Good. A vampire shouldn't be alone in such a sharp, fierce awareness.
"A nice way of putting it," she muttered.
His gaze swept over her small, heart-shaped face. "Being a vampire allows me to accept what humans would consider strange."
"Vampire." She gave a tiny shiver and then her eyes abruptly narrowed. "Hey, wait, just how strange do you think I am?"
He shrugged. "You haven't yet answered my question. I can tell you nothing until I know more."
She bit her bottom lip before she grudgingly conceded the wisdom of his words. "I'm stronger and faster than most people."
"And?"
"And ... I'm not growing older."
That did surprise him. "What is your age?"
"I'm thirty, but I look exactly as I did at eighteen. It might just be good genes, but I don't think so."
Styx had to take her word. She looked young and innocent to him, but it was always difficult for a vampire to determine ages in humans. No doubt because time had no meaning to vampires.
"You must possess at least some demon blood," he conceded, with a frown. It was strange that he couldn't detect any hint of mixed blood. Mongrels rarely possessed the full abilities of their demon ancestors, but a vampire could still detect that they were not precisely mortal. It troubled him that he could not. "What of your parents?"
The pale features became smooth and unreadable. As if a mask had fallen into place.
"I never knew them. I was fostered when I was a baby."
"You have no family?"
"No."
Styx frowned. He was unfamiliar with this method of fostering among humans, but he assumed it must have something to do with her demon blood.
He also assumed it was the reason that Salvatore was so determined to get his hands upon her.
What he needed was a means of discovering precisely what sort of demon had spawned her, and what it could possibly mean to the Weres.
The abandoned hotel in south central Chicago was hardly the setting for royalty.
The roof leaked, the windows were cracked, and there was a lingering stench of human waste that was enough to turn the stomach of the most hardened werewolf.
On the plus side the mutant rats had disappeared only days after their arrival, and the few humans who were desperate enough to seek shelter among the ruins were easily frightened away by the "wild dogs" that roamed the narrow hallways.
They had their privacy ensured, if not their comfort.
Taking the largest of the rooms as his, Salvatore Giuliani had moved the heavy desk next to the window that overlooked the mean street below. The frigid air that managed to leak through the cracked panes didn't especially bother him, and he was a wolf who kept a close watch on his back. No one would be allowed to sneak up on him.
Across the room a large street map of Chicago was pinned to the wall, and nearer to hand he had a wooden shelf that held a vast array of shotguns, handguns, and wicked knives. Spread across the desk were a dozen photos of Darcy Smith.
He was a man on a mission. A mission that he would accomplish no matter how many wolves, humans, or vampires had to die.
Unconsciously stroking his hand over a photo of Darcy walking down the street with a faint smile upon her full lips, Salvatore abruptly raised his head as he caught the scent of an approaching cur.
Among the werewolf world curs were a lesser Were. They were shifters who had once been human but had been transformed by the bite of a werewolf. Purebloods, on the other hand, were Weres who had been born from two Weres. They possessed skills far beyond mere curs. Faster, stronger, more intelligent. They were also capable of controlling their change unless it was a full moon.
Unfortunately, purebloods were now far too rare, and even curs were more difficult to create.
The venom that transformed a human to Were was deadly to most mortals, and only a handful managed to survive. Over the past hundred years even that handful had trickled to a halt. It had been more than twenty years since the last cur had survived.
Something had to be done before the Weres disappeared entirely.
That was why Salvatore had been sent to America from Rome. It was his duty to ensure that the Weres didn't become extinct. And one part of that plan depended upon Darcy Smith.
He had to get his hands on her. And soon.
The door opened and the cur he had scented strolled into the room.
She was a stunning vision. Tall and lithely muscled, she possessed black hair that fell in a smooth curtain to her waist and faintly oriental features that added an exotic beauty. At the moment she was garbed in nothing more than a thin, crimson silk robe that hit her midthigh, revealing the long, slender length of her legs.
Since his arrival in America she had shared his bed.
Why not?
She was beautiful, passionate, and an animal beneath the sheets. He had wakened more than once covered in deep scratches and bite marks.
Still, he was beginning to weary of her companionship. For all her charms, she had no appreciation for the heavy burden of responsibility he carried, and there was a growing possessiveness about her that he found chafing.
He would belong to no cur. He was a pureblood. He would accept no less in his mate.
Giving a toss of her hair, Jade crossed the room with a fluid grace before halting in front of his desk.
She didn't bow. A fact that Salvatore silently noted. The cur was growing entirely too comfortable in his presence. Perhaps it was time to remind her just who he was.
"Hess has returned, my lord," she purred in a voice that would make any male think of sex.
Of course, just having her in the same room was enough to make a man think of sex. It was a power that she used to full advantage.
He leaned back in his seat. "Send him in."
She allowed her gaze to stroke over his lean, dark features and black hair, which was smoothed into a tail, before she lowered to his hard body, covered in a silk suit.
A hungry, predatory smile curved her lips. "You look tense. Perhaps we should let Hess wait outside and I could help you to relax." With a practiced motion she tugged open the robe and allowed it to slide down her naked body. "You know, ease some of those knots."
Salvatore's body reacted. Hell, a naked woman was a naked woman. But his expression never altered as he gave a small shrug.
"Tempting, but I fear I have no time for distractions. No matter how beautiful."
"No time, no time, no time," she gritted, her passions swiftly altering to rage. She was not a woman who took rejection well. In fact, the last man to turn down her advances was now at the bottom of the Mississippi River.
"I'm sick of those words. What sort of man doesn't have time for me?"
Salvatore narrowed his gaze. "One who has more important matters to consider. I am your leader, and that means I must put the good of the pack before my own pleasures."
Her expression became petulant. "Is that truly why you deny me?"
"What other reason could I have?"
Jade reached out to jab a polished red nail at a picture on his desk. "Her."
Salvatore rose to his feet, the air about him vibrating with danger. "Put your clothes on and get out, Jade."
"It's that... human, isn't it?"
"I do not answer to curs," he growled. "I am your king, and you will remember that."
Enraged beyond sense, she ignored the warning in his voice. "What is it with her? Ever since you've been on her trail you've changed. You're obsessed with her. It's sickening."
Salvatore clenched his hands at his sides. He could rip out her throat before she could even move, but he resisted the temptation. Unlike the curs, he possessed complete control over his baser instincts. He didn't need the inconvenience of dumping a dead body in the middle of Chicago.
"I will not tell you again. Get your clothes on and get out."
A trickle of a growl had entered his voice. It was enough to warn Jade that she had pushed matters as far as she dared. With a pout, she reached down to pick up her robe and roughly wrapped it about her body.
Storming toward the door, she paused long enough to shoot him a venomous glare.
"I may be a cur, but at least I don't pant after humans," she charged as she flounced through the door.
With a faint frown, Salvatore watched her exit. The woman was becoming a bother. Tomorrow he would have her sent to his pack in Missouri. His second in command possessed unique skills in punishing untamed curs.
The decision made, he awaited as Hess, a large, hulking cur, entered the room and offered a deep bow.
Although Hess was part of his personal bodyguard, and large enough to halt speeding bullets and leap over tall buildings, he maintained the proper deference due to his leader.
Moving to the desk, the cur rippled with bulging muscles that threatened to shred his black T-shirt and jeans. It wasn't easy to find clothes large enough to cover a small mountain.
"My lord," he rumbled in a low tone.
"You followed the trail?" Salvatore demanded.
"Yes." The man grimaced, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight. "We lost it just north of the city."
"North." Salvatore absently toyed with the gold signet ring on his finger. "So the vampire is not returning to his lair. Interesting."
