Two could play at that. She ran her lips down the angle of his jaw, her tongue flicking the pulse that beat there, hot and salty. At the same time, she worked her fingers underneath the bottom of his T-shirt and began to explore upward, letting her fingers find the hard ridges of muscle that flexed beneath her touch. All that hard work he did paid off. No gym membership required here.
His fingers were playing with the edge of her bra, tracing the lace along the cups, giving feather-light strokes to her nipples. A burning low in her belly made her want to squirm in delicious ways, to explore the hardness beneath the zipper of his jeans. The urge to bite was growing into an ache. Her mouth was watering, already feeling the slide of flesh against her teeth.
Talia pulled away before instinct took over. She whimpered in frustration, her lips still seeking his even as she moved to slide off his lap. Sex and biting were inextricably linked for vampires. Sex also meant undressing, and that meant uncovering her tattoo.
Danger.
Lore’s eyes met hers, the knowledge of her arousal in his dark gaze. It was a very male look: sure of himself and filled with anticipation. He had only to tighten his grip, and she was his. She felt his muscles flex, the calluses on his wide palms rasping against the soft flesh of her waist. His strength closed around her, pointedly keeping her in place. She could read it in the set of his lips: She would surrender and like it—whenever and as often as he chose.
Talia’s mouth went dry, even as other parts of her grew wet in response to his challenge. Fear and desire were a potent brew, and with him she might enjoy the taste.
Yet he released her, his fingers reluctant to let her go even as she drew away and straightened her sweater.
“I can’t,” she said, her teeth near chattering with the repressed tension in those two words.
The look in his eyes said she would and she could.
“Not yet?” he replied after a long moment. “I’ll take a rain check.” His smile promised everything she’d just shied from—everything dark and dangerous and private.
Rain check? Oh, God, let this drought end. But how could it? How could it ever?
“I’m not the right kind of girl. You don’t know what you’re getting into,” Talia said, wishing that didn’t sound so clichéd. But it was true. My daddy will skin you alive. Right after he stakes me, that is.
“I could have a nice hellhound girl if I wanted one.” Lore’s head tilted, and he gave her a mischievous look. “Maybe you’re my walk on the wild side.”
Talia dropped her jaw. Her love life could have been summed up on the side of a cereal box. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I am. A little.”
The phone rang. Lore picked it up. “Hello?”
Talia grabbed a couch cushion, thinking she might smother him with it, but then she heard Perry’s voice, sounding excited. Lore’s expression grew intent.
“What?” he asked. “No, don’t worry. I’ll come to you.”
He hung up the phone and stood up in one gesture.
“What’s going on?” Talia demanded.
When Lore looked down at her, she nearly ducked. Anger and triumph flared in his eyes.
“Perry says he’s got proof that Belenos is here. More surveillance video.”
“That was fast!”
Lore gave a tight smile. “Perry was sure to point out that he knows all the best shortcuts. I’m going to go see what he’s got. Maybe there will be enough of a clue to catch the king.”
Thursday, December 30, 6:00 p.m.
University of Fairview
Lore had to go to Perry because the werewolf was stuck at the university. In the midmorning, a power outage had made the pipes freeze and burst, flooding the downstairs computer lab. Plumbers had made it in, but Perry was called to assess the damage and do what he could to rescue his digital babies.
Lore had been able to drive his truck as far as the university’s main parking lot, but going was slow even with chains. Driving in real winter conditions, he’d quickly learned, was a question of concentration and planning. That didn’t mean more than ten percent of Fairview’s residents concentrated or planned. With so many cars spinning out of control, telephone poles and mailboxes were becoming endangered species.
He was almost pathetically grateful when he was able to park and make the rest of the way on four feet. Now he was making good time along the path to the Cambridge Building, taking the deep drifts in long bounds. Lore rounded the corner of the building, catching a blast of damp, bitter wind in the face.
He hoped Perry’s evidence was good. Frankly, Lore was worried that the airports would be cleared and Omara would show up. The queen was overwhelming at the best of times, and Lore’s plate was more than full as it was. With Belenos, rogues, murder, the election and the Prophets knew what else running amok on his watch, a lesser hound would have been babbling by now. Lore was keeping it together, but he was starting to feel punch-drunk.
The strain was clearly affecting his judgment, if he was spending couch time with Talia. What was he doing? He was supposed to be choosing a mate from the pack, not flirting with vampires. Especially vampires—if Errata’s sources were right—with possible slayer connections. He wasn’t going to jump to conclusions, but that would explain why she could fight like a professional and why she was so closed-mouth about her past. But whatever she’d been, things had changed. What the hell had happened to her?
It would be easy, even smart, to distance himself from a woman who was not only the wrong species but most likely had been raised in the archenemy’s camp. But she was in trouble, and he couldn’t help himself. Her kiss was like nothing else. Once he’d tasted her, there was no going back.
Was his attraction the appeal of forbidden fruit? Was it rebellion because he didn’t want Mavritte or one of the other she-hounds?
No.
Talia was beautiful and smart, and she was brave. He didn’t know all her story, but she was clearly a survivor. No one mourned as deeply as she did without knowing how to love. No one sat down to swap information with a roomful of shape-shifters unless she was prepared to meet them halfway. And to run away from Belenos and steal from him? That showed the kind of spirit Lore wanted guarding his back.
The Alpha couple was a partnership. He’d led his people out of hell, and then gone back for the stragglers. He needed a mate who could do the same in a pinch. He needed someone who wasn’t afraid to kick down the bedroom door and come out swinging a baseball bat. To put it in terms his beast understood, she had to smell right.
Talia was all that and more.
He was spending that couch time for a very good reason. He intended to have her. Hellhound tradition be damned; he wasn’t going to pass up a woman like that before he even got to know her. It’s the twenty-first century, and we’re not in hell anymore. Get with the program.
Lore ducked his head and forged on, finding his way by the occasional emergency lights over the building entrances. He’d just about zoned out, hypnotized by the rhythmic sound of his paws in the snow, when a doorway opened and Perry stuck his head out. “I’ve got hot coffee! Fido’s balls, you look like an Arctic troll!”
Hot coffee! Hallelujah! Lore was about a hundred feet away. He shifted his gait to a higher gear.
He almost felt the shot flick through the air before he heard the crack. It smacked into the doorframe inches from Perry’s head. He ducked back inside as Lore made a bound for the corner of the building.
Sniper rifle, Lore thought, morphing back into human form. He dug for his sidearm through layers of coat and sweater. A gunshot was a big jump from beheading with a sword, but then Perry wasn’t a vampire. Lore would have bet his hind paw the rifle used silver bullets.