Chapter Five
As Dominic plopped down on Crack House Coffee’s leather loveseat, he swiped a bead of sweat away from his temple and surreptitiously sniffed his armpit. The sun had gone down over an hour ago, but it was still hotter than a mofo outside. The Pathfinder’s AC had crapped out on the way back from Stillwater—one more thing he had to find time to take care of—but thankfully his anti-perspirant was holding.
At least one thing was going right today.
The Twins game had just ended, and the place was a madhouse. Every table was full, but Mila hadn’t arrived yet. He had a couple of minutes to check In Like Quinn. Had anyone responded to his comment about Jacoby Woolf? He flicked at his phone and squinted at the screen.
This comment has been moderated.
She’d modded him? What the…?
With a few more pokes and swipes, he went to the financial section, to the comment he’d left about Sebastiani Labs’ corrupt board of directors. That one was gone, too—whitewashed, scrubbed away. His father had warned him that Tia Quinn was more concerned about preserving access rather than speaking truth to power, and here was proof. She’d failed the test—not surprising, given her tainted blood.
When he’d first started digging into her background, he’d been curious how she earned a living, because ILQ didn’t accept advertising. He hadn’t been surprised to find old family money and a massive trust fund—nothing unique there; even the most clueless vampire could amass a fortune when investments had hundreds of years to appreciate in value—but the genealogy database had revealed a nasty surprise: her fraternal grandmother was a faerie.
Faeries were empathic. Some could gauge complete strangers’ emotional states with pinpoint accuracy, and those with off-the-chart skills could influence others’ feelings telepathically.
She’d probably sensed him following her from the start. Hell, he was probably the reason she’d moved away from the city in the first place.
Thankfully, Tia was an infant in vampire years, so at least he didn’t have to worry about her thralling or glamouring him, but…a vamp/faerie cross? How did each species’ innate abilities combine in Tia Quinn? She was a wild card, an unknown quantity.
Someone tapped on the plate-glass window. There was Mila, smiling at him from the other side. He smiled back. With a tiny wave, she pivoted and strode toward the entrance, eating up the sidewalk with long, confident strides.
All thoughts of Tia Quinn vanished.
He’d known Mila was pretty, but in casual clothes she was a knockout. She wore skin-tight, low-riding jeans that showcased long legs and a first-class ass, and a brown leather belt clung for its life at her hips. A thin, long-sleeved white T-shirt covered her arms down to the wrists, but exposed a slice of belly just above the belt. Her dark hair was pulled up in a loose bun. A colorful scarf hung from her neck, and she carried a bright blue jacket.
He inhaled slowly, felt his chest expand. He hadn’t mistaken the attraction he’d felt at the GPL meeting, and…it really complicated things. He’d asked her out so he could pick her brain about her job—having access to patient information could really help the GPL’s cause—but his body had an agenda of its own.
When Mila entered the coffee shop, she stepped out of the traffic pattern and slipped the jacket on, covering her graceful arms and small, high breasts with fabric encrusted with beading. Strappy leather sandals exposed her feet, and her scorching red toenails screamed sex. He stood as she approached, suddenly conscious of his plain T-shirt and no-name jeans.
She looked him up and down with an approving smile. “Hello.”
The hair on his arms stood at attention. “Hey.” After a slight hesitation, he leaned down and kissed her cheeks. Her scent, a combination of a light, citrusy perfume, fabric softener, and musk, swirled in his head. “Please, sit down.”
“Thanks.” She set the purse on the floor and curled into the corner of the loveseat, her feet hanging over the edge so she didn’t transfer dirt from her sandals. “I haven’t had my first cup of coffee yet.”
Vampire, he reminded himself as he sat. She’d probably just woken up. “I could use a cup myself.”
“Long day?”
“Yeah.” And it wasn’t going to end once he got home. The clothes he’d worn delivering Tia’s surprise earlier that day were stuffed in a duffel bag in the back of the Pathfinder. He had to wash them before his mother and sister picked up the unusual scent.
“With your father in the hospital, I imagine you have a lot on your plate right now.” Mila’s porcelain skin glowed in the light of the nearby floor lamp. “Just let me know when you need to leave.”
He nodded.
“Hi, there.” A waiter with flame tattoos climbing his arms suddenly appeared on the other side of the coffee table. “What can I get for you tonight?”
“I’ll have a red cappuccino, please,” Mila said. “Caffeinated.”
