The Darkest Kiss

Chapter 8

For a cat who’d only been wearing stilettos for a few weeks, she was damned fast.

I ran after her, dodging tables and people. Some fool in a suit saw her running and gallantly opened the door, then walked away and let it shut, making me waste precious seconds flinging it back open again.

Thankfully, the hallway beyond was relatively clear of people. Enna had already gone through the main entrance doors and swung right, heading toward the river.

I raced after her, startling the doorman by thumping my hand against the door as he began to close it.

“Sorry,” he said, but by then I was almost out of earshot.

The night was cold, filled with the scent of eucalyptus and the slightly muddy aroma that was the Yarra River. But the scent of cat rode the night sharply and it was easy to follow. I raced along the footpath, my stilettos creating a sharp tattoo of sound that echoed across the moonlit gardens that surrounded us. Up ahead, Enna’s vivid orange form ran on, her arms pumping as fast as her feet. It almost looked as if she was so used to running on four legs that she couldn’t quite adjust her motion to two. But it wasn’t helping, because slowly but surely I was reeling her in.

Beyond her, the footpath curved around to the left and disappeared behind some trees. I reached for more speed, wanting to grab her before she got to the corner and went out of my sight, however briefly. She was obviously thinking along similar lines, because her speed increased and her arms and legs became little more than a blur.

She could fucking run, I’ll give her that. Hell, I had the speed of a damn vampire behind me, and I was only making up little bits of ground.

The corner loomed and she disappeared around it. I was maybe two seconds behind her, but it was enough for her to disappear. I cursed and stopped, my nostrils flaring as I sucked in air, trying to catch both my breath and her scent.

It was there, but not as strong. And lower.

She’d shifted shape.

I did the same and, with my nose to the ground, ran on. The grass was damp under my paws and the scents of the nearby eucalyptus and rosebushes were sharp against the night. Her trail went off the footpath, twining through trees and flowers.

Given the meandering line she was taking, I wouldn’t be surprised if she were trying to mingle her scent with the other aromas, thereby making it harder for me to follow. Obviously, a cat had no understanding just how sensitive a wolf’s nose could be.

Her scent was getting stronger, not weaker. I trotted on until I came to the thick, gnarled trunk of a tree and the scent of cat was so strong I was practically drowning in it. I stopped and looked up. Up in the higher branches of the big old elm, two blue eyes glinted back at me.

I shifted shape and said, “Come down, Enna. Or whatever your name really is.”

She snarled in reply, white teeth gleaming.

“Climb down, or I’ll fucking shoot you out of the tree.”

She snarled again, and this time it was a deeper, angrier sound.

Well, the bitch couldn’t say I didn’t warn her. I opened my purse to grab my laser, intending to shoot the damn tree limb out from underneath her, but at that moment, magic caressed the night. I looked up quickly, had a brief glimpse of a cat the size of a tiger, and then she was leaping down, straight at me.

I swore and dove sideways, hitting the ground with a grunt, tearing the side of my dress and sending my purse flying. I had no idea where the laser went, but it wasn’t in my hand when I rolled to my feet. My stilettos chose that particular moment to get stuck in the dirt, so I stumbled a little before I got my balance. From behind came a heavy thump, then footsteps. I swung around in time to see her leap. God, she was big. Bigger than a tiger and with paws as large as dinner plates.

I kicked off my shoes, grabbed one in each hand, and ducked away from her leap. She twisted in midair, lashing out with those thick, sharp claws. Several caught my dress, snagging the flimsy material and tearing into skin.

Pain flared as blood began to run down my arm. I hissed and lashed out with a stiletto. The specially hardened wooden tip of the heel scraped down her side, cutting into her flesh and sending blood splattering across the nearby trees and rosebushes.

She growled—a sound so deep it seemed to vibrate through the earth. I shifted my weight, digging my toes into the dirt a little, getting balance and grip as she hit the ground then launched back at me again.

Her lips were drawn back into a snarl, white teeth gleaming. I waited until the last possible moment, until her claws were almost on me, then dropped low and thrust up with the heel of a stiletto, driving it deep into her belly.

It wouldn’t kill her, but a four-inch heel shoved in her gut wasn’t going to feel real good, either.

Her snarl of rage became a long howl of pain, and then she was running again, her black form quickly disappearing through the trees. I scrambled to my feet, grabbed my purse and the laser, and ran after her.

This time she was even faster. How that was even possible I have no idea. Maybe it was something to do with whatever magic allowed her to change her size.

I followed her scent, ducking and weaving through the trees, moving so fast they were little more than a blur to me. We were looping around, moving back toward the footpath and the river.

I found my stiletto abandoned on the footpath. The trail ended at the river.

Obviously, this particular cat didn’t have an aversion to water. I scanned the dark river but couldn’t see anything or anyone swimming. There were no boats moored nearby, so she couldn’t be using those to hide behind. She was simply gone.

