Victor leapt over the high balustrade with no fear, his feet landing on the metal fire escape, his hands gripping the handrails as he pounded down the metal stairs. Flint was still shouting after him, and he was right on his tail, however, Victor didn’t care, his only thought was to find the person whose scent summoned him.

It was as if it were pulling him with an invisible force, calling to something deep inside him and he had no say in the matter. His body was propelling him forward on its own accord, moving faster with every breath he took, his speed increasing until he reached what he deemed a safe height . . . then he bunched his thigh muscles and jumped.

“Victor!” Flint howled into the night sky as his body flew down, down, down, landing gracefully on the sidewalk momentarily before he took off running toward Central Park.

He dashed across the road, leaping over a yellow cab that dared to get in his way, his hand slapping hard on the roof as he snarled in anger at the audacity of the driver at slowing him down. Rage ran through him as his feet touched down, his drive to reach the owner of the scent growing by the second. His stomach clenched, his nostrils flared searching for her aroma, and his heart flared when he caught a slight touch of her taste on his tongue—honey and wildflowers—blasting his taste buds afire with a yearning he’d never encountered in his centuries long life.

His legs picked up speed, powering him on, bunching beneath him to leap over the fence and finally into the park, his Vampire senses leading the way. The barest whiff of the trail was left, wafting away on the wind, his heart thundering with panic as he zoomed through the trees of the park. He came near to the zoo, the beasts inside kicking up a ruckus when they felt his presence, but he ignored them, shutting out their noise as he tried to locate the elusive odor. It was now only a trace left in the air, a mere suggestion in the area, but still he plowed on, desperation urging him to find the owner.

Careening around a thicket of bushes he crashed into a hard body, his hands reaching to throw the interloper out of his way. Instead he was met with resistance and a voice he knew well.

“Victor Strong, pray tell, why are you tearing around like a madman in Central Park in the middle of the night?”

Victor barely controlled himself as he stepped back. Honey and wildflowers no longer to be found anywhere. His heart slowly returning to normal as he looked around, praying that the aroma would return . . . together with the person it belonged to.

“I asked you a question.”

Damn! Clarence Collins, one of The Directive’s top investigators stood before him, arms crossed and looking as suave and cool as usual. That didn’t fool Victor. He knew the man well. The Directive policed all Supernatural beings throughout the globe and if one of their top enforcers was here then that meant trouble with a capital T.

Clarence’s perfectly coiffed brown hair didn’t move as he tilted his head, his dark brown eyes scrutinizing Victor as the sound of running footsteps coming up fast behind him heralded the arrival of Flint. The Enforcer’s eyebrow raised as his bodyguard skidded to a stop effortlessly, his voice nonplussed as he sidled up to stand beside Victor.

“There you are. See, I told you I’d catch you . . . pay up, boss. You lost the wager.” Flint held his hand out, smirking with an evil glint in his dark eyes.

“Wager?” Clarence asked, looking between them, sizing them up with his legendary Enforcer’s inspection, using every one of his senses. Victor could feel it as Clarence probed for deceit as Flint waggled his fingers, waiting for his reward.

Victor slapped Flint’s hand away roughly. “You would never have caught me if it weren’t for Clarence here holding me up. I was miles ahead of you and you know it.”

“What are you two talking about?” Clarence scowled at them both.

Flint shook his head at Victor, sighing dramatically for good measure. “Sore loser, that’s what you are.” Then he turned to the Enforcer. “We were just having some fun . . . rather I was. This old guy wasn’t because he knew I’d catch him, even after I gave him a head start.”

“Nonsense,” Victor barked, joining in Flint’s ruse. “As I said, Clarence interrupted and if it weren’t for that, I would be back at home enjoying a drink and you’d still be running around out here . . . out of breath and owing me a hundred bucks.”

Clarence’s eyes squinted at them both, obviously unsure whether they were lying, or not. “Did you happen across a Wolf on this wager? Or any other Vampires?”

Victor turned his attention back to The Directive’s man, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t see anyone at all. Why? Is there trouble in the area I should know about, Clarence?”

He saw the man deliberating whether to divulge the reason for his presence in New York. His eyes flitting away to the side for several moments before returning to Victor’s. “I’ve had reports of a rogue Wolf in the area and at least two Vampires that are on my radar. I am unsure if they’re connected but they’ve all been sighted within Central Park and I don’t believe in coincidence.”

Victor didn’t either. Not when it came to rogue Wolves and Vampires in the same vicinity. He fought to control his reaction to the news. He refused to give Clarence any indication that he was upset, hell, he wasn’t upset . . . he was fucking fuming. The thought of the owner of the honey and wildflower scent being anywhere near a rogue Wolf and two Vampires that had gone feral was having a very profound effect on him. Doing strange things to him and causing an anger so vicious, so raw, and primal to fire up inside him that it took all his immense power to control it and hide his reaction from both men.

He looked around, sniffing the air for any signs of the woman he’d sought, but found none. “I find no sign of any other Vampires.” He covered his action seamlessly, shrugging as he turned back to Clarence. “Although, I have to admit, I am concerned that you’re here and I’ve not been informed that there’s an issue in my area.”

“The Directive is not required to alert anyone . . . not even you,” Clarence replied derisively, his face a mask of aloof calm. As usual.

Damn, the man annoyed the shit out of Victor. Always had.

“That may be, but I would think that it would be polite, don’t you?” Victor shot back, his own tone harsh and cold.

“I suppose, as your humble abode is nearby, it might be beneficial if you could keep watch for any trouble.” Clarence reached into his inside suit pocket, tugging out a business card and holding it out. “My number . . . in case you see anything useful. Or come by any other information that I can use.”

Victor bristled. Humble abode? Fucking asshole. He owned three entire buildings facing Central Park . . . prime locations in New York City that would fetch him many billions if he was of the mind to put them on the market. They housed several of his businesses, with apartments for some of his key employees. However, the building with his home only had one of his most exclusive conglomerates and Flint’s apartment below his own three floor dwelling that had everything from a private cinema to a rooftop swimming pool. The man was obviously trying to rile him by calling it a humble fucking abode!

“I’ll alert my security team and they’ll be in touch if anything turns up.” Victor refused to accept the offered card. Instead he inclined his head at Flint who stepped forward to swipe the card and pocket it with a grin at the obvious insult.

“The boys will be agog with excitement at helping.” Flint added fuel to the fire as he stood back, arms clasped behind his back.

Clarence scowled at him briefly before focusing back on Victor. “The Directive appreciates your cooperation. I’ll be here until this matter has been dealt with to my satisfaction.”

Just as Victor thought he was getting rid of the man Clarence paused, his nostrils flaring and his eyes peering intently over at him. “I was under the impression that you no longer partook of human blood, Victor. Yet, here you are with the unmistakable scent of not one, but several humans . . .”

Victor’s hand shot up, halting the man. “That’s none of your concern. I broke no laws. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s late and I’m done here. Good night, Clarence.”

He didn’t wait for the man to say another word, turning on his heel and using his Vampire ability to speed away. Anger at so many things whizzing through his system. At not locating the owner of the scent that had mesmerized him, at being halted by Clarence Fucking Collins, and last but by no means least . . . that he’d called him out on feeding on human blood again. Damn it to hell and back. That wasn’t information he wanted to become public knowledge, so he hoped that Clarence kept his mouth shut. Or at least that he only reported it back to his bosses at the Directive, if at all. After all, he’d not done anything wrong, not broken any of their laws . . . so why the fuck did he feel so bad about the whole damn thing?

What was worse was the urge to go straight back and do it all over again.