His first week working at the health club had started with a rotation through the snack bar. Though he’d learned to disguise his revulsion, blood drinks still squicked him out. “A tall Crack House Blend, please.” A big cup of the coffee house’s namesake beverage should do the trick. “Caffeinated, no cream or sugar.” If Mila was surprised that he’d ordered a caffeinated drink at 10:00 p.m. on a weeknight, she didn’t show it. “Can you drop in a couple of ice cubes?” The sooner he could mainline the kicky brew, the more alert he’d be.
The waiter nodded. “Be right back.”
Silence as he walked away.
“I’m nervous,” Mila blurted.
He laughed in relief. “Me, too.”
She leaned the slightest bit closer. “Somehow meeting here by ourselves seems a lot more…loaded than it did when we talked at The Ivy.”
She probably hadn’t intended the movement to be flirtatious, but his body sure interpreted that way. The air suddenly seemed heavy and viscous.
They shared some small talk—the hideous traffic delays caused by summertime road construction, the weather, the Minnesota Twins’ winning streak—while they waited for their coffee. The conversation flowed smoothly from subject to subject as they got to know each other better. The longer they talked, the more Mila seemed to relax, her face bright and animated, curving her body toward his. She listened as if she was genuinely interested in what he said.
Where had he gotten the impression that she was snooty and stuck up?
The waiter came back with their coffee, setting it on the low table in front of the couch before leaving. Mila picked up the bowl-shaped mug in both hands and took several dainty sips, closing her eyes and humming in appreciation. When she came up for air, a dollop of pink-tinged foam clung to her upper lip. She swiped it away with her tongue.
Jesus. He took a quick gulp of his own life-saving brew. Thankfully, the ice cubes had done their job.
“So, tell me about your job at the health club. I worked at a hotel one summer, back when I was in school.” Mila’s eyes rolled in self-deprecating amusement. “Let’s just say I learned more about human nature than any teenager should.”
Once he talked about his work, he could ask about hers. “I’m one of the club’s assistant managers.” He described his day-to-day responsibilities—facilities management, administration, reams of paperwork—certain he was boring her stiff. “I started working there after I graduated from the U in May.” Had graduation only been three months ago? With what had happened to his dad, the big party his parents had thrown for him had faded from his memory. “I’m learning the ropes from Andi Woolf. She manages the place.”
“The Alpha’s daughter, right?” She sidled closer. “Does Krispin Woolf ever show up at the club?”
“Not that I’ve seen.” Actually, the last place he’d seen the Alpha had been at Memorial Hospital, just a couple of nights ago. Flanked by bodyguards, he’d arrived just as Dominic was leaving.
“Andi seems nice,” Mila said. “I’ve seen her at Underbelly a couple of times.”
He tried to hide his surprise. Mila Stanton was the last person he could envision drinking, dancing, and cutting loose at the raucous nightclub next door—but then again, she’d proven several of his assumptions wrong already. There was obviously more to her than met the eye, not that what met the eye wasn’t very, very fine. “How about you?” He took another sip from the tall black mug. “It must be interesting working in a hospital.”
She shrugged one thin shoulder. “It doesn’t seem like a hospital to me. I park in the ramp, badge into the IT department, and then sit in a cube. Sometimes, for an exciting change of scenery, I go downstairs to the server room. It’s warmer there.”
“Are you warm enough now?” He gestured to her jacket. “The AC is jacked in here.”
“I’m fine, thanks. I’m always cold, no matter what the season.” A shadow seemed to cross her face, but it quickly disappeared. “Thin blood, I guess.”
“So, what is it you actually do at the hospital? When we talked the other night, I was a little surprised you seemed to know so much about my dad’s condition.”
Color flooded her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It was a complete invasion of his privacy—”
“No.” He laid his hand on her forearm. “I’m not upset. I just wondered how you—” he casually shrugged “—knew. Aren’t there policies and procedures about that?”
“There are, definitely, even though we’re not bound by human law. But policies and procedures don’t really account for someone whose job requires them to analyze huge volumes of data, and—” she lowered her voice and slanted him a guilty glance “—who has a photographic memory.”
“You remember everything you see? Everything you read? How awesome!” And how potentially useful. He shot her a teasing glance. “I bet that came in really handy in school, studying for exams.”
She seemed to relax at his reaction, tucking a tendril of dark hair behind her ear. “Sure, but it can suck, too. Intake records at the ER? Surgical reports?” A shudder wracked her slim frame. “Just one glimpse of some of my test data makes me want to reach for the brain bleach.”
“I can imagine.” If she could read the data, it wasn’t encrypted. Could she query medical records without setting off red flags? Questions buzzed like bees in a hive. She had a treasure trove of information stored in her head.
She suddenly seemed spooked about what she’d just revealed, because she shrank back against the loveseat, focusing on her cappuccino like it held the secrets of the universe. “So, I have to ask. Do you find GPL meetings as big a waste of time as I do?”
