat rupture found over the left breast.”

The report did little to jog loose the missing link, and Drake found himself instead inching toward the virtual mockup. The sight caught him off guard at first. No one should have to suffer like that, especially a woman, agent or not. He hadn’t known Agent Decoder in life, yet seeing her remains in this matter punched him in the gut. The twisted limbs, the charred skin, the deep-set wound on the side of her chest. His jaw set tight. “What was the last part?”

“Ah. Internal damage shows a level of extreme heat.” She swiped through the pages on the screen, the motion sounding like ticks on a metronome.

“Not that one. Before it.” Something was clicking.

“Ah, let’s see.” Her finger ran across the holodoc. He caught a piece of it from the corner of his eye, but his focus stayed on the deceased’s imagery as she said, “Heat rupture found over left breast.”

“Over her heart?” His vision narrowed on the spot in question.

Jame placed the report on the exam table. “Would seem so.”

“And would you say that heat came from the outside in or inside out?” Drake pointed to the area in question. He didn’t know what it all meant, but this had been a part of the puzzle they had been looking for, he could feel it.

Her muscles tensed, but she didn’t flinch as she stared at the place he indicated. Hell, his shifter had fire in her veins. And he should know. “I’m not…” she started to say but stopped mid-sentence. “No wait.” Flicking more buttons on the control panel, she zoomed in and spun the image around so that it faced them head down. “The interior is cavernous, like something pushed out from the inside.”

“Yes.” He rubbed the back of his neck. The hairs there brushed against his palm. “That’s what I think too.”

The holodoc clacked against the counter as she picked it up and swiped through it, reading fast. “It doesn’t mention anything like that here. This can’t be right.”

Placing a hand over the report, he pointed toward the virtual mockup. “Let’s trust our eyes on this one, no?”

“Yeah, but.” She put the holodoc down and took a step back. “If the report is wrong, or let’s say incomplete, and the wound came from the inside—”

“Then it couldn’t have been the finatite.” His mind danced through their investigation, replaying every step.

“And we’ve been sent on a wild goose chase!” Her stomp brought him out of his thoughts. “We need to get this to Meg.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

“What the hell?” Slick greeted them at the entry of headquarters, not even bothering to wait until they made it to the conference room. That was fine by her. Jame felt the same.

“I don’t know, Slick.” She put her palms up. “You know what we know.”

“Yeah, I got it, but I have no idea what we got.” He held open the door, ushering them through the entrance. It was a testament to the situation that neither he nor Drake jostled each other or dug in with one of their stupid nicknames. In fact, Drake had been oddly quiet since their discovery, even on the ride over, seemingly lost in his own head.

Turning to him for a moment, she tugged at his sleeve. “You with us?”

Drake looked at her as if he had been caught in a storm. “Yes, luv. Just processing.”

“Stay with us. We need your help, okay?”

He smiled in response and motioned for her to lead.

As their trio moved into the conference room, everything happened at once. Meg’s face on the monitor turned toward the door, and the speakers exploded with chatter. Dee and the Old Man bolted across the room like two pups waiting for their human’s return and peppered them with questions. Slick collapsed in a chair while running his hands repeatedly through his hair. Drake slid into a corner, arms crossed over his chest and eyes staring into space. All the commotion left her with the fallout.

“All right!” she cried, making it distinctly two words. “Everyone take a breath and pull up a chair.” Waving at the monitor, she added, “Meg, if you’re not sitting, then sit wherever you are.” Grabbing the seat at the head of the table, she suited words to action and sat herself. “Now get around this table, and let’s see what we got.”

An hour later, they had laid it all on the table—figuratively and literally.

“The anti-SUB group is a red herring.” Meg flashed a picture of Kuruk on the screen. “It stands to reason the finatite is too.”

“I agree.” Drake sat at her right-hand, a solid force, albeit still in a brooding mood.

An idea had been poking at her since viewing the virtual autopsy. It seemed too wild to suggest, but somehow correct. She went for it. “Let’s assume for a minute that finatite didn’t kill Decoder.” From across the table, Dee visibly winced at her sister’s name, but Jame couldn’t afford to pull punches. “What if it was something internal. Something with enough force and damage to create an explosion of that magnitude.”

The Old Man guffawed. “What, did she swallow a bomb?”

“We’ve seen crazier things.” Slick folded his hands and squeezed them, taking up the spot to her left. He eyed her with his peripheral vision, but she could feel that gaze. They had experienced more than their fair share of the insane.

She had to focus on the present. “Meg, what could make that type of explosion?”

As if startled, the monitor flickered. When Meg reappeared after the brief disruption, she was chewing hard on her favorite pencil and talking between bites. “Well, an array of materials could cause that chaos, but to have it inside a body, detonate, and create the pattern seen from the virtual mockup? Impossible.”

“Whoa.” Slick turned toward the monitor. Shock written across his face. “Never heard you use the I-word before, sweetness.”

Meg’s pencil slammed on whatever surface was in front of her, and the sound echoed over the speakers. “I know, but I’ve been running the calculations while we’ve been talking, and everything comes up as such miniscule amounts that I’m confident with the I-word. Nothing on the surface of the planet could have done this.”

“Surface?” Drake muttered, tapping his fingers over the table in a consistent rhythm. No one spoke for several seconds when his beats stopped abruptly. “Gold.”

“Suckwad, what are you going on about?” Slick flung a notepad at him, but Drake hardly moved.

“Gold flames. She said gold flames filled the night.”

The air in the room dropped ten degrees. At least it felt that way to Jame. Her blood chilled as her skin perspired. “Strife said that, about what she saw during the fire when Decoder died.”

“Yes, and who possesses gold flames?” His dark eyes brightened as if drawing the beams from the overhead fluorescents.

It took Jame a heartbeat to figure it out. “Sera does.”

“Right, because she’s part Luminari.” Drake focused his attention on the monitor. “The Luminarium have golden energy, and they don’t live on the surface of the planet. They exist in the core.”

Dee sprang to life, her pupils dilating, and her gaze tracking an unseen riddle like a cuckoo clock. “You think they were responsible for my sister’s death?”

Acknowledging Dee, he patted her hand as if to comfort her. “No, but it has to have something to do with—”

“Luminari energy,” Meg answered for him, and her pencil started to bounce up and down on the screen as she twisted and flicked it. “We all have it inside of us, except for humans. It’s how the different SUB groups came to be. Vampires, shifters, psykes, even phage, all possess part of the Luminari energy. It’s in our DNA.”

A whirlwind of clicks and clacks reverberated through the line as Meg dropped her pencil and went to work. Slick broke into the clatter. “Meg, what does this mean?”

She sucked her lip and then said through gritted teeth, “It means I’m breaking that encryption on the Solar Energy Project.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

PCD Headquarters for District One, Washington, DC

Three hours. It had been three hours since Meg’s declaration to break the encryption. None of them knew how bottomless this hole would be, but the longer time went on, the more Jame felt in her gut that the answers were closer to home than any of them wanted to acknowledge.

“Her brother hacked the vault.” Drake sat in a chair next to a single set of bunk beds. It was the smaller of the overnight rooms.

When their meeting ended with Meg needing time for her tech work, Jame had told the team to get some shut-eye. After much groaning and grumbling, she had made it a direct order with a few choice words thrown in. Slick, Dee, and the Old Man conceded but with the caveat of staying at headquarters. None of them wanted to be left out of the loop. The trio took the large room that served as resting quarters for the team while she and Drake took the smaller one. No one had said “boo” about it. Had to mean they were in some serious shit.

Fluffing a pillow, she said simply, “I know.”

“And Agent Frost sent us after Kuruk.” He leaned his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“I know that too.”

He reached across, taking the pillow from her. Without comment, he turned it into a perfect round poof and handed it back to her. “She was deliberately misleading us.”

Hugging the soft cotton to her chest, she sighed. “Someone was.”

“Five commanders control PCD, luv. If not her, one of them. Or…all of them.”

A choking sensation took hold of her throat. The mere fathom of a thought that the organization to which she had dedicated her life could be dirty made it impossible to breathe. “I can’t.” Her eyes filled with tears. Hell would freeze before she would let them fall. Blinking them back, she steeled her tone and said, “I don’t think it’s all of them.”

If he saw her struggle, he didn’t comment on it. “Then Frost?”

