It took Saxson Olaru nearly an hour to make it back to the LoDo bar. He had to search every passing vehicle for female passengers; peruse every open restaurant, scanning for the same; and enter every high-rise apartment along the city route while rendering his body invisible.

He could not leave a single stone unturned.

Not when it came to finding—and claiming—his destiny.

As it stood, she had to be within reach—reach being a relative term. At that fateful moment, when the moon had turned bloodred, his destiny had been somewhere close…nearby…within his grasp. The Curse of their kind guaranteed it. But thirty seconds here…sixty seconds there…an extra block or two, traversed; and Saxson could have easily missed her.

He had missed her.

And if he didn’t find her soon, he was going to call out to Julien Lacusta and Saber Alexiares, ask the vampires to get their asses to Denver, post haste. He had already briefed the tracker on the final resolution of the VOSU stalkers, and he hated to bother him again—but he would if he had to. With the help of Nathaniel Silivasi, Saber could set up a perimeter—make sure no one got in or out—while Julien started hunting, tracing every female scent he detected from the bar to the freeway, working his way, one soul at a time.

Scent by scent.

Block by block.

Female after human female.

It would be painstaking, methodical, and slow, but Saxson wouldn’t hesitate to ask the tracker to do it…at least, if it came to that.

His muscles tense, his fangs still throbbing, he yanked on the door to the bar, nearly tugging it off the hinges. He stalked inside, scanned the barstools and booths, and started to pace toward the kitchen—and that was when he saw her, standing in the hallway, just feet from the door to the restroom. He immediately sent an imperious mental command to all the bar’s gawking patrons: Look away! Nothing to see here, folks. Then he turned his attention back to the woman.

She was clutching her left wrist in her right hand, staring at the cryptic markings, and as Saxson zoomed in, he was taken aback by the glaring, unsettling visage: the constellation, the stars of Cetus, looked more like abrasions, dark painful wounds, than a seamless stamp by a deity. For lack of a better description, the enigmatic emblem looked more like a fresh tattoo.

But that wasn’t possible—unless the gods had chosen to harm her.

But why?

He blinked in confusion and stared at her face. She was breathless; she was flushed; and she looked positively petrified. Well, that at least made some sense—she had to know something unnatural was happening. And as for the raw, mysterious nature of the brand on her wrist, humans did not know about the Vampyr, and they sure as heck didn’t know about the celestial gods. There was no way this frightened human female could’ve known about Saxson’s Blood Moon, orchestrated what was happening in the sky, and predicted that his ruling lord was Cetus.

There was no way she could have manipulated the Curse.

Saxson was staring at his destiny.

And he needed to get her out of there.

He peered briefly inside her mind to examine her most recent thoughts, and once again, he drew back in surprise. She wasn’t thinking anything. Her mind was curiously—if not purposefully?—blank. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was one particular thought, a repetitive refrain playing over and over in an endless loop: What’s wrong with my arm? What’s wrong with my arm…

What’s wrong with my arm?

Saxson licked his bottom lip, stole her name from her frontal lobe, and seared an imperious compulsion directly into her mind: Kyla, come to me. He held out his hand and waited.

She jerked back, let go of her arm, and stared fixedly ahead, biting her lower lip in trepidation. Her dark brown eyes met his, and she inhaled sharply, before brushing a thick cluster of waist-length blond hair behind her ear and over her slender shoulder. She gulped, and he repeated the command: Come to me, Kyla.

She began to shuffle forward, instinctively tucking her arm behind her. Again, that was odd, but it really didn’t matter—Saxson had already seen it.

He knew who she was.

“Shh,” he whispered as she trembled before him, her toes almost touching his. He bent his head to whisper in her ear, and placed a soft, gentle hand on her shoulder. “Take my hand, little one, and follow me outside. Do not be afraid. I will not harm you.”

She linked her hand in his and held on loosely as he led her out of the bar, around the corner, and into a dark, concealed storefront: a narrow, shadowed nook.