I briefly shifted shape to stop my arm from bleeding, then pressed the com-link button. “Hello, anyone tuned in?”

“I’m always tuned in,” Sal said, voice dry. “Unlike certain werewolves who shall remain nameless.”

I grinned. “Gee, I wonder who you could mean?”

“You’re wasting my time, wolf girl. Get to the point.”

“Well, I just lost the bakeneko’s trail—”

“Make a habit of losing your quarry, and Jack won’t be pleased.”

“She decided to go for a swim in the Yarra and was gone by the time I reached it.”

“God, she had to be desperate. That river is unclean.”

And a vampire would know all about unclean. Although, to give Sal her due, she did wash like a regular person, and smelled rather nice for a vamp. So did Jack, thankfully. “She’s taken over the identity of one Enna Free, which means the real Enna Free is probably dead. You want to get me her address, and send a cleanup team over there?”

“Hang on.”

I walked back and picked up my stiletto. With the money I’d spent on them, I wasn’t about to leave them. And once the blood was washed off, they’d still be totally usable.

“Kade was over there earlier to bring her in,” Sal said. “She wasn’t home, and he didn’t report anything out of the ordinary.”

“I’d say she would have already been dead by then.” And a horse-shifter wasn’t as sensitive to the scent of death as a wolf. “What’s the address?”

“Two-nine-one Napier Street, Fitzroy—”

“She doesn’t live in Toorak?” I interrupted, surprised.

“Toorak isn’t that far,” Sal retorted. “And that section of Fitzroy isn’t exactly cheap, because it’s real close to the Brunswick Street shops and nightlife.”

Which was mainly human-related. No wolf clubs had opened up in the Brunswick area, so most nonhumans kept away. Except for the vampires, who didn’t mind the odd bite on a consenting neck.

“Sounds as if you know the area well.”

“I live there. Need anything else?”

“Warn the cleanup team that the bakeneko is wounded and probably pissed off, because I managed to stab her with a shoe. They may have to go in with guns.”

“I’ll let them know.”

“Good. Were you able to track down Ron Cowden?”

“He lives above the restaurant, which is on the city end of Lygon Street.”

“Did you find anything out about him? Has he got a brother named Jake?”

“Yes, but the system is still trying to track him down.”

“Then give it a kick and make it hurry. This is urgent.”

“Everything always is.”

True. And it could be that I was barking up the wrong tree, anyway. If this was all connected with Young’s sudden disappearance at the end of grade ten, then Ron himself wouldn’t be a target. And I couldn’t imagine his brother being a target, either, considering what Liander had told me.

Still, Young had circled his picture for a reason, so I had to at least check it out.

“Do you know if Kade has rounded up the other Trollops yet?”

“He’s having trouble locating a couple of them.”

Which wouldn’t put him in a good mood. As he’d been known to say—out of Jack’s hearing—he’d joined the Directorate ranks for action, not babysitting duties. “I’ll probably head on over to the Rabbit after I check Napier Street.”

“You don’t get extra for all this unapproved overtime, you know.”

“You know I do it for the love of the job rather than the money,” I said, voice dry.

She sniffed—a disbelieving sound if I’d ever heard one. “Night, wolf.”

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” I replied, and hung up on her snort.

I padded back to the car barefooted. Once there, I opened the trunk and grabbed a plastic bag, dumping my shoes in them. I didn’t know how useful forensics would find them, but better safe than sorry. Although it would mean I wouldn’t get my shoes back for a few weeks.

I shifted shape to heal the wounds a little more, then grabbed a cloth and cleaned the blood from my arm. After slipping on the spare set of practical black shoes I kept for emergencies, I hopped into the car then drove across to Napier Street. It wasn’t that far from Sparkies, so it took me only five minutes or so to get there.

Even so, Cole and his team beat me there.

I grabbed my gun and climbed out of the car. “What, have you suddenly grown wings or something?”

He grimaced. For the first time since I’d met him, he actually looked tired. His face was drawn, there were bags under his eyes, and his chin covered by stubble—though if gray stubble could look good, then his certainly did.

“There’s only two teams doing the so-called day shift at the moment, and these people you and Kade are chasing are running us off our feet.” He swept a hand through his already tousled gray hair and looked at the dark house in front of us. “We were told to go in with guns, so I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

“Thought I’d better be, just in case. I had a run-in with our bakeneko and managed to stab her, but she dove into the river and got away. If she’s here, she could be hurting and extremely pissed off.”

He frowned. “Cats traditionally don’t like water.”

“Yeah, but traditionally cats can’t change into humans or vary the size of their animal, so I don’t think the usual rules can be applied in this case.” I waved a hand at the house. “I’ll go in first and make sure it’s safe.”

“Try not to destroy too much of the scene,” he said dryly.

I smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” He hesitated, and amusement briefly lifted the tiredness from his blue eyes. “And may I just say, that’s a lovely lot of leg you’re flashing there.”