“If she’s dirty, we’ll deal with it.” The air thickened in the room. She gulped it into her lungs; it felt like trying to suck in mud. Her voice cracked just the slightest on his name. “Drake?”

He didn’t need her to say it aloud. Without her asking, he slid beside her and wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t cry, but internally she was weeping, screaming, and freaking out all at the same time. Somehow, he knew. “I have you, luv.”

And he did.

The thought still frightened her a tiny bit if she were honest. Yet the overall feeling of rightness, of oneness, was too good to deny. She needed that again. Needed to feel him in her body, not just her heart. “I—”

“I know.” Tilting her chin up, he captured her mouth, claimed her kiss. She didn’t need words to tell him how she felt…or what she wanted. The bond between them had solidified. He said it was like the connection between vampires and their makers. He said it would grow stronger. Well, that wasn’t so bad.

Especially the growing part.

She slid her hand low and grabbed on.

The smile that tugged at his mouth through their kiss set her on fire. “Anxious, are we?”

“More like hungry.” She bit his lip.

Drake’s bedroom eyes ate her up. Pulling back from their embrace, he slid her hand off him, and put her palms together. “I thought we were supposed to sleep.”

“We will.” She struggled to yank her hands apart, but he held a firm grip over them. “After.”

“After, huh?” His gazed narrowed as he undid his belt and looped it expertly around her hands, wrists, and forearms. When he had finished his craftsmanship, he sat back to admire his work, but before proceeding he asked, “This all right, luv?”

The blood surged through her arms. She tested the restraint. One shift could break it, but in this form, she would be at his mercy. Mostly. Well, at least her arms would be out of commission. She never thought of herself into the bondage scene, but she had to admit this was turning her on big time. “Oh yeah.”

“Just in case.” He kissed the top of her head. “Safe word is vanilla.”

“Trying to imply anything?” She laughed.

He laid the kiss of the century on her, diving in and taking control. It set her insides to boiling and a fire burning deep. “With you, Kitty?” He smirked. “Nothing vanilla about it.”

* * *

The sight of her lying on that bed, spread out for him, her orange scent filling his nose, had him salivating with need. Her bound hands rested above her head, but she was still wearing far too many clothes for his liking. With the briefest hesitation, he asked, “You keep spare outfits here?”

Her eyes widened as her scent intensified. He heard her blood pumping faster. Her whispered word was almost a moan, “Y-yes.”

“Good.” It was the last warning he could muster. Her tank top and bra? He ripped them straight down the middle, smiling at her sharp intake of breath. She had shed her boots earlier, but her pants with their deadly arsenal remained on. He relished dragging them from her legs slowly, revealing her curved hips and strong thighs. By the time he slid them past her calves and ankles, she was panting.

Lacy black panties captured his attention. He stared before forcing his gaze to her face. “Thought you favored utility, luv?”

Her answering grin nearly had him panting now. “A girl has to have some secrets, no?”

“If they’re all like this, Kitty? Then, yes.” Discarding his shirt, he draped it over the edge of the bed, then pulled her to the side of it. When her knees would hang over the edge, he bent and positioned them over his shoulders.

“Drake?” She rose slightly and brought her bound arms to her chest.

“No, luv.” His gaze captured hers, unrelenting. “Hands back over head. Grab the frame if you like. But stay there.”

Sighing, she lay back and did as he asked. “Okay.”

That trust in him, when he knew that she often found it so hard to give freely, undid him. He wanted to take this slow, savor every taste. But the fire inside burned hot, pushing him on. The desire too much to contain. Still, for her, he’d temper it. She deserved to be shown how much he wanted her, needed her…loved her. Hell, but it felt right, perfect.

He didn’t bother with words. His actions would be the beginning of his confession. Breathing her in, he rubbed his cheek along her inner thigh. The softness of her skin stoking his fire. He applied the lightest touch to coax her legs further apart, using his shoulders to split her wider. His fingertips grazed her delicate lace panties, tracing along the outer rim where her thigh met her body. Every second fanned the flames of his craving, but he held to this sensitive balance.

“Drake, please.” Her breathing grew staccato, and her cries urgent.

Begging wasn’t his usual style, but her plea acted like kindling against his already burning lust. The lace shredded under his hands, baring her for his gaze, the sight of her pretty pink lips opening for him, her pearl peeking from the top. “Hell and a half, Kitty.”

She moaned a reply.

The first taste had his cock hardening thick as steel. He pointedly ignored it, licking from the bottom of her slit to just shy of that place that would make her scream. He did it over and again until her legs started to shake. Damn, her flavor was addicting. When she squirmed against the bed and gripped the frame hard enough overhead to make it groan, he planted his lips on her clit and sucked gently. Then he dipped two fingers deep into her channel.

She screamed.

* * *

All thoughts fled as Drake continued to suck and lick her into sweet oblivion. His fingers pumped in time to his torment. The pressure built in her, a tidal wave of need that threatened to maroon her on a distant shore. She wasn’t certain she ever wanted it to end, and yet, in the same breath desperately sought that elusive peak.

“Drake,” she breathed.

“Let go, luv. I’ve got you.” Lashing at her nub twice more, he latched on and met her gaze. His midnight eyes burned with dark fire. He hooked his fingers up, pressing hard against a spot inside her. “Come for me,” he murmured against her clit. The vibrations of his demand sent her soaring.

Every muscle tensed. Her orgasm exploded through her, a tsunami of pleasure so overwhelming, she thought she’d never recover. And she didn’t want to. Drake saw her through the storm, guiding her with kisses over her sensitive flesh. When she could breathe again, she pulled her arms to her chest and gazed down at him.

“That was…” She let her words trail off, not knowing how to describe it.

He shot her a far too satisfied smirk. “And who said it was over?”

Her brows shot to her hairline. But she had no time to think as he flipped her onto her stomach and yanked her up by her hips. Her arms, still bound in his belt, lay captive under her body while her face rested against the bed sheets.

Her ass was raised in the air. He slapped it once. “You’re mine, Jame.”

“Yes.” She was. And even though he had given her the best orgasm of her life, she wanted more. She needed him. “Do it.”

But Drake would not be rushed. He slapped her ass again and used his other hand to gently stroke her oversensitive nub. The counterpoints of sensation had her writhing against the sheets. When he plunged his fingers inside her once more, she growled.

He chuckled. “I believe you’re ready.”

“You think?” She shot him a dark look over her shoulder.

His answer was to notch the head of his cock between her lips and slowly, inch by inch, push inside her. The slight sting gave way to white hot pleasure. Her legs shook from the intensity of it. When his length reached the end of her channel, they groaned in unison. He stilled, holding her on that edge.

“Vampire, I swear, if you don’t—” She broke off her tirade as he pulled out and thrust back in again to the hilt. She moaned.

He came unleashed, setting a punishing pace. She angled her hips higher, craving all of it. Her hips moved in time with him. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the small space. As the need rode her hard, he pushed her ass down to the bed and stretched over her. The new position hit places inside her she didn’t even know existed. And as the knife edge of sensation crashed through her with her clit rubbing against the mattress, she felt his fangs at her shoulder. He bit deep and launched her into another orbit.

She let loose a strangled cry as the ecstasy took hold.

His pleasure crashed through her while his cocked pulsed inside of her. He retracted his fangs and roared.

Her body went limp beneath his, and he collapsed on top of her. The solid weight of him made a warmth bloom in her chest. In a heartbeat, he rolled them to the side, her back nestled against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and undid his belt, freeing her. She shook out her wrists, then turned in his hold.

They lay like that quietly, gazing into one another’s face. No words were needed, but she wanted to say them anyway.

“So love, huh?” She looked down and traced loose patterns over his chest with her fingertips.

He stilled her busy fingers, flattening his hand over hers against his heart. His free hand went under her chin, lifting it so they locked eyes once more. “Yes.”

“And it’s forever?” She knew the bond connected them. It pulsed between them, letting her feel the strength of his emotions…for her. But it couldn’t just be their mixed blood, this supernatural bond. It had to be their choice.

“You are mine.” His heart beat strong beneath her palm. The truth of his words rang clear in his voice and in the feel of his body solid beside her. “Always.”

Maybe it was karmic. No matter how hard she had struggled against him out of nerves—if she were being honest—he hadn’t stopped. He had never given up on them. She smiled, nuzzling at his throat. “Okay, then.”

