Eira walked into the club with her roommates.

Naturally, heads turned. Two redheads, a blonde, and a brunette. Hélène liked to change her hair color. Their kind usually had red hair, in one shade or another, but long ago, when she’d first learned about hair coloring, which was centuries back, it seemed, Hélène had decided she wanted to be a brunette. That ranged from a gothic sheer black mane that was straightened, to a tangle of chocolate curls. It all depended on Hélène’s mood that day.

Eira ordered a round of fancy drinks with fancier names from a bartender who offered her more than alcohol, if she wanted it.

“No, thanks.” She forced a smile. Now where the hell was the guy she was supposed to be catching in the act?

She’d intercepted his texts to his secret girlfriend. They were meeting here tonight, then heading to the other clubs in the vicinity.

She tipped the bartender a hefty amount, then pushed the drinks toward Hélène, Lina, and Emme. “Next round’s on you,” she told Emme.

Emme smiled. “If we’re here long enough.”

“And if we move to another club, same deal.”

Emme laughed.

Eira never made her buy. What did it matter, anyway? Their funds were merged.

Eira was accustomed to feeling eyes on them when they entered a place, but something seemed odd. Someone in there was watching, and whoever it was, they were giving her the heebie-jeebies. A phrase she’d picked up from the TV, because who would have thought a being that old would use that language.

Then again, Eira—all of them—made it a point to fit into today’s society, whichever society they were in, on any given day.

She studied the area as nonchalantly as she could, her gaze going over every person in the room to see if anyone was watching her with more than passing interest.

She’d had the same feeling this afternoon when she’d left the apartment.

By damn, she hoped they hadn’t found them. They’d been in Houston for just under a year. She’d like to spend more time here.

Always on the run, it seemed. Always. She sighed. Could they have been found already?

Was it time to move once more?

“What is it?” Emme studied her face, reading her expressions.

“Nothing,”

Emme raised a brow. “If you say so.” Her sister knew her too well.

“Go have a good time.” Eira gave her a tiny shove, then turned back to scanning the room.

Hélène and Lina were already toting their drinks toward a group of men who hadn’t been able to take their eyes off the statuesque foursome.

Understandable.

Eira didn’t fault the sisterhood for hunting for a bit of companionship. She’d done that before. Lust was a need, just as food. Except lust didn’t seem to be very high on her priority list these days. This year. Maybe even this decade.

She sighed and kept scanning.

There. He’d glanced away the second her eyes alit on him. Definitely avoiding eye contact.

She studied the man, blatant in her curiosity, because it would be best he knew she’d found him out.

She couldn’t tell how tall he was since he sat at a table, but it looked like six-two or six-three, if she were to guess. The thing that stood out: his eyes screamed predator, and his body was full of muscle stacked on top of muscle.

Not in an obscene, I’m competing for a body building contest way. No, he definitely wasn’t that bulky. He was just flat out muscular. He reminded her of a gladiator she once knew…

She pushed that thought aside. That was a long time ago, and that night had not been matched in centuries.

She narrowed her eyes as she studied him.

Military.

That would be her guess.

Hot, too. Hot as hell. Full lips, chiseled features. He could have been a cover model for a soldier’s magazine.

But there was something off about him. He wasn’t pure human. There was something supernatural about him.

But he’s not the enemy.

That’s true. He wasn’t. She’d have known if he was the enemy. An age-old enemy that hunted her kind.

Berserkers.

The man raised a bottle to his lips and took a long hard draw from it, at the same time, he raised his eyes to hers for a brief moment.

Lightning coursed through Eira. She looked away swiftly.

What the hell was that?

She rubbed her head to clear it and stall for time while she tried to figure out what in the world was going on. She’d never had a reaction of that magnitude to a man. Not ever.

She stirred the beverage she hadn’t bothered to drink, moving the straw about the frothy, girly concoction, trying to figure out why her body was acting as if she’d suddenly been dropped into a convection oven and then hit with a few thousand volts.

Who cares? I’m not looking for companionship tonight. I’m here on a job. A job that paid very well. Not that they didn’t have plenty of money in their accounts scattered around the world, but Eira had an irrational fear of poverty. Except she didn’t think it was irrational. Being afraid of sustaining life was not irrational in the least, in her eyes.

She pointedly turned away from him, and headed toward a spot she’d picked out as perfect for surveillance. Her smartphone would take the pictures of the dirt bag and his flavor of the month for the attorney.

Maybe I’ll have a good time, kick back, after the job’s done.

Maybe.

She watched Hélène and Lina as they flirted with the guys that sported what she would have called white collar, techie haircuts.

So not her type.

Her type?

She fought the urge to turn back and look at him, reminding herself why she was here.

Dirt bag.

Ah. There’s the dirt bag.

And the girlfriend.

Holding hands and heading for a semi-private booth. One that would yield lovely photos.

She glanced up, and he was gone.

Oh, well. Back to work.