“Thank you! I thought it was just me.”
“Nope.”
“I don’t know why I even bother to go anymore.”
They both knew why; their parents expected it. The odd sense of communion he’d felt with her deepened. “It’s just one big party,” he said, sighing. “We haven’t had a concrete mission for ages. And talk about hypocrisy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jacoby Woolf, and his...what’s his health problem called again?”
“He has a motor neuron disease, like ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease in humans.”
She’d answered his question without batting an eyelash. What other data did she have available at her fingertips? Go slow. “All I can say is, it must be nice to have power and connections.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “If Jacoby Woolf was anyone else’s son…” He drew his finger across his throat in a slashing motion.
“The Old Ways?” She looked aghast. “You cannot be serious.” He could smell her anger, and an odd, inexplicable panic. “Jacoby Woolf was perfectly healthy at birth. His condition wasn’t diagnosed until a couple of years ago, when he started having mobility issues, and he’d been the Beta for years by that point.” She looked at him like he had the intelligence of an amoeba. “Seriously, what do you expect the Alpha to do?”
“Put him out of his misery, like any good father would.”
She recoiled. A wave of cappuccino sloshed onto her jacket.
“Oh, hell. I’m sorry.”
Setting the cup down with a click, she snatched up some napkins from the pile on the coffee table and started blotting the spill. Somehow, she managed to look down her nose at him—a fine trick, being she was a foot shorter than he was.
He’d obviously upset her, but…hell. Could Jacoby Woolf run? Follow a scent trail through the woods? Enjoy a lover? Could he even shift anymore? “Why would anyone want to live such a stunted life?”
“His brain works just fine. He serves his people well.”
“Easy for you to say,” he scoffed. “These days, he votes with the majority more often than with his father.”
“And from what I hear, he’s right to do so.”
“Oh, come on,” he said scathingly. “Do you really think we receive accurate information about what’s going on at Council meetings? It’s a nest of nepotism. The information we receive is carefully crafted to keep powerful families in power.” Just look how dominant the Sebastiani family had become in such a short period of time. “It’s all propaganda.”
Her chin rose. “Wyland keeps the vampires quite well-informed.”
“So you think.”
“So I know.”
The silence hung.
“I didn’t mean for us to get into an argument,” he said. She obviously had no clue how big the Council’s propaganda machine was. “My question is, why are there different rules for those in power than there are for everyone else?”
“Exactly which rules—” she made an air quote gesture with two fingers of her free hand—“are you talking about?”
He couldn’t believe she was going to make him say it. “You know what I mean.”
“I do, and I think The Old Ways are retrograde, ignorant crap.” A sudden sadness flitted across her face as she gestured to the street, and to the other patrons in the restaurant. “Look around, Dominic. Times have changed.” She shifted another inch closer, lowering her voice to a soft murmur. “Consider your own species. We all know about the genetic mutations so prevalent in the wolves—the sensory damage, the limb abnormalities. If The Old Ways were still followed as frequently now as they were in the past, people with these conditions wouldn’t be here for us to see.”
It was because The Old Ways were practiced that people didn’t see even more damaged werewolves. He held his tongue. Punishment for revealing such information would be swift and severe.
“Look at the Lupinsky family,” she continued. “Gabe Lupinsky has macular degeneration. His mother and sister have missing limbs, and his other sister is deaf. Yet just last year, Gabe not only made an important discovery about the possible origins of our culture, he became a Council member’s bondmate. Where’s the hypocrisy there?”
If the rumors were true, it was the Alpha’s childhood friendship with Gabe Lupinsky’s father that had brought the family special dispensation. Proximity to power, and to the Council, meant rules could be made or broken. He suddenly frowned. “What discovery?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her eyes widened angelically. “Did the Alpha not inform you?”
Direct hit. Surprise grew as Mila described what Gabe Lupinsky and Lorin Schlessinger had found at the northern Minnesota archaeological dig last summer. Otherworldly metal fragments? A capsule containing ancient organic material?
“Dominic, these ‘rules’ you’re talking about… They’re archaic and barbaric. Outdated. Medicine has advanced to the point where serious health conditions can be treated or managed. We know better now. We know better.” She looked out the window, but not quickly enough to hide the sheen of tears.
What the hell—?
“Hi, there.” Sasha Sebastiani stood on the other side of the coffee table holding a damp cloth. “Let me help with that spill.”
Being succubi plucked emotions out of thin air, her attention had probably been snagged by more than spilled cappuccino.
Hell. This date was not going as he’d planned.