He growled and let loose a warning. “Kitty.”

Letting her gaze find his once more, she didn’t hold back from letting her feelings shine forth. “I’m yours, Drake.” She wiggled her hand free and thumped her fist on his chest. “And you’re mine too.” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t forget it.”

“Never, luv.” He brought her fist to his lips and trailed kisses over her knuckles. “Never.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

PCD Headquarters for District One, Washington, DC

A ringing roused her from a pleasant dream in which her lips were wrapped around an extremely hard and hot Drake. As it was, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, feeling the source of said nightly vision throbbing against her leg.

“Morning, luv.” He smiled down at her, shifting so that his bicep cushioned her head. “Care for another round?”

Her cheeks heated. But more noise from above invaded her lascivious imaging.

Three more rings and Meg’s voice sounded over headquarter speakers. “I’ve got it! Everyone, meet me in the conference room.”

Jame sprang from the bed and rifled through a canvas bag hanging by the door for new clothes. She grabbed a clean sports bra and tank top, a loose jacket, and her cargo pants from the floor. Thankfully, it still had her full arsenal inside. While she would have preferred a shower, or better yet, a nice long soak in a tub, she did the best she could with sink water and clean washcloths in the bathroom attached to the small overnight room.

It had taken her mere minutes to get ready, but by the time she looked back, Drake was already fully dressed and looking miraculously clean. Her lids went to slits. “Vampire perk?”

He cocked his head to the side. “We are creatures of the night, luv. I washed up earlier while you slept.”

“Clever.” Her gaze cut to the hallway door. “Let’s go.”

Slick, Dee, and the Old Man sat at the conference table, all looking anxious but rested. Jame was glad for it. She took a seat next to Slick with Drake on her other side. It was a testament to their new blood bond, or perhaps the tense situation, that neither male rankled at the other. Whatever news Meg had, the pit in her gut told her that today would be challenging, and she wanted the team together and at their best for anything that came their way.

“All right, eyes in the sky, give it to us.” She flicked on the screen so that Meg’s face appeared.

The poor agent’s eyes looked bloodshot with dark shadows underneath. Her usually fun-styled hair was plastered to her head. The sag to her shoulders told of exhaustion, but still she held her head high. Meg had spirit engrained in her veins. “It took time, but I cracked it.”

“Hey, Meg,” Slick intervened. “You sure you want to go into all this now?” His brow furrowed, and Jame squeezed his arm once. She didn’t like the look of Meg any more than he did, but they needed her intel.

“Yeah. It’s fine. You all need to know this.” Meg sucked in a ragged breath. “The Solar Energy Project was a ruse like we thought. They built a prototype for their plans.” Meg’s video feed went to a small box at the top while the rest of the monitor displayed plans of a machine. “After the code black, PCD took over the guarding of it. Signature on the order for transfer was Emilia Frost.”

The Old Man moved closer to the screen. “And what exactly did PCD take over guarding? What is that thing?”

Without speaking, they all leaned in, staring at the blueprint of the creation. Meg highlighted a bulbous area, showing a vacuum-like chamber. “The original design was implemented to capture solar rays to convert to energy. When the committee came together, it was recommissioned from a tool to a weapon.”

The screen flickered to another blueprint…and a smaller device. “They first tested the idea of pushing out energy, instead of pulling it in.” The crime scene of Decoder’s death flashed on the screen. Dee visibly flinched, but Meg continued, “I’m sorry, Dee. There’s no easy way to say this, but the initial device was used on your sister. It created a cascade of Luminari energy in her body.”

“The golden flames.” Drake clutched his lighter tight, turning his knuckles white. “That’s why Strife saw gold. Luminari energy.”

“Yes,” Meg said, setting the screen to the blueprint of the smaller device. “It caused a cascade effect on her internal systems, and well, you know the result.” Her eyes glistened on the monitor.

Everyone remained silent.

Jame felt the tension thicken the air, but they needed to know all of it. “What next, Meg? Where did Frost go from there?”

The screen became loaded with multiple images of the late Senator McDonald and Adrianna Farrington. “It seems Frost learned of the tryst between McDonald and Farrington, and their plans to attempt natural phage procreation.” The report of the code black loaded up next. Meg’s tone turned bitter. “The murders were tactical. Once she determined her children’s betrayal, she killed the committee members and claimed the ‘Solar Energy Project’ as a solo venture.”

“Then, it leaves no doubt,” Slick said. His fists balled atop the table. “Frost is the phage queen.”

“And she has the means to a device that can overwhelm anyone with Luminari energy.” The hairs on Jame’s arms stood at attention.

“Not quite,” Meg continued, turning once more to the original blueprint. “It seems that her highness didn’t care for the results of the first device, likely since it could only target one person at a time and left an explosive mess. So she went back to modifying the plan.” An image of a weapon that could have been dreamt up by a sci-fi expert appeared. “Instead of pushing out energy, this device pulls it in. It should be sucking in solar rays for safe energy output per the actual design. But it has been modified based on the test machine to suck in Luminari energy.”

“Like a vacuum?” Dee’s eyes widened as she rubbed at her arms.

“Sort of.” Meg began a video of a stellar phenomenon. “It operates like a black hole that consumes energy from a star, but this device is specifically calculated to the frequency in which Luminari energy modulates. The result…” The black hole on the screen consumed the light of the star until it was extinguished. No rays remained. “Annihilation.”

“And this plan?” Jame didn’t want to ask the question on all their minds, but she had to know. “How many are involved?”

“The code black slowed her progress. But there’s no way she’s working alone.” Clicking sounded over the speakers. “I dug deeper. And I found it. Commander Vanguard is helping her. The rest of PCD don’t appear to be involved.”

“That’s a relief, on one hand.” Slick smoothed back his hair and then rested his steepled fingers. “But that still means two of the five district commanders are compromised.”

Drake eyed the monitor that had flipped back to the device. “What of the weapon itself?”

“The modifications were completed, but it appears as if it hasn’t been tested.” Meg motioned to the screen. “I’m afraid we’d know if it had. The damage would be to anyone with supernatural blood, essentially those carrying Luminari energy, in range of the device.”

“And what is its range?” Jame worked over the implications. A weapon of that magnitude could decimate anything from a small group to an entire city…maybe, more.

“It’s not clear from the blueprint.” More tapping sounded, and a map appeared on the screen. “But let’s retrieve it before we find out.”

The Old Man jumped up from his chair. “Girlie, you know where it is?”

Meg smiled for the first time throughout their meeting. “I do. And what’s more, I can get you in.”

Looking around the table at her team, Jame felt the tug of a grin on her lips too. Despite the danger they were about to walk into, they finally had the upper hand. If they acted fast, they might be able to stop the phage queen, Reyna, aka Agent Frost, for good. “Then let’s put together a plan. And bury the Solar Energy Project.”

Drake leaned back, smirking. “Kitty, you read my mind.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Vanguard United Bunker, Location Classified

The ride to the underground bunker had Jame’s nerves on fire. “Sewers, factories, and now a bunker,” she muttered under her breath. “And here I thought the head district would be glamorous.”

“All right, luv?” Drake squeezed her thigh with his free hand while keeping them at cruising speed. The large, black SUV held the entirety of the team, and when her vampire had claimed the driver’s seat, no one had disagreed. Not even Slick.

“Yeah, just thinking.” She had called Talon before they left and let him know of the situation. Thankfully, he was able to coordinate both the influx of Kuruk’s phage to his district and provide an exit strategy for agents—who they trusted—that were in comprised districts. With the situation involving PCD commanders, they had to assume that meant trouble for all areas under Frost and Vanguard at the least. Jame was grateful for her former boss’ support, as she didn’t know how she would have managed all the fallout while going after the weapon. Meg had seemed confident that the device hadn’t been utilized yet. And with this mission, they planned to keep it that way. The rest they would deal with later.

“How much longer?” the Old Man grumbled from the middle row. He’d asked three times already and, considering how much the team’s energy practically vibrated in the car, it was one complaint too many.

“You expect it to be in the middle of the city?” Slick answered from the back row. “Get a grip. You know it won’t be that easy.”

“Shouldn’t be much longer,” Drake said, motioning to the thickening trees on either side of the vehicle. “Yet it’s definitely off the grid.”