I glanced down, and realized that between my tussle with the bakeneko and my shapeshifting, I’d managed to tear my dress from the knee to the top of my thigh. Luckily for everyone, I’d actually worn panties tonight, otherwise all the goods would be on show. I gave him a grin and a curtsy. “Thank you for the rare compliment.”

I walked past him and approached the wrought-iron gate. The house was dark and silent, and I couldn’t smell anything more than human.

Once at the door, I grabbed the handle and twisted it. Locked. A quick thump with the shoulder soon fixed that. Obviously, the real Enna Free hadn’t been too worried about security, because she didn’t even have decent locks, let alone dead bolts.

I opened the door cautiously. The air that rushed out was filled with the richness of jasmine, but underneath it were notes of blood and death.

A clock ticked softly in one of the rooms to the left, but otherwise it was deathly quiet. Literally, in this case. I couldn’t smell cat, couldn’t sense cat, and didn’t think she was here. Just to be sure, I switched to infrared and scanned the rooms for any sign of body heat—large or small.

Nothing.

The bakeneko wasn’t here. Only death.

I flicked back to normal vision and walked inside. Moonlight shone through the skylights above, lending the hallway a muted, ghostly brightness. White must have been the color choice for all fashion-conscious Trollops, because the only splash of color in Enna’s house was the occasional flare of primary color in the large paintings that dominated a good many walls.

As I got closer to the kitchen, another scent grew in dominance. Seared flesh.

Enna was lying on the no-longer pristine tiles, which was at least something different from the others. She’d been caught in the midst of frying something, by the look of it, and the deep-frying pot must have tipped over as she’d gone down, splashing across her face and leaving behind huge, watery blisters. Not that she would have had much time to worry about the pain of those—not if the half-eaten mess of her body was anything to go by.

I blew out a breath, and tried to ignore the blood and gore scattered everywhere as I walked past the kitchen counter and into the small dining area. I found the bottom half of her missing left leg there. Her missing arm was in the bathroom. That window was open—and probably provided an entry and exit point for the bakeneko.

I shut it, then walked back into the other room and stood there, waiting. There was nothing but coldness and the smell of death in the room. The part of me that could feel the dead wasn’t picking up anything here at all. Like all the other murder scenes, Enna’s soul was suspiciously absent.

Which, when combined with what the drunken witness had seen, certainly seemed to confirm that the bakeneko was consuming the souls.

Either that, or my talent had decided to go AWOL for some damn reason.

Ignoring the shiver that traipsed down my spine, I turned around and walked out. Cole bent to pick up the black bag at his feet, then said, “All clear?”

I nodded. “The bathroom window was open, so that was obviously her entry point. I shut it for safety, so you’ll find my prints there.” I hesitated, then added, “Just be aware that she’s on the loose and keep your weapons handy.”

“I think one of us will smell her before she gets within biting range.”

“Maybe, but be careful anyway.” I gave him a grin. “After all, I’d hate to see that pretty face of yours all disfigured.”

He snorted softly. “Yeah, right.”

He walked past me into the house. I turned and headed back to my car. It only took ten minutes to get to the weirdly named Hot Rabbit restaurant, but it took another ten to find parking. This end of Lygon, with its close proximity to two of the most popular wolf clubs and the resulting accumulation of restaurants and coffee shops, was pretty much on the go twenty-four hours a day—and that made finding somewhere to park difficult no matter what the time.

I climbed out of the car and sucked in a deep breath. A riot of aromas assaulted my senses—cooked meats, fresh breads, and coffee mingled with the scents of men and women. Over it all ran the lushness of sex and desire.

While there were still a lot of humans who came to dine in and visit this area, the closeness of the wolf clubs made it a prime gathering area for nonhumans.

And I loved it. Loved the smells, loved the clubs, even though I’d only been here during the moon heat of late. I missed it, too. Missed the freedom and the fun.

But I missed the caress of someone who cared more. And that was turning out to be a bigger problem than I’d ever imagined it would be.

I turned away from the clubs and headed for the Hot Rabbit.

As it turned out, you couldn’t miss the place. The neon pink sign—complete with pink rabbits that leapt across the board at regular intervals—caught the eye even against all the other competing signs, and the babble of voices and music that flowed out of the place literally assaulted the ears.

The article in the paper had obviously done its work well, because there were a whole lot of people inside. It’d be interesting to see if they kept coming back, or if interest died off in a month or so. Lygon Street tended to have a high turnover of human-accepting dance establishments.

I pushed my way inside. The many scents bludgeoned my senses—perfume, aftershave, and humanity mingling with the heady scent of alcohol and the more luscious aroma of coffee. Either one would do me just fine right now.

The place was done out like an old rock-and-roll bar, and actually reminded me a whole lot of the Rocker, which was only the next block over. Like the Rocker, this place had booth seats that lined one wall, and tables and chairs scattered elsewhere. A dance floor dominated the rear of the room, and it was currently packed—though a lot of people seemed to be chatting more than dancing. But unlike the Rocker, this place had no stairs that led up to a more intimate area.