When Mila turned away from the window, she’d blinked away the wetness. “Oh, thank you,” she said, accepting the cloth Sasha offered. She gestured to the little white paper balls clinging to her jacket. “The napkins gave me dingleberries.”
Sasha laughed, but she eyed him with more than a hint of suspicion. “Well, we wouldn’t want dingleberries on such a beautiful vintage jacket.”
“It’s my mother’s.”
As Mila and Sasha talked about the jacket—made in Paris by someone named Madame Grès—he took a quick glance at his cell phone and smothered a yawn. He’d spent too much time playing with the genealogy database last night, and his sleep had definitely suffered.
“We’re boring him to bits,” Sasha said to Mila, then looked at him. “I apologize for my rudeness, just barging over here and chattering away without introducing myself first.” She extended her hand, sending a bundle of bracelets jangling. “Sasha Sebastiani.”
He rose to his feet and shook it. “Dominic Reese. Nice to meet you.”
He had to give her credit for humility; everyone in their world knew who Sasha Sebastiani was. The daughter of Council President Elliott Sebastiani, sister of Council members Lukas and Antonia, she managed the Sebastiani family’s entertainment holdings, including Underbelly and Crack House Coffee. Even dressed like all the other workers, in jeans, a black T-shirt, and black apron, she was the one you noticed. She positively crackled with charisma. Her short black and fuchsia hair stood on end, as if her tiny body couldn’t contain her energy.
Sasha gestured to their cups. “Let me get you some refills.”
“Thanks, but none for me,” Mila said, rising to her feet. “I think Dominic could use one to go.”
Apparently their date was over. Hell, if he was Mila, he’d cut the evening short, too.
Sasha glanced at his cup. “Tall black Crack?” He nodded. “Be back in a minute.”
They both watched Sasha as she made her way back to the counter, checking in on tables along the way. The deadly silence grew. “I’m sorry this was such a disaster,” he blurted.
She smiled enigmatically. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
“It’s my fault you spilled on your jacket. Please let me get it cleaned for you.”
“No need.”
Silence made panic churn in his stomach. She didn’t want to see him again, and he couldn’t blame her—
“Would you like to go to Underbelly with me sometime? Some night when we’re both free?”
Surprise rocked him back on his heels. “Um, I’d love to. But…why?”
“Hmm?”
“Over half a cup of coffee, I’ve started a political argument, made you cry, and ruined a vintage jacket.” Her tiny grin of acknowledgment enchanted him. “Why would you subject yourself to this again?”
“You’re nice to look at, and I found our discussion…interesting.”
He blinked. “Really?”
“Do you only have conversations with people who agree with you?”
“No, but…” Taking a chance, he took her hands in his. Even after holding a hot coffee mug, they were as chilly as refrigerator air. “What did I say that made you cry?”
There was that sadness again. “Why don’t we save that for another time?”
Before he could press, Sasha came back with a tall to-go cup. He pulled out his wallet, but she waved him off. “It’s on the house tonight.”
“It’s not your fault I spilled all over my jacket,” Mila said.
“Nope. It’s mine.” He held out his hand. “Please let me get it cleaned for you.”
She hesitated.
“Please.”
She finally nodded. “I guess I won’t need it next door.”
“Going to Underbelly from here?” Sasha asked, handing him the to-go cup.
Mila nodded. “I’m meeting some friends.”
Friends that aren’t me. For vampires, the night was still young, and he couldn’t join them anyway. Not that she’d asked.
“Nice to meet you, Dominic,” Sasha said. “Have fun, Mila.” She walked away, leaving them alone.
There was another uncomfortable silence, then Mila shrugged out of the jacket and handed it to him. “I’ll text you the name of the place my mother uses for her dry cleaning.”
“Thanks.” Even if she was blowing smoke up his ass about going to Underbelly together sometime, he’d see her at least once more—to return the jacket, which he suddenly suspected cost more than his truck.
Another pause. “Well, thanks for the coffee and conversation, Dominic.”
“Thank you.”
Rising up on her toes, she kissed him on both cheeks. Her subtle scent tangled around him, and it was all he could do to keep his hands at his sides. She’d honored him with the traditional greeting of respect, but interest glittered in her eyes—a sexual interest she didn’t try to hide.
As they stared at each other, the space between them throbbed—with anticipation, with possibility. Maybe the date hadn’t been such a disaster after all.
She cleared her throat and took a step back. “Well, I’ll see you soon. Please give my best to your parents.” Picking up her purse, she shot him a cheeky wink and swung away, waving at Sasha as she strode toward the door that led to the nightclub on the other side of the building.
His heart and brain and cock fought a silent battle. He liked her. He wanted her. And…he was going to use her.