Conversation quieted after that.

Her vampire was right, however, and soon swerved onto a dirt and gravel road. It ran for about a mile or so with no signs of life until they arrived at a metal gate with a red No Trespassing sign across it. A heavy lock and chain barred their entry with a thick tree line supporting the gate.

“Well now, who wants to take care of that?” Jame smirked, knowing the challenge would be a nice, albeit small, victory for the team.

Slick and the Old Man climbed over each other to get out, shifting before even making it from the SUV, and shoving their clothes into sacks. The Old Man chose an enormous grizzly bear, whereas Slick opted for a behemoth crocodile. Between the two of them, and a quick intervention of Dee, who insisted on picking the lock, they had the gate open and a good portion of it destroyed within minutes.

As they climbed into the vehicle again, Jame gave them a thumbs up and called, “Nice work!” The activity helped alleviate some of the tension, and as they drew closer to their destination, the energy amongst them changed from edgy to eager.

“Looks like that’s our target.” Drake pointed at the front window.

A hillside, about three times as high as Jame was tall, housed double cement doors that towered toward its peak. Concrete walls ran up to the entrance with a wide walkway of the same material. It appeared like a grey alien invading the greenery of the hill. Jame hated everything about it. “Well, that’s an issue.”

“We can figure it out,” Dee said, clamping on a headset and visor around her face. “I’m patching in Meg for backup.”

If anyone could get them in safely, it would be their psyke team members. Jame distracted the others by going over the plan again. “Okay. Once we get those doors open, we move fast and smart. We have the map to the facility—thanks to Meg’s code-breaking. And we trust in Dee to get us to that weapon.” She indicated each of them in turn. “We destroy it. And we watch each other’s backs. No hero antics or solo missions. Got it?”

“Yes, Boss.” Slick saluted.

The Old Man nodded his assent.

Drake just smirked. “Of course, Kitty. And what of guards?”

“If they’re in the facility, we consider them compromised.” She tightened her fists against the side of her pants, tapping the arsenal at her disposal. “They may not know what they’re guarding, but we can’t take the chance. Stun, if possible. But we get to that weapon. No matter what.”

Jame jumped from the passenger seat and watched as Dee walked toward the structure. She put a hand on the younger agent’s arm to stop her forward momentum. “Don’t get too close until we know what we’re dealing with.” Her gaze traveled the perimeter. “We don’t know what type of force or alarms they have.”

Dee nodded, continuing her scan and reporting to Meg through her visor. The team congregated around their vehicle and waited for Dee to report the intel. It didn’t take too long, but enough so for the Old Man to grumble again. Everyone pointedly ignored him.

“We’ve almost got the door locks cracked,” Dee said, tapping on the headset. “Make sure you’ve got your wrist coms set. The map is downloaded to them, and the weapon is in the interior chamber. I’ll lead the way because Meg is relaying the information from the internal sensors to my visor.”

“Great.” Jame patted her on the back. The psyke had come so far from the timid agent she met only a short time ago. As she glanced at each member of her team, she realized they all had. Her gaze held Drake’s for an extra instant. Maybe me more than any of them. She wasn’t sorry about the changes. Grasping Dee’s shoulder, she gave a light squeeze. “Then are we ready?”

“Yeah.” Slick whooped with a fist in the air.

Drake took a place at her right-hand side, a solid presence as always. Where she would have balked before, she now enjoyed that reassuring and steady comfort.

“No alarms out here. And the ones on the entry have been disabled.” Dee grinned as the doors slowly slid open. “Let’s go.”

As Jame followed directly behind Dee, she acknowledged that sometimes the best leaders followed first. And while she hated that the younger agent was in the line of fire—and therefore, danger—she trusted in her abilities. Guess I really have grown. Still, she wasn’t about to give up protecting her team. That was her responsibility. She kept her ears open and her gaze sharp.

The doors marked the beginning of a long, dimly lit hallway made up of solid concrete and corrugated metal walls. The shiny, slick floor turned their every step to a challenge. Without having to say a word to them, each member of her team tread as lightly as possible to avoid their steps echoing in the empty space. It had to be at least a hundred feet in before the corridor offered any directional options.

When they came to the first turnoff, they were faced with three choices—straight, left, or right. Dee used two fingers to point at the option to the right. Checking her visor, she indicated thirty feet further, and then another right. When this happened twice more with additional turns, Jame grew uneasy. The map indicated their positions and the location of the weapon, but the bunker felt far larger than their intel revealed.

“Jame?” The tone in Slick’s question as he followed two paces behind matched her doubts.

“We’ve got to go with it.” Jame didn’t see another option…or any guards.

Drake’s breath whispered behind her ear, he stood that close. “This is too easy, luv.”

Dee hushed them before Jame could respond and motioned to a spot not far ahead. “Almost there.”

A light shone from an interior chamber, white and bright. It permeated the darkness of the hallway, temporarily blinding them with its glow. As they moved closer, their eyes slowly adjusted, and the room came into view. Rectangular mirrored panels took up the walls of the chamber and ran from floor to ceiling. In the center of the chamber a cylindrical device rested on a concrete block that was eye level with Jame. The apparatus had more buttons, dials, and overall electronic gizmos on it than Meg’s office, and that was saying something.

“The weapon?” Jame asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” Dee said, fiddling with her visor buttons. “I’m scanning it now.”

The team stood in a V formation behind Dee, all of them radiating nerves. Shifter energy tended to vibrate and permeate a space, even when said supernaturals were calm. And when amped up…well, the force of it was palpable. Even her vampire seemed to buzz.

“You sense anything?” she whispered to Drake, knowing it was likely the others would hear her.

He looked around in response, especially behind them for several moments. “No, but that’s what has me worried.” The darkness of the hallway mocked them as if daring them to return.

Jame sighed. “Me too.”

The quiet tension carried on while Dee continued the scan. “Got it. This is the prototype of the blueprint we saw. And I have the sequence to neutralize it.” She touched her wrist com. “Then we can destroy it.”

As if on cue to Dee’s proclamation, an alarm blared in the chamber. Behind them, solid panels shot from the ceiling, blocking off the room from the hallway—and shutting them inside. The dials on the machine began to glow. Before any of them could orient to the situation, light began to seep from the device.

“What’s going on, kiddo?” the Old Man shouted over the alarm, shifting closer to Dee.

She tapped on her visor furiously. “The weapon is activating. We have to stop it!”

Drake reacted first, getting within arm’s length of the blasted thing before he dropped to one knee. His face was a mask of tension; his teeth gritted. “Can’t…reach…”

His words came forced through a tight jaw, spurring Jame and the rest of the team into action. But as happened with the vampire, each of them went down within spitting distance of the device. Jame had enough wits about her to glance at her wrist com. The deactivation sequence Dee had sent to their coms blinked back at her mockingly.

“Dee.” She motioned to her wrist. “How…do we…put in…the code?”

The psyke agent looked at her in horror, her jaw dropping open. She scooted a few steps back as the weapon continued to do just as it had been designed—suck the energy from their bodies. “Come away from it,” she cried, inching closer to their blocked exit. “The mirrors will reflect and amplify it. We have to get out of here!”

Jame firmed her order, pushing the words past her clenched jaw. “Dee…how…the code?”

“It has a number pad at the top. But you won’t reach it.”

“She will.” Drake managed to climb to his feet, dragging Jame up his body. He didn’t need to tell her the plan. She could sense it from him. As the lightest and smallest member of the team, she would be the easiest to get to the device. With a little help. “Ready, luv?”

Her gaze held his for a heartbeat. She nodded. “Do it, vamp.”

With lines of concentration breaking across his forehead, he grabbed her hips and tossed her straight at the machine. The thick pull of the device’s beams on their energy made it so that his throw wasn’t as strong as it usually would be, but that was lucky for her. As it was, it took all her remaining strength to land without injury and keep hold of the weapon. Being this close to it felt like having her insides ripped apart and sucked through her pores. Agonizing seconds ticked by before she could wade through the crushing force to get her fingers on the number pad.

“Come…on…Boss!” Slick’s pained cheer in the background drove her forward. As a half-shifter, he wouldn’t have as much Luminari essence to lose. What would happen if he lost too much of that energy? She wasn’t going to find out.