I made my way through the tables, then pushed through the rows of people waiting at the bar to be served. Ignoring the insults flung my way, I flashed my badge at the nearest bartender.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, barely taking his eyes off the concoction he was mixing.

“Need to talk to your boss, Ron Cowden. He around?”

“Table behind the dance floor,” he said, and shoved two glasses of shiny green froth across the bar. “Ten bucks,” he added to the woman beside me.

I retreated and made my way around the dance floor. The music appeared louder this close to the jukebox, the heavy bass beat pounding through my body and making me want to dance. If this had been a wolf club, I might have. But it would have been only regular-type dancing, not wolf-style.

My hormones might be starved for affection, but my heart still wanted more. And right now, my heart had more will than my hormones.

There were only three tables sitting behind the dance floor, and only one of them occupied. Ron Cowden was even bigger in person than he’d appeared in the photo—a bear of a man with a full bushy beard that was probably meant to make up for the lack of hair up top.

“Ron Cowden?” I said, stopping in front of him and showing him my badge.

He looked me up and down, his gaze barely even lingering on my thigh. Obviously not a leg man.

“Yeah,” he said, grinding out a cigarette and almost instantly lighting up again. The foul smoke drifted upward, tickling my nose and making my eyes water.

“That’s illegal,” I pointed out, taking a step backward.

“It’s my fucking restaurant, and I’ll do what I please.” He sucked on the cigarette for a second, then blew the smoke upward and away from me. At least he wasn’t totally inconsiderate. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to know if you had a brother called Jake who went to Beechworth Secondary College.”

“Interesting,” he said. “You’re the second person who’s asked me that tonight.”

Alarm ran through me. “This other person—was he a man, in his late thirties or early forties, about yea high”—I raised a hand several inches above my own head—“with greasy, stringy hair?”

“Got him in one.” He studied me, blue eyes shrewd. “Why is everyone suddenly interested in my brother?”

“The why doesn’t immediately matter. Where’s your brother, Mr. Cowden? I need to contact him, because he could be in great danger.”

“I doubt it. He’s dead.”

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. “When did this happen?”

“More than five years ago now. Drug overdose, apparently.” He paused, and shook his head. “Bit of a waste of air, my brother was. Got into drugs when he was a teen, and never came out of it.”

“Was there any particular reason he started taking drugs?” Like witnessing something he shouldn’t have? Okay, it was probably a long stretch, but it just seemed odd that Cherry Barnes, Ivan Lang, and Denny Spalding were now all dead, and the one thing they all had in common was being around when Aron Young had disappeared.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“The man who was here before—how did he react when you told him Jake was dead?”

“Well, he wasn’t very happy. Thought he was going to slug me, actually.”

He was probably lucky that he hadn’t been attacked. Young didn’t seem to be holding on to a whole lot of sense at the moment, and it was actually surprising he was restrained enough not to attack the brother of the man he was after.

“He left after that?”

“Yep.” Cowden puffed on his smoke for a moment, then added, “Security got the plate number of his van, if you’re interested.”

“He drove here?” Why on earth would a vampire who could fly want to drive anywhere?

And then I remembered that tiny room and the silver mesh that encased it. He might have been able to shift shape, but maybe he never had much of a chance to practice flying. Most shifters didn’t gain the skill to change until puberty, so if Young had been a late bloomer, his flight skills would probably be poor—especially if he was a slow learner like me. Maybe that was why he’d fallen to the ground after he’d jumped out of Ivan’s window—after being locked up in a small room for so long, he didn’t trust his flight skills to get him out of my way in time.

“I’d appreciate the number.”

He raised a hand and snapped his fingers. A burly-looking brown wolf appeared. “Yes, sir?”

“Could you get our guardian friend here a copy of the plate number?”

“Straightaway.” He took a notebook out of his pocket, wrote down a number, then tore off the sheet and handed it to me.

“Anything else?” Cowden asked.

“No, you’ve been very helpful.” I hesitated, then added, “I’d keep security close, just in case that man returns. He’s responsible for several deaths already, and we’re not sure what his motives are.”

He nodded. I turned to go, then hesitated again. “Tell me, when Jake was in tenth grade at Beechworth, did he ever mention anything unusual happening there?”

Cowden frowned. “Unusual how?”

“Well, did he say anything about disappearances or murders or anything like that?”

“No. I know the cops interviewed him, but they interviewed everyone in that grade after the disappearance of some kid. It shook him up—he was jumping at shadows for weeks.”

“But he never said anything about it to you?”

“Nope.”

“How soon after that did he start taking drugs?”

He puffed on the cigarette for several seconds. “I’m not really sure. I found him drunk a couple of times after the interview, but I couldn’t give you a definitive time as to when he started on the drugs.”