Sasha Sebastiani eyed him from behind the counter. Time to go. The sooner he started his laundry, the sooner he could tumble into bed and lose himself in hot, mindless dreams.
When he’d left Stillwater earlier that evening, Tia Quinn had been sleeping, too—but thanks to him, her dreams would be anything but sweet.
The slinky touch tickled Tia's shoulder, then meandered up to her neck, then over to her cheek. Something flicked against her earlobe, followed by a soft nibble. Wakefulness tapped her on the shoulder—the sun had set long, long ago—but she ignored it. Shoving the sheet aside, she turned onto her stomach, hugged her pillow, and willed herself back into the delicious dream.
Time drifted by as she wallowed in sensation...a languid stroke on her ankle, a lazy touch on her knee…long, blond hair drifting over her upper thighs—
Blond? Her usual fantasy men were tall, dark, handsome, and hung, but this dream lover was pale and lean, with a patrician profile, a soft waterfall of hair, and a wickedly talented tongue.
Hung? Oh, yeah.
Rolling onto her back, she threw her arm over her eyes. “Damn it.” She couldn’t be blamed for the R-rated movies her unconscious enjoyed while she slept, could she? No, she could not. Little wonder her dreams had taken an erotic turn after the fiery, edgy kiss she and Wyland had shared in his kitchen.
She’d thought him cold? Wrong. Steam lurked under his placid surface, just searching for a convenient vent.
She stretched her other arm overhead, then lowered them in a slow, snow-angel arc. What would have happened if Thane hadn’t interrupted them? It was probably better that he had—
She froze as her arm bumped into something…warm.
Moving slowly, she reached for the reading lamp on her bedside table, turning it on with a soft snick. When light flooded the room, shock kicked her in the stomach.
A snake. There was a snake on her bed—coiled, brown with bright green accents, and with a flicking tongue.
There was a snake on her pillow, too. “Jesus.” She leaped off the bed, but jumped right back on again.
The floor was…moving.
Snakes, dozens and dozens of them—on the hardwood floor, on her new throw rug, and crawling under the jamb of her closet door. The floor positively writhed. Several snakes were climbing the bed frame to join their pals on the pillow.
A violent shudder quaked through her body.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay. They’re just snakes. Suck it up.” Garter snakes were perfectly harmless little animals that had their place in the food chain—not that this was a natural occurrence. Hundreds of snakes didn’t suddenly decide that a second floor bedroom was a great place to party.
Someone had put them there. Someone had broken into her house—and her stun gun was downstairs, in her purse. “That’s fucking helpful,” she muttered, slowly and carefully climbing off the bed again, wincing as the bedsprings squeaked. The snakes were scattered all over the floor, shades of brown, beige, and green writhing against the dark wood. Avoiding the snakes, she tip-toed to her bedroom door, the one she’d left yawning wide open when she’d gone to bed. It was half-closed now.
Yes, someone had broken in.
Her breathing sounded unnaturally loud as she closed the door and locked herself inside. She made her way back to the bed, snatched the phone off the bedside table, hurried to the en suite bathroom, and twisted the lock.
After a quick look around—no snakes—she snatched one of the bright purple bath towels off the wall rack and jammed it against the gap where the door met the floor. Sinking down to the fuzzy rug, she dialed.
One ring. Two. On three, he finally picked up. “This is Wyland.”
Even scared to bits, her body responded to his rough voice, to the intimate stir of bedsheets. Her blood heated as she visualized him rumpled in sleep, shoving long, blond hair out of his eyes as he reached for the phone. “I’m—I’m sorry to bother you.”
“Tia? Is something wrong?”
“Snakes,” she said through suddenly chattering teeth.
“What?”
“Snakes. In my bedroom. Hundreds of them.”
“Were you bitten?”
Of course he’d ask about medical emergencies first. “No, they’re garter snakes. I’m okay, but—”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Somehow, his imperious command steadied her, helped her gather her thoughts. She explained what she’d woken to—how startled she’d been by the snakes, and her suspicion that someone had broken in and put them in her bedroom while she slept. “I’ve locked myself in the bathroom.”
“Good.” Something rustled in the background. “Did you hear anyone downstairs?”
“No. I think whoever did this is long gone.” Like most young vampires, she’d slept like a corpse during daylight hours. If the person who’d broken in had wanted to kill her, she’d already be dead.
No, this person wanted to scare her.
Mission fucking accomplished.
“Do you have a security system?”
“Not yet.”
More rustling. “You’ll have one tomorrow.”
Okay, his imperiousness was getting out of hand. “I can take care of it myself—”
“You can, but you haven’t.”