The first four numbers were input. She checked the sequence again, input three more numbers. Two more. Her legs went numb. Her arm, holding her to the device, started to slacken. Her free hand clicked at the number pad. Come on. Just one more. As she extended her finger toward the final number, her body went rigid. But she managed to press it as she slid from the machine.

The alarms quieted as the weapon deactivated. The horrible feeling of having her energy depleting ceased. Yet she slunk to the floor like a puddle of water. Drake grabbed her ankle, pulling her into the comfort of his arms. He half-reclined on the floor, but his body huddled protectively around hers.

The Old Man rose to his feet first, transforming into a rhino—sort of, the shift didn’t take full effect, so he looked more like a rhino-human D&D creature gone wrong. Still he managed to charge the machine and do a fair bit of damage. Slick joined him next, taking the old-fashioned approach of whacking at it with a piece of debris.

Jame glanced toward the exit. The panels hadn’t retreated with the deactivation, but they could deal with that. What worried Jame was the look on the young psyke agent’s face. She motioned for Drake to help her over to Dee.

“Hey.” She patted the agent’s knee as she got into a semi-sitting position. “You okay?”

“It…it…” Poor Dee’s eyes looked haunted. “I didn’t think it would activate.”

“It’s not your fault.” Jame forced herself to sit all the way up, her back leaning against the covered wall. She squeezed the agent’s knee harder. “Meg didn’t know either, and she’s been doing this longer than you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But…” Tears began to spring from her eyes. “You could have died.”

“Shh. It’s okay.” Awkwardly—since her body still didn’t want to respond properly—she hugged Dee’s trembling shoulders. “We’re all fine. And the weapon is gone.”

As Jame comforted Dee, and the Old Man and Slick finished off the device, Drake analyzed the wall panel. He ran his hands across the bottom portion first, then slowly got to his feet and checked the upper panels. When he reached chest height, he pulled back a small square sheet, revealing an electric control switch.

Drake smiled down at the young agent. “Psyke girl,” he said, waving at her and then the panel. “Think you can dry those tears and get us out of here?”

Dee turned watery eyes to Jame and then looked up at Drake. She rubbed her lids dry, bit her lip, and then rose. “I can do it.”

Drake stepped back to give the agent room, then offered a hand to Jame. She took it gratefully. When the panels opened, she didn’t know what they would find, but she knew that no matter what, her team would handle it. They had come this far and done the impossible. And with her vampire at her side, she had faith not only in each of them—but now she could believe in herself.

Epilogue

PCD Safe House District Thirteen, Location Classified

Five days later…

“Thanks, Sera.” Jame took the coffee mug the blonde offered her. “I appreciate it.”

“Enjoy. After your week, I’d say you earned it.” Sera looked her over. “How you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Still a little sore from our brush with death.” After she had deactivated the weapon, and they got the doors open to the inner chamber, they were met with no resistance. It had surprised them all, but as they later discovered, the bunker had been abandoned. Rather than risk capture, the phage queen ran, leaving the weapon behind. It worried every agent that their greatest adversary would just let go of such a valuable device. But that was tomorrow’s problem. For now, they were regrouping in Talon’s district. She palmed the mug. “How’s everyone holding up?”

“Best as can be expected, all things considered. Kuruk’s phage have been housed throughout the facility. Talon is coordinating with Bram and the remaining PCD commanders to secure locations. But no one is certain if others are comprised beyond Frost and Vanguard.” The fiery agent, and Talon’s soon-to-be wife, grabbed a stool and sat. “At least our doc gave you all a clean bill of health, but it’ll probably take a while to feel up to your full strength.”

“Yeah, that’s something, I guess.” Jame pushed away a stray hair that stuck to her bottom lip and chugged a mouthful of black coffee. The caffeine boost helped foster her energy replenishment, so the doc gave her carte blanche to indulge. And she planned to in force.

“Still can’t believe the phage queen turned out to be Frost!” Sera’s squeal became high-pitched on the traitor’s name.

“Me neither. At least her primary weapon is gone.”

“Totally. That was amazing by the way.” Her grin lit up her too-perfect face.

Jame blushed at the compliment. “Thanks.”

“You know, if you don’t mind me saying.” Sera leaned in conspiratorially, her lips grazing Jame’s ear. “It was damn hot!”

Her eyes went wide. “Sera!”

“What? I might be tied down.” She pointed to her engagement ring. “But I’m not dead. And that whole save-the-supernatural-world with a self-sacrificing stunt? Totally hot!”

“Oh hell. I can’t with you.” She waved her off. “Get my team and Meg, please.”

Rising with a flourish and an exaggerated bow, she said, “Your wish is my command.”

As Sera left the room, Jame couldn’t help grinning. The blonde had been her rival for a good while, but now it was hard to imagine what life was like before. The fiery agent had wormed her way under Jame’s skin. As she downed more of the caffeine fix, Drake entered.

His long coat swirled around his ankles. His black silk shirt hugged him like a glove and stood in sharp contrast to his fair skin. She placed the mug on a side table and hopped up to greet him. “Hey, handsome.”

He wasted no time in pulling her into the hard lines of his body and crushing his lips to hers. His hands ran up and down her spine, sending pleasurable shivers wherever they touched. Gods, she wanted him.

“Ahem.” Slick cleared his throat loudly. “If you wanted that,” he emphasized the last word, “you shouldn’t have asked for all of us.”

Jame sighed and pushed against her vampire’s hard chest. He caught her eye before she backed away and mouthed, Later. She turned toward Slick—and the rest of the team who now entered with varied looks on their faces from amused (Meg and the Old Man) to shocked (Dee). “My bad.” Pointing toward a green couch and yellow loveseat in the corner, she motioned for them to sit. “Let’s regroup. I know you’ve all been antsy after the mission. And since we’ve been busy with this move to District Thirteen, helping Kuruk’s phage, healing and replenishing our energy, plus Meg’s arrival, we haven’t debriefed properly.”

Slick took a seat on the arm of the loveseat next to Meg and placed his hand on the psyke’s shoulder. “Meg has been working nonstop, Jame. We need to do something.”

“I know, Slick. Believe me. We’re all concerned that Frost…I mean Reyna, the phage queen, got away.” She felt Drake stiffen beside her. He more than anyone had cause to hate the phage, but he had adjusted well to Kuruk’s group, beginning to see them as people and not monsters. A reflection, she hoped, that he started to see about himself as well.

“We won’t let her go free,” Drake said, his fists tightening at his sides. “Veritas is with us, and Strife has given her full support.”

“We’ll need all the help we can muster.” The Old Man sat on the green couch next to Dee. “With her weapon deactivated, it’s only a matter of time before she starts again.”

Dee squirmed. “I’m sorry again about the mission.”

“Not your fault.” Jame pointed at her. “And I won’t have you berating yourself anymore. That’s an order.”

Slick focused on the young agent. “Besides, we won! Don’t be sorry.”

A deep sigh emanated from Meg. “Slick’s right. You all did great, Dee. It’s my fault it went down the way it did.” Her fingers intertwined, and she laid them in her lap. “If I hadn’t been so anxious about cracking that damn file, we might have had more time to plan.” She slammed her folded hands on her thighs. “Reyna wouldn’t have had the chance to run. And my…my…” Her lips trembled.

“Hey, now.” Slick bumped her shoulder with his hip, forcing Meg to slide over. He scooted in next to her and gave her a one-armed hug. “We talked about this. You’re not to blame. We all wanted the details on the Solar Energy Project. And we destroyed the weapon.”

“No!” She shouted, jumping up from the couch. “We destroyed the prototype. All they have to do is rebuild. And they have the one thing that will enable them to do it.”

“What do you mean, Meg?” Jame stepped forward, carefully laying a hand on the agent’s shaking arms. “They have the plans?”

“No, I was able to erase all the files and trace them back to the source for a full wipe.” A hiccupping sob broke forth. “It’s worse than that.”

Slick hopped up and squeezed Meg’s shoulders as Jame continued to keep a comforting hand on her arm. She spoke gently to their psyke genius with the too big heart. “You can tell us, Meg.”

“I don’t know how. Maybe she’s controlling him somehow. Brainwashing him. But he’s working for her.” Meg’s big brown eyes grew larger in her face, the moisture making them glow.

“Who, Meg?” A sinking feeling lodged in the pit of Jame’s stomach. “Who does she have?”

