You've had so many you can't remember?
If I could have hauled off and hit him, I would have. Are you going to tell me you can recall the name of every woman you've slept with?
No. But I sure as hell can recall their faces.
Of every single one? Right through all of your twelve hundred and forty odd years?
Every woman I've slept with for pleasure, most certainly.
Yeah, right. I was really believing that one. But that's not every women you've slept with, is it?
No. He raised a hand, bidding for a weird-looking painting.
I've danced with wolves out of the same sort of need. I couldn't tell you what they looked like let alone what they smelled like. I paused, but couldn't resist adding, Remember what you said a few months ago? That a wolf will jump anything with a dick when the need was on her? I guess it's true.
I didn't put it so crudely.
Maybe not, but the intent was there.
He raised his hand again. I believe you told me you'd never got to that stage before.
I believe I may have lied.
And here I was thinking you were at least honest.
I'm a werewolf—we're all lying whores, aren't we?
He looked at me for several long seconds, his expression vampire clean, then just shook his head and looked away.
The auction continued. Quinn bought two paintings and a dinner for two at some fancy restaurant while I got more and more bored. If this was a sample of the high life, then the high life wasn't for me.
The auction finally finished and dessert arrived. I started to tuck in, then saw Mrs. Hunt on the arm of her husband, heading for the door.
"Time for us to go," Quinn said, wrapping his fingers around my arm as he exchanged quick goodbyes with our tablemates.
And do what, precisely?
Follow them.
We grabbed my coat from the cloakroom, and headed out into the foyer. The air here was cooler, and I shivered. We have our orders.
We have half an hour before we have to head back to the airport. I'd like to see where they go.
Probably straight home after such a fun-packed night. The Hunts had already disappeared. We caught the other lift and headed down.
It's unusual for them to leave a function like this so early.
I shoved on my coat, and quickly did up the buttons. Maybe the general's feeling randy.
He gave me a flat look but didn't bother saying anything. I resisted the impulse to grin. It might not be wise, but damn, baiting him was fun.
The lift came to a halt and the doors opened. The Hunts were already out the main doors and walking down the stairs. We hurried after them, slowing only when the foyer doors opened to let us out.
The night air hit like ice, freezing the bits that were exposed. I crossed my arms, trying to stop my teeth from chattering as Quinn pulled me to a stop on the bottom step, then made a quick call to his driver.
The Hunts walked to the leading cab in the rank, the general opening the door for his wife. In that instant, the sensation of danger hit so hard that it left me gasping for air. Air that screamed a warning that something fast and deadly was tearing through the night toward us.
I threw myself sideways, knocking Quinn out of the way. He cursed, his arms going around me, instinctively cushioning my body with his as we fell to the ground. He grunted as we hit, and his eyes widened. Something burned past my ear, and I twisted around in time to see one side of the glass doors shatter.
Someone had shot at us.
A woman screamed. A high-pitched, wailing sound of horror.
Gut churning, I twisted around again.
Martin Hunt lay on the ground, his face little more than a pulpy mass of blood and bone.
Quinn thrust me off him, and I scrambled to my feet.
"Two shooters," he said. "One from the building directly ahead, one from the right."
"I'll take that one," I said, pointing to the building directly ahead as I kicked off my stilettos.
He nodded, and blurred into night. I grabbed my heels then ran with vampire speed across the road and into the office building. Hitting the guard telepathically, I made him forget he'd seen me as I ran into the nearest stairwell.
There was undoubtedly more than one set of stairs, but right now, the important thing was getting to the roof as fast as possible. I could track the assassin's scent from there.
I ran up, and up. And up. Ran until my legs were on fire, my lungs burned and my stomach was doing cartwheels. Once I reached the roof, I wiped the sweat out of my eyes, then carefully opened the door. Or tried to. The damn thing was locked.
So much for not announcing my presence to the shooter.
I stepped back, and kicked the door with as much force as my quaking limbs could muster. It was apparently quite a lot, because the door crashed open. The cold night air swept in, freezing the sweat on my skin and wrapping the scent of musk and man around me. The killer was still here.
I sniffed, trying to get a sense of direction. The wind swirled, making it difficult to judge where, exactly, he was. And what he was.
Which was unusual. This shooter wasn't human, because I was sensing his presence. So why couldn't I tell which race he was?
I wrapped the shadows around me and stepped out. The dark night and the nearby lights seemed to sweep around me, and the realization that I was so very high up hit like a punch, making my stomach turn and head spin.
Then a sense of impending doom washed over me, and the sick sensations were lost under the sudden need to save myself. I dove sideways, landing with a grunt on the hard concrete, scraping skin off hands and knees. Something pinged against the metal of the door and sparks flew. The shooter had infrared sight. Swearing under my breath, I scrambled to my feet and ran like hell for the nearest cooling tower. Soft pings followed, nipping at my heels like a terrier.
Damn, damn, damn. Back pressed hard against the cooling tower's metal casing, I closed my eyes and breathed deep, trying to get some air into my burning lungs. Trying to control the fear lashing at me. The harsh sounds of sirens bit across the night, mingling with the rumble of traffic. I had to get out of this building before the cops arrived. I couldn't afford to get caught up playing twenty questions.
Swallowing heavily, I concentrated on the strongest noises, zoning them into a separate section of consciousness. Then I zeroed in on the underlying, closer noises. A cricket chirruped to my left. Soft footfalls moved to my right.
I swiped at the sweat running down my face with the sleeve of my jacket, then slipped around the cooling tower and peered over the edge. Nothing but a wide expanse of concrete between me and the cooling tower where the shooter must have stood.
Though the footfalls had ceased, the scent on the wind suggested the man had moved to the rear edge of the stairwell. Maybe he was trying to get around me. Maybe he was simply trying to escape.
I retraced my steps and padded silently to the other side of the stairwell. Once I was close to the corner, I stopped and lowered my shields a little, feeling out the shooter's thoughts. Nothing. He was either mind-blind, or he was shielded against psychic intrusion.
I swore under my breath. So much for taking his mind and rendering him helpless. I'd have to do this the old-fashioned way. I risked a peek around the corner.