She bit back a sarcastic response. He was right. Damn it, he was right. The air conditioning came on with a mighty whoosh, pebbling her bare arms and legs with gooseflesh.
There were more rustles, louder this time. “What’s that noise?” she muttered.
“You’re on speaker. I’m getting dressed.”
Oh my.
On the other side of the line, he muttered a curse. “I’m calling Lukas and Jack. Stay in the bathroom until I get there.”
“Okay.” She didn’t fancy shivering on the cold tile floor wearing nothing but a camisole and men’s boxer shorts for the next twenty minutes, but she’d do it. “Be careful.”
“I will. Hang tight.” The phone clicked as he hung up.
She grabbed another bath towel from the rod, wrapped it around herself like a blanket, and settled in to wait. Had the same creep she’d felt watching her for months stepped up his game, or was this someone new?
“Hell.” She dropped her head onto her upraised knees.
It was probably time to ask for some help.
Twelve frantic minutes later, Wyland whipped into Tia’s driveway—and just his luck, her next door neighbor was sitting on his front porch. What in the world had possessed Tia to move into a family neighborhood, teeming with nosy humans?
“Hello,” the burly guy called as Wyland got out of the car. “Nice ride.”
“Thanks.” The man’s bare chest was covered in tattoos, and his knee-length basketball shorts exposed a prosthetic limb.
The man sipped from a red aluminum can. “You must be Tia’s boyfriend.”
Did Tia have a lover, one that spent time at her house? How could she not?
“I can see why you’re in a hurry.” The man pursed his lips in a good-natured whistle. “She’s a hottie.”
His fangs shot down. Before he could take a step, a sleepy-looking brunette poked her head out the front door. “I still can’t get the baby down,” she murmured. “I think she wants her daddy.”
The man smiled at the woman, stood, and drained what was left of his soda. “Duty calls,” he said, sketching a salute. “Nice to meet you.” He dropped the empty can in a recycling bin sitting on the porch. “I didn’t catch your name.”
Wyland gave the man a mild mental push. “Good night.”
With a baffled expression, Tia’s neighbor went into the house, closing the door behind him. “And stay there,” Wyland muttered, then crossed the driveway and climbed the steps leading to Tia’s front door. She might not have a security system, but she’d installed heavy steel shutters on the windows—manual crank, and tightly closed against the morning sun whose rise was still hours off. The door and door jamb were still intact. The doorknob, functional but flimsy, was undisturbed. Whoever had broken into Tia’s house hadn’t come in through the front door.
Unless he’d used a key. How many people had keys to Tia’s house?
He shoved the thought away with a snarl. Lukas would find out during his investigation of the break-in. With a glance at the porch next door—still empty—he picked the flimsy lock, entered the house, and closed the door behind him.
Other than a very dim light coming from the kitchen, darkness dominated. A clock ticked nearby, punctuating the silence. He made himself stand still for thirty long seconds, until he was satisfied he didn’t sense anything other than typical household noises. Tia was right; the person who’d broken in was long gone.
With the relief came more anger. As if her profession wasn’t dangerous enough, Tia came from a philanthropic family. The Quinns had money, disposable income on a massive scale. What had she been thinking, moving into a house that didn’t have a security system?
He crossed to the stairway, and patted the nearby walls. Finally, a light switch. He flicked it, wincing at the bright light, but quickly climbed the stairs. No snakes, and no damage that he could see. No visible footprints on the pristine carpet runner crawling up the hardwood stairs, no smudges on the walls. When he reached the top of the stairs, he saw a cardboard box lying askew, with small slits cut into it at regular intervals. Carefully skirting the box—it had likely been used to transport the snakes, and Lukas would collect it as evidence—he walked toward the door at the end of the hall.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re a bad-ass.” Tia’s voice. She sounded amused, not frightened.
During the drive, he’d tortured himself with thoughts of exactly how much damage a man could wreak in fifteen uninterrupted minutes, and she had an overnight guest? A low growl rumbled in his chest. With fists and jaw clenched, he slipped into the room.
The bedroom lights blazed, spotlighting a beautiful—and empty—maple sleigh bed. Her duvet was eye-searing, purple and lime green, and several small garter snakes lazed on her tangled purple sheets. Her walls were painted a dusky lavender, and were covered with framed prints and photographs. On the floor, snakes slithered over hardwood, and dozens more curled on the abstract-patterned rug. Across the room, two wriggling tails disappeared under a door jamb.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered. He did not like snakes, lampreys, or eels, and he never had. Deirdre had enjoyed eating jellied eels—they’d been all the rage in turn-of-the-century London—but he’d had to leave the room when she ate them. Across the room, the snake on Tia’s pillow reared up, flashing its tiny fangs. He flashed his own, hissing for good measure.