“Did he drink before then?”

“He was a teenager. We all drank. Part of the culture, isn’t it?”

Well no, but that was beside the point. If Jake wasn’t seriously drinking or taking drugs before Young’s disappearance, then something must have happened for him to start afterward.

But what? That was the million-dollar question, and one probably only the investigator at the time would be able to answer. I glanced at my watch. But not now. Though it was barely ten-thirty, a retired police officer might get a little pissed off at being rung at this hour of the evening.

“Well, thanks again for your help, Mr. Cowden. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he said, and got back to his smoke.

I headed back out to my car. Now what? The charity event wouldn’t be finished yet, but I doubted the bakeneko would appear back there. She wasn’t that stupid. And I certainly didn’t want to go back looking like a mess.

But I didn’t want to go home alone, either.

Decision time, I thought, but knew the reality was that there was no real decision to be made. Because there was only ever one thing I could do. Only one thing I wanted to do.

I grabbed the phone and dialed Quinn’s number. It rang for several seconds, then his warm voice said rather formally, “O’Conor speaking.”

“Quinn? Riley.”

“This is a pleasant surprise,” he said, the lilt in his voice returning twofold and his tone dropping an octave. “I wasn’t actually expecting to see or hear from you at all tonight.”

“I need to talk to you.” Need to kiss you, caress you, make love to you. God, I was making myself hot just thinking about it.

“Right away?”

“As soon as you can get away.”

“That can be done immediately. These functions are a duty, not a pleasant pastime.” He hesitated. “Would you like to meet for coffee, or shall we just go back to my hotel room?”

I hesitated. I actually hesitated. God, Kellen leaving me had done my heart more harm than I’d even imagined. “Hotel room. I need information on the Trollops.”

“I hope that’s not all you need,” he said, low voice sending shivers of delight down my spine.

“Probably not.”

“Good. I’ll be waiting at the Langham’s main entrance in ten minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

I hung up, flung the phone into my bag, and started up the car. For the first time in ages, excitement buzzed through my veins and I couldn’t help the silly grin that stretched my lips.

Yeah, Quinn and I had problems. Yep, we could be bad for each other—but we could also be damn good together. And I needed that right now. I really did.

I made it to the Langham in record time and parked in the underground lot nearby. The rates were a killer, but I didn’t care.

Quinn was waiting near the main doors. His warm gaze slid down me, heating my skin to greater degrees, then stopped when it reached my sensible black shoes.

“What happened to the pretty green ones you were wearing?”

“Stabbed a shifter with them.”

“That’s a rather nasty thing to do.” He slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me close. His body pressed against mine, warm, hard, and wonderfully familiar. “What did she do?”

“It was the bakeneko, not an ordinary shifter.”

“Ah. Well, it wouldn’t have done much good, then. Wooden stiletto heels don’t affect bakenekos the way they do us vampires.”

His breath ran across my lips, his mouth so close I could almost taste it.

“I know,” I said, a little breathlessly. “But she was in the form of a rather large cat at the time, and that was the best weapon I had.”

“I’m gathering she got away?”

“Yep. Which is why I’m here. I need to know more about bakenekos.”

“I’ll tell you everything I know—just not right now,” he murmured, dropping feather-light kisses on either cheek before capturing my lips and kissing me long and strong.

Oh God, it was so good.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I said, a long while later.

He smiled, then slid one hand down my arm and wrapped his fingers in mine. Without another word, he tugged me forward, leading me through the Langham’s gold-and-crystal foyer and into an elevator. It swept us upward, and soon we were walking across the plush carpet toward the presidential suite.

He swept the keycard through the lock, then opened the door and ushered me through. I’d never been in a presidential suite before, and this one wasn’t only huge, but it boasted views of the skyline and the city. All the different lights twinkled like rainbow stars, the sheer beauty of them momentarily making me forget my fear of heights. Which was something I’d never thought possible. Maybe becoming a seagull had more benefits than I’d imagined.

I walked across to the plush leather seating, kicked off my shoes, then turned around and watched him stroll toward me. Like before, it was grace and elegance personified, but this time it had an added element. Sheer and utter sexiness.

I licked my lips and saw his gaze follow the movement. Smelled the sudden, delicious rise of desire. “I really need a shower first. I’m all sweaty and horrible.”

A smile teased his lips and creased the corners of his dark eyes. “I’d like to say you could never be horrible, but I’ve seen you in a coffee-deprived state.” He gave a mock shudder. “Horrible doesn’t even begin to classify it.”

I grinned and didn’t deny it. “Which way to the shower?”

“This way.” He caught my hand again and led me through a bedroom bigger than my entire apartment, then into a bathroom that was all white marble and gold elegance.

He reached into the huge double shower and turned on all the jets. Then his gaze met mine, and a sexy smile teased his mouth. “You know, of course, that you haven’t a hope in hell of showering by yourself.”