“My brother!” The tears flowed down her face. “Reyna has my twin brother.”

A fire lit deep within. The psyke twins were the most capable pair in all the PCD. Their genius led to breakthroughs. If the phage queen had control of one half of them, it meant disaster for all. Jame looked at her team members each in turn. Slick hugged Meg closer. The Old Man and Dee rose from their seats, angling around the psyke in a show of support. Drake nodded at Jame, his eyes sparkling with determination and pride.

“Then it’s simple.” Jame made her voice rise higher, the leader she knew she was born to be coming forth. “We take him back.”

THE END

Thank you for reading! Did you enjoy? Please Add Your Review! Every review helps authors and encourages readers to take a chance on a book.

And join Tina Moss’ newsletter HERE for all the latest sales, releases, and giveaways!

Do you enjoy paranormal romance? Turn the page for a sneak peek of CLAWED & CORNERED by City Owl Author, Heather McCorkle!

Sneak Peek of Clawed & Cornered

By: Heather McCorkle

I have a monumental taste for bad men. No, I don’t mean I have monumentally bad taste in men, though that’s true as well. No matter how one looks at it, that’s why I was drawn to Raul’s fine leather-clad body when he walked through the door of my bar. Tall, dark, and dangerous looking, he was everything I desired and nothing I needed. His eyes locked onto mine and held them like an industrial strength magnet. As he wove his way through the tables of people, I tensed, preparing a moment too late to call out when he stepped in the path of a couple of guys playing darts. Not that he would have heard me over the Friday night din of bad country music and drunks.

The idiots either didn’t see him or didn’t care because the portly one drew his dart back and let it fly. TD&D snatched it right out of the air like something from a movie, his gaze shooting toward the players. One moment he held the dart in his hand, the next his arm was down by his side. I didn’t even realize what he had done until I heard the sharp metal ‘thunk’ resonate into wood. The sound drew my gaze to the bright red and blue plastic feathers thrust up between two of the player’s fingers where his hand rested on the bar. The man snatched his hand against his side and took a step back.

“Damn, man, watch what the fuck you’re doing!” The second player said.

TD&D grinned, exposing perfect white teeth with canines that were just a little longer than normal. “I was,” he said in a voice that rumbled as if bordering on the edge of a growl.

Absently mopping up the remnants of glass rings on the bar top, I watched as TD&D sauntered in my direction. Not all men can pull off a saunter. This guy not only did it with class, but he also made it look smoking hot. The tight black designer jeans accentuating the promising bulge of his crotch didn’t hurt matters, nor did the black nylon motorcycle jacket. I caught a flash of some sort of patch on the back of his jacket, but couldn’t tell what it was from my angle. Before he could catch me staring at his goods and get the wrong impression, I forced my eyes upward. The black shirt hugging his fit body shone like silk, the gold buttons matching the brilliant flecks in his brown eyes. Designer cowboy boots that cost more than a day’s pay with tips peeked out from his jeans. I shook my head and turned my attention back to cleaning.

Sure, it had been over a year since I’d gotten laid, but most good looking guys didn’t affect me this strongly. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw that I wouldn’t be able to avoid him much longer. He was walking straight up to the bar, and the only empty stool was right in front of me. The moment I decided to find something else to do anywhere but there, I looked up and he was suddenly settling onto the stool. How the hell he had moved that fast through a crowded bar, I had no idea. Unless of course I was stalling subconsciously. Otherworldly brown eyes with gold shooting out from the pupil like rays of an eclipsed sun snagged a hold of mine. I tried to look away but those brilliant eyes would not let me. Something haunted hid in them.

“Hello,” he said through a disarming smile, those eyes never leaving mine.

The lack of pickup line or wandering gaze left me at a loss for words. It took me several moments just to muster up a “Hello,” in return.

“I would love a glass of your top shelf Syrah, please,” he said.

One of my brows lifted of its own accord. Wine snob; didn’t see that coming. Figured. “Coming right up.”

It took a lot to surprise me as a bartender, and it threw me completely off my game. On my way to the wine fridge at the end of the bar, I regained as much of my cool professional mask as I could. I grabbed our best Syrah from the fridge’s red wine section, popped the cork, and poured a generous glass before returning the bottle. The entire time I felt TD&D’s gaze on me and I didn’t mind one bit. Though he oozed danger, something about him also felt very refined and proper. It was a strange and intriguing combination.

“Kinda busy for a weeknight,” he commented over the din of conversation and music pouring from the bar’s sound system. He had a nice voice, just deep enough to vibrate along one’s skin, but smooth like he’d never smoked.

I nodded. “This place is always hopping.”

He gave me a cover guy smile as his eyes flicked across me. “It’s clear why.”

Not exactly a cheap pick up line, but it was close, too close. I cast my gaze skyward and started to make my way down the bar.

The deep, little laugh that came from him managed to sound confident and contrite at the same time. “I meant it as an observation and compliment, not the cheap pick up line it sounded like.”

I cast a half-smile his way. “It was creepishly cliche,” I agreed.

He returned my smile and the air in the room suddenly seemed clearer, more inviting. It wasn’t the perfect teeth with canines just a touch too long, or the rakishly handsome appearance they gave him. The effect came from a deep charisma very few people possessed, the kind of thing that made you want to be around someone without being able to put a finger on why.

“You hungry, Top Shelf?” I asked. I cringed inwardly and prepared myself for the pickup line that set me up for. What had I been thinking, phrasing it like that? But then, I hadn’t, that was the thing. This guy threw me off my game in a big way.

As his gaze moved over my low-cut shirt and back up, his lips pulled into a smirk. “Yes, thank you. I would love a burger—as rare as your cook is allowed to leave it, and fries.”

Since his eyes had taken a brief trip up my body, I allowed mine to do the same to him. “Cheat day for you?” Clearly he hit the gym, a lot, and that usually meant health nut as well. Guys like that tended to be a bit too judgmental about how a woman looked for my taste. I polished a glass while I waited for his answer, hoping I was wrong.

He shrugged one shoulder. “No need for cheat days with a balanced diet.” The answer rang too close to health nut for my liking.

I tilted my head toward the opening between the bar and the overhead liquor cabinet and hollered the order back to Joe in the kitchen.

“Coming right up, gorgeous,” he called back.

TD&D’s eyes narrowed into a fierce look that made things low in my body tingle. “You should report his disrespectful ass to the owner,” he said through a literal growl.

A laugh burst from me. “Wouldn’t do any good. That bastard’s even worse.”

His muscles tensed like he was ready to rise from his stool. “Sounds like someone needs to be taught how to treat a lady.”

I held a hand up. “Whoa, put your cape away. I don’t need anyone to rescue me.”

He sat down fast. “Oh no, I…uh…sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

I cocked my head at him and raised a brow, but refrained from responding. They never “meant it that way”.

His face scrunched up into an adorable, beseeching look that had probably gotten him out of every disciplinary situation from birth to college. That magnetic golden gaze—the kind that leaves you a bit speechless because of the beauty behind it—tried to suck me in again. It was all the more powerful because he knew its effect, and I could see that in the depths of it.

“I’m sorry, really. I have a feeling you can take care of yourself and then some, and I like that,” he said in a voice that slid over me smooth as silk, raising goosebumps. “Let me backtrack out of the worst start ever, with the most interesting person I’ve met ever, please.” He paused and let his smile work its magic on me. I couldn’t help it; I smiled back like a fool. I mean, Hel, he had said interesting, not beautiful. It impressed me. He went on. “I’m here on a bit of a walk-about. What do I absolutely need to visit in the area before going home?”

I decided to see if he was just a gym rat, or if he actually put those muscles to good use. My mind tried to take that to dirty places, and succeeded. I leaned over the bar, getting close enough he’d be able to hear me over the increasing clamor of chatter. And hey, it got me a good whiff of his leather and pine scent, not that overpowering cologne, but authentic trees and outdoors. I played it cool with a coy smile. “Depends on whether or not you’re willing to get your designer boots dirty. If so, the Lupine Trail along Misery Ridge has a view that is well worth the hike.”

The grin that split his tempting lips lit his eyes with a genuinely pleased shine that warmed my stomach and sent tingling fingers tracing down to make my vulva muscles tighten. “I would love to check that out.”