“Oh, hey.” Tia walked out of the bathroom carrying a purple pillowcase by the open edge.
Hey? That was all she had to say? He simply nodded, not trusting what would come out of his mouth. Who’d follow her out of the bathroom? Who would he have to maim for seeing her in such a skimpy get-up? She wore what looked like men’s underwear, with a smiley face emblazoned on the arse. Her camisole was a ridiculous excuse for a garment, the knit so fine it was nearly translucent. Her taut nipples were tempting little points.
Outrageous—so outrageous that it took him several seconds to realize they were alone, that she was talking to the snake coiled around her wrist.
“I know, I know,” she said, gently tugging. “I wouldn’t want to go in that pillowcase, either, but we need to get you and your friends back outside.” The snake finally loosened its grip. She dropped it into the pillowcase and gave him a deadpan look. “One down, a couple hundred to go.”
He quickly assessed her—no obvious injuries or symptoms of shock—but she was covered in gooseflesh. “Do you have a bathrobe?”
She pointed to the door where the two snakes had just disappeared. “Sweatshirt and sweatpants are in there. Shelf on the left.”
He swallowed, hard.
“Speaking of which…” She looked him up and down. “Look at you.”
When she’d called, he’d thrown on whatever clothing had come to hand, shoving his bare feet into loafers on the run. What had come to hand was mismatched workout gear.
“Who’d have thought the Vampire Second had such great muscles?” she said with an impish smile.
Pleasure streaked through him.
“And your hair. It’s loose.”
“Your call woke me up.” He started to comb it with his fingers, but she stopped him with a touch.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
The room suddenly felt humid and warm, and the scent of lilacs swirled between them. They stared into each other’s eyes— “Bugger!” he yelped, recoiling. He gave his foot a shake, and a snake went flying.
“Hey!” Tia picked it up just behind the head, gently cradling it in her hand. “The bad man didn’t mean it,” she crooned. “You startled him.”
“He startled me first.”
“And look at this. Someone stapled a note to the poor thing.” Her hand hovered over a small piece of white paper, about two inches square, attached to the snake at mid-body.
“Don’t touch it,” he ordered. “It’s evidence.” Her disapproving glance made him feel like an axe murder. “And the staples might be curled under its skin,” he added. “We’ll bring it to a vet.”
“Okay.” She peered at the piece of paper. “‘Bitch, why aren’t you doing your job?’” she read aloud. She shivered slightly, her first noticeable sign of unease since he’d arrived.
“Tia? Wyland?” Lukas’s voice floated up from the lower level.
“We’re in Tia’s bedroom,” Wyland called back.
“You’re okay?”
“Yes. I haven’t searched the house.”
Tia turned toward him. “You actually called Lukas?”
“Yes.” Steeling himself, he turned toward the closet door where he’d seen the wriggling tails disappear. “I’ll get you your sweats.” He’d have time to get Tia some clothes, and for her to dress, before anyone else saw so much pale, fragrant skin.
“I’ll clear a path.” Before he could protest, she set the stapled snake on the bed, then started picking up snakes from the floor and putting them in the pillowcase. He followed the trail of vertebrae down to her tempting, curvy arse. Imagined stepping close to her, grabbing her by the hips, and nestling his cock against that…that…ridiculous smiley face, with its lascivious tongue, mocking his helpless reaction.
Averting his eyes, he crossed to the closet and opened the door. Black clothing predominated, with the occasional flash of white or saturated color, and not a pastel in sight. Over on the left side was a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit holding folded jeans, T-shirts, workout clothes, and out-of-season sweaters near the top. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants in soft, black fleece, and reached down for what looked like a matching jacket—
A sudden, sharp pain. He jerked his hand to his mouth, sucking away a drop of blood. “Little bastard.” Aiming a dirty look at the snake whose bed he’d disturbed, he snatched a zip-up jacket off the shelf, left the closet, and thrust the bundle at her. “Here.”
She handed him the pillowcase, now bulging with the weight of the snakes she’d collected. “Thanks.”
He froze. Surely he could hold this…writhing, jostling bag while she dressed.
She was dressing. Clearing his throat, he turned his back.
“Wyland, you’re a doctor. Surely I don’t have body parts you haven’t seen before.”
“There’s a distinct difference between professional nudity and recreational nudity.” Was that tight-assed voice his?
“You’d consider this situation recreational?”
“You’re not my patient.” Thankfully not, because he hadn’t had such inappropriate thoughts about a patient in his life.