I arched an eyebrow and said saucily, “Who said I wanted to shower by myself?”

He laughed, and it was such a warm, free sound that tremors of delight ran across my skin. Then he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me against him again. His body was warm and hard against mine, and his erection rubbed my belly erotically. I wished we were naked, wished it was skin on heated skin rather than silk and fiber.

And then all thought disappeared as his lips came down on mine. We kissed, exploring and remembering the taste and feel of each other so slowly and sensually.

“You need to be naked,” he said eventually, his mouth so close to mine that I felt the movement of his lips.

I kissed him lightly, then said, “You’re quite capable of handling that task.”

He smiled, dark eyes shining with amusement and desire. “So I am.”

He skimmed his hands up my waist to my shoulders, then hooked the material with his thumbs and gently pushed the straps down my arms. The dress shimmied down my body and pooled at my feet. Once I stepped free, he picked it up and tossed it toward the chair in the corner.

“Almost there,” he murmured, kissing my lips, my neck, my throat. His tongue lingered on the pulse point at the base of my neck for a moment, and his desire surged, scorching my skin. Then his kisses ran down my body, until he reached my breasts. He kissed one nipple, then the other. I shuddered in delight, arching a little to offer him greater access. He chuckled softly, and caught one nipple with his teeth, nipping it lightly then suckling it. I moaned, and the desire that was already burning through my system became an inferno that seared the very air.

His lips left my breasts and moved down my stomach. I shuddered, enjoying the sensual exploration even as I wished he would hurry.

He slid his fingers through either side of my panties and pushed them down my legs. I stepped out, and he tossed them in the general direction of the dress. Then he kissed my thighs, and the junction between them, before rising and stepping back. His gaze took in my breasts, my curves, my legs, and he sighed.

“Glorious,” he said, his gaze rising to mine again. In the dark depths longing echoed. And a longing that spoke of months, years—centuries, even—not just minutes. Once that would have scared me, but not now. Now, I finally understood it. “Absolutely glorious.”

But it wasn’t his words that had my silly heart doing strange things. It was the way it sounded when he said it. It was the longing and the loneliness I saw in his eyes given voice.

“My turn,” I said, and proceeded to strip him—slowly and deliciously—allowing plenty of time for my fingers to slide across his skin, remembering the contours of his golden body, the feel of all that lean muscle. It was good to be able to touch him again, to tease and arouse him as his scent swirled around me, filling every breath and making my soul sigh in pleasure.

When we were both finally naked, I caught his hand and pulled him under the water. The needle-fine water was hot, but I barely even felt it because of the heat in my own skin.

“I had a dream just like this, once,” I said, as he grabbed the soap and began washing my back and butt.

He raised an eyebrow, dark eyes sparkling with the same sort of heated desire that was running riot through me. “Who said it was a dream?”

A smile teased my lips as I raised an eyebrow. “I was asleep. That makes it a dream.”

“There is no such thing as sleep when our minds are able to connect so intimately.”

He continued to wash me, his movements slow and sensual. Between the heat of the water and the heat of his hands, I was pretty much ready for anything.

“So it wasn’t a dream?”

He shrugged, a movement so eloquent. “It was desire and fulfillment captured on a field only telepaths with a deep connection can reach. Nothing less, nothing more.”

“It was a whole lot more, let me tell you.”

He smiled and kissed my lips. “Would you like that dream to become a reality?”

“Please,” I whispered.

“Your wish is my command.”

He turned me around so that, as in the dream, my back was against the hard heat of his body, his erection nudging my butt as he began to wash my breasts and belly. The scent of lavender touched the air, filling every breath, as tantalizing as the scent of sandalwood and man.

And oh, it felt good. Better, even, than in the dream, and that had been delicious enough.

But now, as then, the sensation of being caught between the heat of his body, the drum of the water, and the caress of his hands was nothing short of tortuous.

I grabbed the soap from him and turned around. His beautiful body gleamed like sculptured pale-gold marble in the half-light of the bathroom, the water reverently caressing every muscle, every curve. I followed the water’s lead, soaping every marvelous inch, until he was quivering with desire and his breathing was as fast as mine.

“Enough,” he murmured, taking the soap from my hand and putting it back in the holder.

I wrapped my arms loosely around his neck and kissed him. He pressed me back against the wet, cool tiles, his mouth hungry against mine, the heat of him flowing around me, through me, burning my skin, and contrasting sharply with the coolness seeping from the tiles.

“God, I missed you,” he said softly. “Missed this.”

“So did I.”

It came out little more than a pant of air as he slid so very slowly into me. For a moment we simply stood there, his body pressed against mine, in mine, filling me, liquefying me, the water pounding our flesh but doing little to dampen the heat that burned between us. His dark gaze came to mine and, in the ebony depths, I saw the spark of determination flare. This vampire wasn’t going to be sent away again without a fight. Wasn’t going to let me go again without a fight.