Though I was bending over, offering a nice view down the v of my AC/DC t-shirt, his gaze never left mine. So the guy was more than pretty eyes, a Hollywood face, and designer clothes. Nice, really nice.

His mouth opened, but a pushy customer interrupted him by hollering for me from down the bar. Smile turning apologetic, I whisked off the serve the needy. The place really was hopping for a weeknight. Every table was full and only two bar seats were left empty, both next to TD&D. They’d been occupied when he arrived, but the little stunt with the dart had apparently made the patrons want to be elsewhere. All except for the two I saw approaching out of my peripheral. The oversized black cowboy hat stuck out like a sore thumb, a thumb I dreaded seeing each night.

Looking up slow and dramatic like, Stetson—as I’d come to think of him because of that ridiculous hat—met my gaze and winked one muddy brown eye at me. He swaggered his way to the bar in a gait that suggested his pants bordered on the painful side of being a bit too tight. The heels of working cowboy boots clicked an uneven rhythm that revealed his old bull riding injuries. I sneered at him in response to his coy look. Undeterred, he grinned and licked his lips, revealing a missing tooth behind his canines. The guy with him glared TD&D down as he strutted up to the empty stool on the right side of him. Damn, he was the one who’d thrown the dart. Things were about to get interesting.

“Sonya, this guy bothering you?” Stetson asked.

I rolled my eyes. “Duane, even if I were a tender princess, this guy wouldn’t bother me half as much as you do.”

Duane Stetson—my made-up surname for him, probably not his real one—rested both elbows on the bar and leaned as close as he could get to me. I took a step back to grab a bottle of Jack for a patron and put a bit more distance between Duane and myself.

“Well, hot and bothered wasn’t what I meant,” Duane drawled, thickening his Idaho accent for effect as he licked his lips.

Ugh. I didn’t even try to fight the grossed-out look that came over me. Ignoring it, Duane went on. “Why don’t you let me take you out to dinner after you get off?”

Slinging together a Jack and Coke without taking my narrowed glare off him, I answered, “I’ve decided to swear off food.”

Nodding like the idiot he was, Duane’s smile grew. “I respect a woman who knows when to diet, but girl, you are smoking. You don’t need to shed any pounds.”

I gave him a tight-lipped smile. “And I respect a guy who doesn’t judge women by their bodies,” I said in a carefully controlled voice.

Confusion clouded his eyes, which kind of made them the color of excrement. Or maybe that was just the cynicism he was raising in me. “Ah, come on. I meant it as a compliment. No need to go all feminist on me, Miss Ph.D.” With that, he turned his back on me and plopped onto the stool to TD&D’s left.

Both Duane and his friend leaned onto the bar and faced TD&D, all smiles and slimeball. The pissed look on TD&D’s face made me think he was going to jump to my defense like a knight in shining armor, but he didn’t. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or flattered that he had paid attention to the fact that I liked to handle my own crap. He turned a look on Duane’s friend that could make a lesser man pee his pants. Duane’s friend swallowed hard but maintained his cocky look.

Sensing the brewing brawl, I tried to keep them in my peripheral as I slung a few drinks to people down the bar. When I turned my back I overheard Duane say, “Damn, that is one fine ass.”

My teeth clenched. A glass slammed hard enough onto the wooden bar to ensure I’d have to check it for cracks. “Drop the disrespectful comments, now,” TD&D’s voice rumbled.

“Or what?” Duane egged him on. When TD&D didn’t respond, Duane went on. “You’ll shut it for me, pretty boy? Sonya can take care of herself.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, but I don’t like people who are disrespectful to women. And now that you know that, if you keep running your mouth, you’ll be offending me,” TD&D said in that sexy, scary voice that promised bad things.

In hopes of heading off a fight, I strode down to them, hands on my hips. TD&D fixed Duane with a smile that made the cowboy look like he was staring at a trig question. “How about we handle this like grownups in a way that doesn’t get any of us thrown out. You boys up for a game of darts?” TD&D asked.

Duane’s friend leaped from his stool, a big, goofy smile splitting his face. “Hell yeah we are!”

Inwardly, I cringed. Duane liked to hustle guys at darts on a regular basis. He was pretty good at it. He slapped TD&D on the shoulder hard enough it would have staggered most men, but TD&D didn’t budge an inch. “You’re on, my man.”

TD&D grinned. “And here I thought you didn’t swing my way, what with you harassing Sonya and all.”

The scarlet that erupted in Duane’s cheeks almost made me laugh out loud. I held it in at the last moment. Revulsion pinched his face into an ugly mask of fear and prejudice.

“Hell no, man. I ain’t like that,” he spat.

“You’re not saying there’s something wrong with being gay, are you? Because if you are—”

“Oh come on, are we going to play darts or have a pissing match?” Duane’s friend whined, sounding very uncomfortable with the turn of conversation.

TD&D laughed and slapped Duane on the shoulder, making him jump and stagger. “Relax. I was just messing with you.”

The way Duane’s face scrunched up made it look like he wanted to gnaw TD&D’s hand off. Considering TD&D had at least thirty pounds of muscle on Duane, it looked like that would be a bad idea. But common sense—or really sense of any kind—wasn’t Duane’s thing. The nervous way Duane’s friend danced from foot to foot and kept eyeing the exit revealed that he might have sense enough for both of them. A wicked thread deep inside me wanted to see Duane and TD&D go at it. The side of me that toiled not so tirelessly at becoming a doctor raged against the idiots actually wanting to hurt each other. They both postured for a second, chests puffing up, eyes locking with intent despite the smile on TD&D’s face.

That smile became genuine and too gorgeous for my own good as it turned on me. “I’m coming back to find out where that trail is,” he said.

The power of those captivating eyes of his made my blood pump to my cheeks and heat my skin with what was no doubt a bright pink blush. Smiling against my will, I shook my head and moved to a patron down the bar who hollered for another round. A guy with a gaze that stunning was bad news and that was the last thing I needed right now. The first thing I needed was good tips to help take the edge of the gargantuan student loans that had forced me to take the semester off. I put my cheeriest game face on and got to work.

While I slung drinks to the leering cowboys in their designer hats and cowgirls in their blingy boots that had never seen a drop of cow shit, I watched TD&D. From the bits I occasionally heard over the noise of the bar, they chipped at and teased one another. After a few minutes, though, it became good-natured. Soon they were laughing and slapping one another on the back as they shared tips and tricks for throwing darts. It was all TD&D. He had a way about him that put them at ease, made them laugh, hell, a magnetism that made them want to be around him. And they weren’t the only ones.

Women in their painted-on jeans immediately flocked to the group, cheering TD&D on, pawing at him every time he stepped back to give one of the other guys a turn at throwing. He evaded them with what looked like practiced ease, positioning himself with a stool or a table between them. Though he smiled and spoke polite words to them, his gaze kept returning to me. I didn’t want to be flattered by the fact that he ignored a leggy blond beautiful enough to grace the header of a fashion website. Instead, he watched little old me who looked like I’d walked out of the ghetto of a reservation. He could just be one of those guys that had a fetish about Native women. But it wasn’t sexual fantasy lust I saw in his eyes; it was actual interest.

By the time they finished their dart game, the guys parted like old friends who couldn’t wait to get back together again. Duane and his friend sauntered off to a recently vacated table and TD&D made his way up to the bar. Every stool was occupied, but he managed to slip between two patrons with a smile and a few polite words. Our gazes locked and warmth spread through me. Grinning like a teenager with a crush, I gravitated toward him.

I leaned over the bar so I wouldn’t have to shout. And, I couldn’t lie to myself; I wanted to be closer to him. “That was impressive,” I said.

One eyebrow rose. “The dart game?”

“Yes, but not that. The way you went from a claws-out pissing match to being best buds with those guys. Not many could have done that, let alone would have bothered trying.”

Eyes casting down, shoulders going up in a shrug, he smiled all demure like, and dammit if it wasn’t cute as hell. “My father taught me fighting should always be a last resort.”

“Sounds like you have a wise dad.”

The smile morphed into a serious look. “I do.”

Someone called for a drink down the bar. This time I didn’t want the excuse to stop talking to TD&D. But, tips paid the bills. Shooting him an apologetic smile, I started down the bar. His hand shot out and covered mine. He turned my hand over and placed something in it; a note with a phone number on it.