“Be at ease,” he rasped as he gently rotated her body until she was leaning against the wall, and he was towering above her. He took in her appearance a second time, studying her more closely: She was pretty, very pretty…beautiful, actually. Her dark brown eyes were the color of chestnuts and perfectly oval in shape. Her features were elegant, almost aristocratic: soft, noble, and refined. Her cheekbones were high and distinctly outlined—the same with her delicate chin. And her complexion was smooth, baby-fine, and unblemished. Her lips were heart-shaped and perfect—not too thick, not too thin—with a soft rosy color that seemed natural.

He deepened his compulsion. “Kyla, my name is Saxson Olaru, and I have waited a lifetime to find you. I know that none of this makes sense—at least not right now—but please, don’t be afraid of me.” He swept the backs of his fingers along her sculpted cheek, ever so slowly, and whispered, “I have no intentions of harming you. If anything, I wish to learn how to worship you. Come home with me this night; it is time for our journey to begin.”

The last sentence was rhetorical, of course.

No sane, self-respecting woman would simply comply with such an entreaty from a stranger, but Kyla was under Saxson’s compulsion, and his voice, his vampiric power, left her no room to refuse him.

Which is why her ensuing reply caught him so off guard. “Saxson…” She tried his name on her tongue, just a tentative whisper, and then she nodded. “Your words…your speech…it’s definitely unorthodox, but it doesn’t frighten me—not at all.”

Her heart was racing.

Her palms were sweating.

She was lying about her fear…but why?

“This might sound crazy—as crazy as you sound to me—but I think…I think I know you somehow. I think I’ve always known you.”

He swallowed his desire to speak and listened more attentively.

“I…I…” She reached up to smooth her thumb along his jaw, and he almost jolted—it was so unexpected. “I’ve seen your face a dozen times in my dreams.” She glanced askance, shyly, as if suddenly ashamed. “Does that sound crazy?”

He shook his head; of course it didn’t.

“I mean, I don’t believe in soul-mates or even divine coincidence, but the moment you stepped into that bar…I knew you. I remembered you. I felt your presence like someone I’ve always known, someone I would recognize…anywhere. And now, you’re standing here, beneath the most amazing, supernatural red moon—it almost feels like an omen, if that makes any sense.”

He was about to question her further—ask more about these dreams—when he thought better of it. She was speaking from her own free will, in spite of the compulsion he had woven around her, and she was studying him so intensely, memorizing his features, that he didn’t want to break her concentration.

Above and beyond all that, she had both seen—and made note of—the Cetus Blood Moon.

Perhaps the gods had already seen to their pairing, prepared the groundwork for a decade.

When her dark, curly lashes dropped to half-mast, scanning his lips, his eyes, then his lips again, he nearly shuddered.

Saxson Olaru was no babe in the woods—he was no stranger to female flirtation. While most vampires avoided intimate liaisons for fear of getting too involved, for fear of an unplanned pregnancy, Saxson had always sought…and needed…the intimacy of a woman’s touch. His strikingly handsome face had drawn females to his path like moths to a flame, and he had learned to discern their intentions…hell, even their psyches. He knew which ones he could find solace in, share a tender moment with, versus those who would end up being hurt. Or attached. He knew how to give pleasure, and how to take the same, how to leave a human female feeling fulfilled, rather than empty. And he knew how to use protection.

Both physically and mentally.

He knew how to avoid even a momentary musing, a passing thought that might lead to pregnancy. Saxson Olaru knew how to charm, how to seduce, and how to tease…

And he knew when a woman had just invited him to kiss her.

Drawing in a shallow breath, he bent his head to hers, tunneled his fingers in her long, blond hair, and drew her closer, into his body. And then he pressed his lips to hers.

Softly at first, just a mere touch, the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

Then he molded his soft but firm lips to Kyla’s in a perfect, erotic union.

He tasted the tip of her tongue with a slow, teasing swipe, catching the same with his full bottom lip, and then he gentled his pressure against her mouth, and leisurely—sensually—pulled away.

Her knees buckled beneath her, and he caught her by the waist, flashing a heartbreaking, endearing smile. “I wasn’t expecting that.” His voice was deep and husky, betraying his rising interest.