But that was okay, because there was nowhere else I wanted or needed to be. Not now, and not in the immediate future.

He began to move, slowly at first but gradually getting faster, until it was all passion, heat, and intensity. Until I was drowning in the storm of it but loving every minute. And as before, the sensual heat of our dance had our spirits combining, making this more than one moment of mere intimacy, more than mere pleasure. It made us one in a way that went beyond anything I’d ever experienced with anyone else. Even Kellen.

His movements became fiercer, more urgent, and so very wonderful. The rich ache grew, flaring across my body, becoming a kaleidoscope of sensations that washed through every corner of my mind. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I could only feel. Then the shuddering took hold and I gasped, grabbing his shoulders, clambering up his body to wrap my legs around his waist and push him deeper still. Pleasure exploded between us and my orgasm ripped through my body, shuddered through my soul. He came with me, but as his body flowed into mine, his teeth grazed my neck. I jerked reflexively when they pierced my skin, but the brief flare of pain quickly became something undeniably exquisite, and I came a second time, the orgasm shuddering on as he drank briefly from my neck.

When I finally remembered how to breathe again, I opened my eyes and stared into his.

“That was even better than the dream.”

“Reality often is.”

I smiled. “The reality right now is that I’m beginning to resemble a prune.”

He laughed and turned off the water. I stepped away from him, then squeezed the water from my hair. He handed me a towel so thick and lush my fingers got lost in it, then began to dry himself with another. It was, I thought, as heat stirred anew, a delicious sight.

I shoved my hormones back into their box and began to towel myself dry. “I could really do with a coffee right now.”

“And here I was about to suggest we retire to the bed and continue our refamiliarization process there.” He flung his towel around my shoulders and tugged me close. “Because there’s still lots of you I’m hungry to explore and remember.”

And there was lots of me that wanted to be explored and remembered….

I let my towel drop and pressed myself against him. He was more than half ready to go again, and it sent a shiver of delight traipsing across my skin to know that he was as hungry for me as I was for him. “There’s nothing to say we can’t have coffee and bed. I’m versatile. I can share my pleasures.”

“I’ve heard that about you,” he said, tone serious but ebony eyes alight with amusement. “But I’m not convinced. Perhaps you need to demonstrate this versatility.”

My grin was all cheek, all dare. “Any way you want me to, vampire.”

He laughed, a low rich sound that had my hormones flipping with glee, then he grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the bedroom. “With a challenge like that, it could be a very long time before we surface.”

And it was.

But God, it was good.

One thing about being in the presidential suite, I discovered, was all manner of food being available on call whenever you wanted it.

I sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, the tray in front of me holding a hamburger with all the trappings, a hazelnut coffee in the biggest mug the hotel could find, and chocolate-coated strawberries that were as sweet and delicious as they looked. Right now, I was alternating between them and the burger, and getting some very disapproving looks from Quinn. He might have proved in the last few hours that he wasn’t as old-fashioned when it came to lovemaking as I’d thought, but it seemed he still had a few hang-ups about the way food should be eaten.

Not that he’d actually eaten anything for a very long time.

He’d retreated to the other side of the massive bed and was half under the sheet, his back resting against the padded headrest. He was sipping a red wine and I could smell the tartness of it from where I sat.

I took another bite of the burger, practically moaning as the patty and its juices filled my mouth, then said, “So tell me how to kill this bakeneko.”

“You need to kill her body.”

“That goes without saying, doesn’t it? I mean, killing a body stops most things.”

He raised his glass in salute of my point. “However, the bakeneko is not most things. She is now a creature of magic, and that magic not only gives her the ability to remold her form, but also provides extreme speed and power. She will not be an easy kill.”

Few bad things were. “Do we need to kill her any specific way?”

“Cutting off her head should work.” He took another sip of wine. “If the spirit is caught in dead flesh, it will leave this world and never return.”

“So the spirit itself is never actually killed?”

He shook his head. “But she cannot inhabit the flesh of another. With her body gone, she must move on.”

Well, at least that was something. I gulped down some coffee, discovering it was as delicious as the rest of the feast. “No souls have been present at the murder scene, and we have a witness who swears he saw the creature sucking at a victim’s mouth. I think she’s ingesting the souls—is that possible?”

“Very possible, especially if her attacks are escalating.” He took a sip of wine, then added, “Every soul she consumes strengthens her, but it also fuels her anger and madness. That’s another reason to be very careful.”

“Do bakenekos live on souls?” I shuddered at the thought.

“‘Live’ is perhaps the wrong word. They don’t need souls to survive, even if it does strengthen them. They simply enjoy the pain and the suffering of ripping a soul from its dying body.”

“So it’s all part of the ultimate vengeance?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re rounding up the remaining Trollops.” I popped a strawberry in my mouth and munched on it. “I have a list of fourteen names—would that be all of them?”

“I only know of fourteen, so yes, more than likely. I could check the list if you want.”