“No pressure, but I’d love it if you could show me that trail,” he said.

The way those gorgeous eyes pleaded with me from under his dark brows made my insides want to melt. He didn’t seem at all like the bad news I’d thought he was when he first walked in. What would it hurt?

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer or something trying to get me alone in the woods?” I half teased.

He laughed. “You don’t, but I have a feeling you can take care of yourself.”

That definitely charmed the pants off me. Little did he know I was a med student who would capture a spider and take it outside rather than kill it. But I liked that he didn’t underestimate me just because I was a woman, and that he was willing to say so in front of the whole bar.

He gestured to the people in the bar. “Besides, we have all these witnesses that know I asked you to take me there.”

Lips pursed, I nodded. “If I choose to dial these digits, what do I call you?”

His smile became radiant. Before that moment, I never would have thought of a man’s smile as radiant, but damn it all if his wasn’t enough to outshine the sun. The heat it put out could be downright dangerous.

“Raul. Raul Anderson.”

“Raul?” I asked to make sure I’d heard him right. He nodded. “Okay, Raul. You’re on. I’m Sonya.”

His eyes closed for a moment like someone savoring a great piece of chocolate. “Sonya, I look forward to hearing from you.” The way he said my name made my vulva muscles dance.

And just like that, I knew it was a bad idea. But, I also knew I’d be making that phone call.

* * *

Don’t stop now. Keep reading with your copy of CLAWED & CORNERED by City Owl Author, Heather McCorkle, available now!

And join Tina Moss’ newsletter HERE for all the latest sales, releases, and giveaways!

Glossary

NUA—Northern United America. Unification of countries formerly known as Canada, U.S.A., and Mexico under a centralized government.

PCD—Paranormal Crimes Division. An agency of the North United America's Justice Department comprised of fourteen districts. Responsible for the investigation and apprehension of paranormal criminals.

Phage—Unregistered paranormal group. Not recognized by the N.U.A. government. Rumored to survive on flesh. Currently advocating for equal rights.

Psyke—One of the three registered paranormal groups with advanced mental abilities unique to each individual.

Shifter—One of the three registered paranormal groups with the ability to morph into various animals.

SUB—Supernatural or Undead Beings. Acronym utilized by law enforcement.

Vampire—One of the three registered paranormal groups with heightened physical capacities. Survive on blood.

Veritas—Ancient underground organization dedicated to justice for all. Labeled vigilante by the N.U.A. government.

Want more paranormal romance? Try CLAWED & CORNERED by City Owl Author, Heather McCorkle, and discover more from Tina Moss at www.tinamoss.com

A novella beginning the Children of Fenrir full-length novels. Read how it all starts!

Sonja Michaelson has a monumental taste for bad men. So, when an alpha male in motorcycle gear walked into her bar and snatched a dart aimed at his head, she fell so fast and hard her impact could have leveled a small city.

Whether the connection would turn into love or remain lust didn’t matter. The damage had already been done.

Raul Anderson’s mission was simple: find the girl, convince her to turn, bring her back to Hemlock Hollow, and in doing so, save his sister’s life. His target had been primed by a father who loved the lore of their culture and kind, so it should have been easy.

He expected a half-Swedish, half-Cherokee princess used to having everything handed to her, one who would jump at the chance of quintupling her lifespan by becoming a werewolf.

But when he saw the black-haired beauty, holding her own behind the bar and working her butt off to pay her way through med school, it threw a wrench into his plans. And hooked him deep in the heart.

Would love surmount the divide between them or damn them before it even began?

BUY NOW!

Want More City Owl Press Books?

Click here to sign up for the City Owl Press newsletter and be the first to find out about special offers, including FREE book days, contents, giveaways, cover reveals, and more!

Sign up now and become a City Owl Reader today! And join our City Owl Reader-Author group here for even more deals and a whole lot of community and fun!

Acknowledgments

Choosing between writing the magical phrase “the end” and the acknowledgements for the people that make it a reality is an impossible decision. The difference between them, perhaps, is a solitary two words vs. the proper praise for all those dream makers.

Thank you to Bird. This book is dedicated to you as my forever appreciation in fostering a deep love of books in me as a child. Without your dedication to reading and our public libraries, I would not be a writer today.

To my hubs for believing in my dreams and proud of my pursuits. Your support means the world to me. Thanks for herding our two stubborn corgis and holding down the fort. Love you beyond words.

The author support team online and offline is too vast to mention all by name, but special shoutout to my long-time friend, assistant, and fellow author, Danielle DeVor. She helps maintain what little is left of my sanity.

My dear friend, Yelena Casale, has too many talents than should be allowed in one human. But for your editing skills, your constant cheerleading, your unshakeable belief in me, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

My copy editor, Marianne Hull, has my unending gratitude. Your eye for detail is extraordinary, and you’ve made this book better than I ever could alone. Thank you!

You, the reader, are my reason for it all. Your passion for books, your willingness to get lost between the pages, and your support for authors, makes every struggle worth it. Thank you doesn’t feel like enough.

About the Author

TINA MOSS is a USA Today Bestselling Author of urban fantasy, paranormal romance, and sci-fi romance. She lives in NYC with a supportive husband and two alpha corgis, though all the males hog the bed and refuse to share the covers. When not writing, she enjoys reading, watching cheesy horror flicks, traveling, and karate. As a 5'1" Shotokan black belt, she firmly believes that fierce things come in small packages.

www.tinamoss.com

Twitter

Instagram

Facebook

YouTube

About the Publisher

City Owl Press is a cutting edge indie publishing company, bringing the world of romance and speculative fiction to discerning readers.

Escape Your World. Get Lost In Ours.

www.cityowlpress.com

Additional Titles

RED ALERT

By: Tina Moss

USA Today Bestselling Author

Special Agent Jame Bradshaw has five dead senators on her hands...and a pack of trouble between her claws.

A TOUCH OF DARKNESS

By: Yelena Casale & Tina Moss

USA Today Bestselling Authors

Cassie Durrett dreams of the darkness. And lives the nightmare.

Award Winning Urban Fantasy

BLACKBIRD SUMMER

By: Em Shotwell

When the world fears you, being Gifted is a curse.

BLOOD KING

By: Amber K. Bryant

While Sybille’s ability to summon and guide spirits of the undead to the afterlife pays the bills, it comes with colossal risks, including becoming undead herself.

BLOOD ROGUE

By: Linda J. Parisi

There is the blood and can only ever be the blood. So, how will love survive in a world of pain?

BLOODLACED

By: Courtney Maguire

Kanjin hardly view their servants as human. Even less so when they are different. Asagi is different.

CLAWED & CORNERED

By: Heather McCorkle

Sonja Michaelson has a monumental taste for bad men. So, when an alpha male in motorcycle gear walked into her bar, she wasn’t surprised when she fell hard and fast.

FORGOTTEN MAGIC

By: Eden Butler

Bane Illes never smiled. He never spoke.

But each day, that brooding wizard gave Janiver Benoit a glance.

HEX, LOVE, AND ROCK & ROLL

By: Kat Turner

With a business skidding toward bankruptcy and bone-dry bank account, what will happen when Helen hires a witch to cast a money spell?

HOUSE OF ASH & BRIMSTONE

By: Megan Starks

Hell has come to collect, but Gisele Walker has no plans to pay the debt.

MIDNIGHT DESIRE

By: Shari Nichols

Danger and desire collide to form an unlikely alliance between a witch with a sordid past and a special agent who might be her future.

MY SONG’S CURSE

By: Poppy Minnix

Ultimate control has its downside, especially when it comes to romance. But will it be enough to keep them together?

SMOKE AND RITUAL

By: Melissa Sercia

The voices haunt her. Their whispers taunt her with a war she never wanted. But Arya Frost has more to contend with than the cryptic voices disturbing her sleep.

THE NIGHT’S CHOSEN

By: E. E. Hornburg

Chosen of the Moon Goddess. Destined to rule. Fated to marry. A quest to save her family, kingdom, and heart.

TIDES OF TIME

By: Luna Joya

A witchy good girl hiding secrets from her family…

A reformed bad boy who doesn’t know his family’s hidden secrets…

TRUTHSIGHT

By: Miriam Greystone

Rowan and Amy must join forces with the creatures who were once her patients and fight to uncover the one secret that may be powerful enough to save them all.