She nodded and shivered. “I wasn’t, either.” She blushed and looked away. “Um…I…” She gulped and stood there, silently.

“You…you what?” he encouraged, wanting to hear her full thoughts.

She chuckled softly. “I…I don’t usually do that. I mean, not with a man I just met.”

He brushed that same cluster of hair behind her ear once again and ran his finger down the slope of her neck. “It’s okay.”

She shook her head emphatically.

“Kyla, it’s okay.”

She shyly bit her lip. “Thanks. I guess…I think, what I was going to say”—she paused to bite her lip again, only this time, it seemed like a nervous tic—“is just that…just that…”

“Just that?” he prompted.

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” she blurted, her eyes growing wide in surprise, presumably at her own audacity. “I mean, just because I kissed you.” She bit her lower lip a third time, then lowered her gaze toward the ground. “I’m not…I’m not that kind of girl.”

Saxson laughed quietly: a melodious, sonorous sound. “Okayyy,” he purred. “I wasn’t making any assumptions.”

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Kyla,” he said firmly, “you have nothing to fear from me, honestly.” He winked. “Besides, I’m not that kind of guy.” She laughed, and he took an enormous chance by releasing the last of his compulsion, just to test the waters—he hoped she wouldn’t scream. “Come home with me this night, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

To his utter astonishment, his destiny agreed.

* * *

Kyla Sparrow told her heart to stop racing, her mind to slow down, and her libido to heel!

Good Lord, almighty, the male was an angel, or the devil in disguise: His sweet hazel eyes, with numerous speckles of gold, were deep-set, enchanting, and endlessly hypnotic. His eyebrows were perfectly straight—and full—with just a hint of an arch above his pupils, and his cheekbones—she could see every hollow and bony ridge—they were sculpted to finite precision. His nose belonged in an anatomy book as an example of structural perfection, and those lips—good Lord, give her strength—that full bottom lip was perfectly round and slightly turned out in temptation. The masculine slope of his upper lip was thinner in the corners, almost sardonic, growing thick as it crested in the center: pouty, slightly arrogant, yet firm. She could stare at those lips forever.

Never mind what he tasted like…

And his hair, his goatee, the way the former framed his face, and the latter defined his jaw—he had been created to tantalize women.

And Kyla had to be careful.

Very, very careful.

So far, she had played everything just right: She had shown the proper amount of fear when he’d approached her in the bar; she had recognized a light dusting of fog in her mind, the almost imperceptible hint of compulsion as she’d followed him outside; and she had fought to resist the vampiric haze—if only for a few short moments—in order to entice him…

In order to gain his trust.

She had even mentioned the supernatural Blood Moon as if she could actually see it.

It was imperative that she went along with this claiming, that she didn’t raise any suspicions. If the vampire chose to invade her thoughts, to take any long-term memories, she was screwed.

She could not give him a reason to do so.

As it stood, she had to exhibit just enough interest to appease him, but not so much that she seemed too eager. She had to walk a fine, fragile line, which meant she had to check her libido.

Sex was out.

At least for now.

What if he became motivated to insist on an early conversion—in order to command a pregnancy?

She shivered at the thought…

Not only would the conversion fail, but even if she secretly relinquished her immortal soul to try to make a transformation work, pregnancy would be a no-go: Saxson would know within seven to eight hours—the equivalent of a six-week human gestation—that there weren’t any detectable heartbeats.

He would know that something was wrong.

Kyla softened her expression and breathed a sigh of relief, just as he spoke again: “Kyla,” he said firmly, “you have nothing to fear from me, honestly.” He winked, and her stomach did a little flip. “Besides, I’m not that kind of guy.” He paused as if making his own internal calculations, and she felt the vampiric haze lift, from all around her. He was releasing her from his compulsion. “Come home with me this night, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

Kyla smiled faintly.

So, he was trusting her, without coercion, testing the strength of their celestial bond.

She met his gaze directly and flashed a sheepish smile. “Okay,” she whispered, “let’s go.”