I smiled at his tone. “You really don’t like them, do you?”

“It would be more accurate to say that I don’t like the dishonesty of what they do.” He contemplated me for a moment, dark eyes suddenly serious. “You know my feelings about werewolves and their sexual beliefs, but at least werewolves are honest about their needs. There are never any lies or half-truths, and that I can admire.”

I sighed and put down my burger. The time had come for the discussion we’d both been avoiding. “You can’t change what I am, Quinn. Can’t change the way I am.”

He put his wine on the side table and sat up a little straighter. The sheet slipped down his stomach and pooled around the top of his thighs, revealing tantalizing glimpses of short, dark hair.

“I learned that particular lesson the hard way. And the months we have been apart were—” He hesitated, and looked at me. In the ebony depths was an echo of the bleak loneliness I’d seen earlier. “Hard.”

“It didn’t have to be that way, you know.”

He gave me a lopsided smile that had my heart doing odd little flip-flops. “I know. But as you’ve noted on a number of occasions, I am a very old vampire who likes to get his way.”

“Trying to change the very essence of what I am was way out of line.”

“I know, and I have had more than enough time alone to regret it, believe me.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I did what I thought was best for us. I wanted a chance, Riley, and you didn’t seem to be giving me one.”

“I was giving you as many chances as Kellen. I saw him no more than you. You were the one playing games. You were the one who kept on pushing and pushing and pushing.”

“And you were the one who refused to consider that a soul mate might be anything other than a werewolf,” he snapped back, the slightest touch of anger in his voice.

There was nothing I could say to that, because the accusation was true. Finding my wolf soul mate was a dream I’d lived for for as long as I could remember, and it wasn’t one that I could give up easily—even now, when much of that dream had already been shattered to dust and blown away by fate.

He sighed, and it was a sound of frustration. “I can’t let it end here, Riley. There’s just too much that’s good between us.”

I picked up my coffee, cradling it between my hands and letting it warm my fingers. “Do you remember Dia?”

He frowned. “The clone? The one whose baby we rescued?”

“Yes. She once asked me a very interesting question.”

A dark eyebrow arched. “And what might that have been?”

I took a sip of coffee, then said, “She once asked if a being with two souls can have just the one soul mate.”

Understanding, and perhaps just the slightest hint of joy, flitted through the ebony depths. “Did you ever come up with an answer?”

“No.” I gave him a lopsided smile. “And given the shit fate has been throwing my way of late, I’m not entirely sure I’ll ever uncover the answer. But the point she was trying to make is the same one you’ve been making—I’m not just a wolf. I’m part vampire, as well. It’s entirely possible that the two halves of my soul have different expectations and different needs.”

“Entirely possible,” he agreed, his voice solemn but a delicious mix of desire and relief burning in his dark eyes. “And any other—shall we say, less cultured—vampire would be tempted to say ‘I told you so’ here.”

I laughed and threw a strawberry at him. He ducked out of its way, and the strawberry hit the lamp on the bedside table beside him and bounced off into the middle of the room.

I uncrossed my feet and rose to retrieve it. There was no point in wasting a perfectly edible strawberry, after all. “I still believe I have a wolf soul mate out there somewhere, Quinn, so it won’t ever be just you and me.”

“But will you continue to be the free and easy wolf that I first met months and months ago?”

I padded across the carpet, my toes getting lost in the thick fibers. “Hey, you fell for that werewolf, so she can’t have been too bad.”

“She wasn’t. And she still isn’t. But I’ve always desired more than being just another number on speed dial.”

I snorted softly. “You were never on speed dial.”

“Well, that makes the situation even worse.” His voice was dry, but amusement lingered near his lips. “As I keep saying, what we have deserves more than that.”

I bit into the strawberry, catching the bits of chocolate that flaked off with my free hand. “I think we need to go back to the very beginning and start again. I think we need to date, and learn to be friends, before we decide on anything else.”

“And forgo sex? After the sex we just had? Are you crazy?”

I laughed. “I am not suggesting we forgo sex. I’m just suggesting we include all the other regular relationship stuff, as well. We’ve never really had that, you know.”

He sobered. “And a good part of that was my fault.”

“Yep,” I agreed, then laughingly ducked the pillow he threw at me. “Hey, at least I never said it was all your fault. I’ve come that far.”

“I suppose I should be grateful for small mercies.”

“You should,” I said in a haughty tone, then laughed softly. “I don’t care who was to blame, Quinn. I just want to start all over again—and this time, I want to try and make it right. Or as right as you and I could ever be.”

“And hearing that makes my old heart want to dance with joy.”

I snorted softly and walked back to my side of the bed to grab my coffee. But as I did so, pain hit—pain so deep it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. The world was suddenly spinning, turning, falling, and I couldn’t think and couldn’t breathe. There was only pain, mind-numbing pain.

Only it wasn’t mine.

It was Rhoan’s.