More rustling. “Since you’re not my doctor… FYI, your ass looks amazing in those pants.”
He ignored the spurt of masculine pride. He wasn’t her doctor, but he was her Second. Apparently that fact wasn’t enough to govern her tongue. “Are you dressed?”
A zipper whooshed. “Yes.”
Thank the universe.
There were heavy footfalls on the stairs. “We’re at the end of the hall,” he called. When he turned toward Tia, she was reaching for another snake, wearing pants with the word “Juicy” emblazoned in a cursive arc across her buttocks.
Twenty-first century fashion was going to be the death of him.
Lukas and one of his senior lieutenants, Chico Perez, appeared at Tia’s bedroom door. “I’m glad you got here so quickly,” Lukas said, taking in the details of the room with an all-encompassing glance. He checked the bathroom and the closet. “Notice anything unusual? Other than the snakes?”
“I didn’t check,” he admitted. “I came right up to Tia when I arrived.”
“How did you get in?”
“I picked the lock.” A wave of relief washed over him as Lukas took the writhing pillowcase. “Be careful,” he warned Lukas. “The little buggers bite.”
“Were you bitten?” Tia passed the snake she’d just picked up to Lukas. “Let me see.”
“I’m fine. It’s just a little nip.”
She took his hand. When she found the little bleeder on his index finger, she popped it into her mouth. Her soft, muscular tongue lashed over the pinpricks, sealing them with her saliva.
Chico cleared his throat. “I’ll collect the rest of the snakes.”
“I’ll check in with Jack downstairs,” Lukas said. “Join us when you’re ready.”
Tia abruptly released him, as if realizing what she’d done. “Chico, can you make sure you check the closet?”
“Sure thing, sweetness.”
Wyland’s eyebrow rose.
Chico disappeared into the closet.
“Let’s go downstairs,” he said to Tia. He watched her hips sway, her weight shift, as he followed her down the hallway. She eyeballed the cardboard box as they passed.
Lukas was standing at the bottom of the stairway. “We’ll take the box to the lab.” He gave her a close look. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “I know garter snakes can’t hurt me, but waking up to one licking my armpit really gave me the wiggins.”
Jack came in from the kitchen. “I found an open basement window in the back.”
Tia swore. “I haven’t been in the basement since the day I moved in.”
“There’s no damage that I can see.” Jack and Lukas exchanged a glance. “I think someone wanted to scare you. The only question is why.”
Though their bodies weren’t touching, Wyland felt Tia’s deep breath as if it was his own. “Someone’s been following me,” she blurted out. “Since before I moved here.”
“What?” This time, the teeth shoving down from his jaw had nothing to do with sexual attraction or jealousy. It was rage, blinding rage. His muscles twitched, tensing in readiness.
“Someone’s been following me. Watching me,” she said. “It’s the reason I moved here.”
“You’ve seen this person?” Lukas asked calmly. How the hell could he sound so calm?
“No.” Tia rubbed her arms. “You know that funny feeling you get sometimes, where your body hair stands on end for no apparent reason? When something just feels…off?”
“Yes.” That sense was ancient, primal, instinctive—and paying attention to it had saved his life on countless occasions. Tia had faerie blood in her lineage. With her empathic abilities, she’d notice something unusual in her surroundings earlier than most.
“I’m glad you trusted your gut,” Lukas said, “but why haven’t you—”
“Reported it to someone?” she said. “To you, or to Commander Lupinsky?”
“Or to me?” he asked, as calmly as he could manage. Because he was absolutely furious.
“I thought I’d drawn the attention of a neighborhood oddball,” she said with a shrug. “It happens. I thought it would stop when I moved.” She glanced at him, then upstairs. “But I guess not.”
“This person—assuming it is the same person,” Lukas said, “not only followed you to another town, but broke into your house and tried to scare the shit out of you.” Lukas’s gaze flicked to him, then back to Tia. “I’d like you to stay somewhere else until we figure out what’s going on.”
Finally, something he could do. “She can stay with me. With Valerian and me.”
Lukas nodded. “I’m happier with the security at your place.”
Tia was silent, then said, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to put you out.”
Putting him out was pretty much a given, but…that was his problem, not hers. One of his own was in danger, and it was his duty to offer safe refuge. “We’d be honored to have you as a guest.”
Humor, and something hotter, danced in her eyes. “Okay, roomie. I’ll pack a bag.”
Was she laughing at him? At herself? At this situation, which had suddenly gotten completely out of hand?
They all watched as Tia trotted up the stairs. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” he murmured.
“I don’t know,” Lukas said with a smile, “but if I were you, I’d strap in tight and enjoy the ride.”