He watched from the shadows as Gyth cradled the woman against his body.
He’d marked her. Taken her as a mate. Did the good doctor know?
She was such an Other expert…she had to suspect.
Who would have thought? The doctor, a fitting mate for a wolf shifter.
Apparently, there was more to Emily Drake than met the eye.
Not just anyone could mate with the wolves.
But Emily could.
How very interesting.
Colin held her close for another moment, then eased Emily to her feet. He grabbed his torn jeans, tried to cover his body. Shouldered into what was left of his shirt and reached for her again.
His posture was possessive, protective as he led her from the alley.
It was a pity that the detective had just given away his weakness.
A woman.
A weak, human woman.
The humans…they died so easily. And screamed so well.
Time for another kill.
The doctor had already been on his list. Had been from the moment he’d learned of Gillian’s appointment with her.
No loose ends.
But now, the game had changed.
He’d have to use care. The detective guarded his little doctor so well. He’d have to draw her away from him, make them both vulnerable.
A smile curved his lips, pressed against his fangs.
And he knew just how to bait his trap.
Emily awoke with a start the next morning. Her heart was racing as memories of a twisted nightmare drifted from her mind. She’d been hunted, bitten…
Not a dream, she realized, her hand lifting to touch her neck. The flesh was sore, slightly raised.
Last night, Colin had bitten her. Taken her blood.
Oh shit.
She swallowed, glancing around the room. His room. She didn’t remember much about the ride back to Colin’s place. She’d been groggy from pleasure and…freaking blood loss.
She’d heard of shifters biting their prey before, of course. Panthers, lions, bears…they all did it-often in human form just with their sharpened teeth. Supposedly, the blood gave them a sexual boost.
But she’d also heard of shifters taking the blood of their mates. And last night, with Colin, she hadn’t felt like prey.
She’d felt like a mate.
Shit.
She’d always thought she’d wind up with some nice, easygoing, normal guy. A banker or an accountant or something equally boring and nondangerous.
Not a wolf shifter.
What had she done?
And why was the house so silent? "Colin?" No response. Emily raised her voice, tried again, "Colin!"
Nothing. She glanced at the bedside clock. Eight-thirty. He’d probably already gone to the station.
There was a bag near the foot of the bed. Emily saw the bright logo on the side. Her new clothes.
How had they gotten there? She’d thought she left them in her car at the station-
A faint beeping filled the room, and Emily recognized her ring tone. She stumbled from the bed, finding her purse on the floor. She grabbed the phone. "Drake."
"Dr. Drake…it’s Smith."
The ME’s voice sounded slightly distorted. Emily hurried across the room in an attempt to get better reception. "Smith? What is it?"
"Need…see…you."
Her voice was too high, Emily thought, and the fear she heard had nothing to do with bad reception. Had Smith found out something about the case? About the Other? "A-all right. Are you at the lab?"
"Yes. Hurry." The call ended with a click.
Emily frowned down at the phone.
Colin had been busy, Emily realized. When she went outside, she found her car waiting for her. That explains the clothes. She’d left the new bag of clothing on her backseat.
Twenty minutes later, she was walking into the station. She deliberately avoided Colin’s floor, not wanting to see him then. She’d left her hair loose in an effort to hide the bruise on her throat.
She didn’t know what she’d do if she saw him. Kiss him…or hit the bastard as hard as she could. Damn but she felt so confused. She wanted him, there was no denying that. But more, she’d started to trust Colin, and she hadn’t trusted a man in years.
She was in trouble. Serious trouble. Because she wasn’t exactly sure where the physical need for Colin ended and where something much more serious began.
The elevator chimed and the doors opened on the bottom floor. Emily stepped into the hallway, hearing the faint beat of Smith’s jazz music. Her high heels clicked on the floor as she stepped forward. She pushed open the door to the lab. "Smith, I’m here-"
Her words ended on a rush of breath as she saw the puddle of blood near Smith’s desk.
Maybe I’ll go for a woman again the next time too.
No, oh God, no.
"Smith!" Emily ran forward, screaming the ME’s name. Her shoes slipped in the blood.
Oh shit. The lab was trashed. Desks overturned. Files littering the floor. Equipment smashed.
More blood. Pooling on the floor.
But no body. No sign of Smith.
Without a hesitation, Emily lowered her mental shields. She had to know if the Butcher had been there.
The rage hit her, driving her to her knees. The same black taint of power that she’d felt before lingered in the air.
The Night Butcher. But it looked like the bastard had changed his MO. He’d struck during the day. When no one would suspect.
And he’d taken Smith.
Why? Emily stood slowly, knees shaking. Her gaze swept over the lab. He left his kills. Left them to taunt the police. There was no reason for him to take Smith.
Unless…
Emily turned on her heel and ran down the hall.
Unless the bastard had kept her alive.
Twelve hours had passed. Emily sat at Colin’s desk, a mug of coffee cradled in her hands.
McNeal paced in front of her, his face blood red. "Not one fucking cop saw him! The asshole came into my station, took Smith, and not one fucking cop saw him!"
It was the same thing he’d been saying for hours. His hands were shaking, and his eyes were wild with worry and rage.
There was something there, Emily thought. The way McNeal was acting, he and Smith were more than just-
Colin’s phone rang. They all seemed to freeze, then Colin’s hand flashed out, jerked up the black receiver.
"Gyth."
His eyes widened and he motioned to Brooks. His partner instantly turned on the small, black tracking device that was attached to the phone.
The station fell silent as Colin’s call echoed on the nearby speaker.
"Were you waiting for my call, Detective?" The voice was distorted, robotic.
"Who is this?" Colin demanded, his knuckles whitening around the phone.
"You know who I am."
"No, I don’t. So why don’t you just-"
"The press calls me the Night Butcher, but as you’ve seen, I don’t just hunt at night." He laughed, a grating sound that sent a shiver down Emily’s back.
"Ask the bastard about Smith," McNeal ordered.
"I want to talk to Smith," Colin snapped.
"Ah, yes, I figured you would. Good thing I haven’t ripped her throat out, yet. It would make talking so hard."
A woman’s scream echoed across the line.
Smith.
"M-McNeal, h-help-" A pain-filled moan broke her words.
More laughter. And dead silence from Smith.
Emily swallowed.
The officers gathered around her were pale, their faces tight with concentration.
But Colin…he had rage in his eyes. So much rage. The beast wants out.
"What the fuck do you want, Butcher?"
Silence. Too long. Too thick.
Colin gritted his teeth. "Dammit-"
"I have the wrong doctor."
Emily’s blood froze.
Colin’s gaze shot to hers.
"I want the other one."
His stare never left her. "I don’t know what you’re talking about, you crazy bastard, but-"