Bound to Shadows

I untangled myself from the arms and legs that were still wrapped around me, then placed my hand in Starke's and let him haul me upright. He did so with little effort and, surprisingly, released me straight away.

Which didn't mean the ever-so-brief touch had no effect. Quite the opposite, in fact. "It's hardly your fault these four decided to be morons." I barely resisted the urge to wipe the lingering heat of his flesh from onto my jeans. He'd basically saved my life, so the least I could do was not insult him by showing such an outwardly adverse reaction to his touch. "Or that the bouncer values his hatred more than his job."

He smiled, but there was nothing warm about it, and I was suddenly damn glad that look hadn't been aimed my way. Jack might not have a very high opinion of this vampire, but I suspected he was way more dangerous than he was letting on.

"Whether or not he has specific grudges against guardians should never have come into it. He was employed to do a job and I expected him to do it."

I couldn't really argue with that. I looked past him. The vampire he'd stopped—who happened to be the leader of this little band of morons—was lying on the ground, his back twisted at an odd angle. Meaning it was broken. While this wasn't a fatal wound for a vampire, it sure as hell put them through a slow and painful recovery. I can't say I was sorry about that. Although if his friends didn't get him out of the street before dawn, he wouldn't have to worry about the pain. He'd be burnt to a crisp by the sunlight.

Couldn't say I'd be sorry about that, either.

I looked back at Dante. Anger still burned in his golden eyes, but the heat of it had tampered a little, its force replaced by a heat that was more sexual in nature. Surprisingly, there was no spark of blood hunger lighting the deeper depths—an oddity given the blood that still poured down my back.. But maybe he'd just fed. The meeting the bartender had mentioned could very well have been code for feeding.

I wondered if he fed during sex, like Qui

This vampire was dangerous all right—and not just in the way I'd presumed moments ago.

I stepped away, trying to deflate the intensity of my awareness, suddenly glad that not every vampire had sexual glamor. Non-humans and humans alike would have been in deep trouble if they had.

He smiled and closed the distance between us again.

"How badly did the vamp on your back wound you?" he asked, his golden gaze flicking to the vampire behind me. It was just as well he was still unconscious, because if that look was anything to go by, he would have suffered a fate far worse than a broken back.

"I've had worse," I said, which was true enough. Even so, I'd have to shift shape soon or Qui

Amusement played about his lush mouth. "Why not come back to the club and clean yourself up? I promise not to peek while you strip down."

Yeah, believing that. "I'm afraid I'm expected back at the Directorate—"

"And you wouldn't stay anyway, even if I offered you your favorite coffee." He paused, studying me. "I find it odd that a werewolf is so reluctant to pursue such an obvious attraction."

"And we both know that this isn't an attraction, but the sexual glamor you're using on me."

"Ah. You know about that."

"Yeah, so stop it."

He waved his hands and somehow managed to look woebegone. "If only I could. But alas, it is part of my make-up and therefore uncontrollable."

"Other women might buy that. I don't." I took the printouts from my pocket. "Don't suppose you know either of these men, do you?"

He took the photos from me, his fingers somehow managing to brush mine and send yet another delicious shiver of desire skating through me.

"That one, no," he said, giving me back the one I suspected was Kye in disguise. "This man isn't a regular, but I have seen him around before. I believe his name is Luke. Luke Johnson."

"Is he a vamp?"

"Human. The few times he was in the club, he was fed on, not feeding." He handed me back the printout. "If you'd like, I can ask around and see if any of my staff know of him."

"I'd like." I folded the pictures up and shoved them back into my pocket. "If you do happen to find anything, just call the Directorate."

"If I find anything, I shall insist you come and get it. After all, I just saved your life, so you can hardly deprive me of another glimpse of your beauty."

I snorted softly. "Do shitty pick up lines like that often work for you?"

His sudden grin had my hormones racing about excitedly. "Totally. In fact, it's working now—only you won't acknowledge it."

He had that right. "Again, thanks for your help."

"My pleasure," he said. Then, moving with lightning speed, he caught my hand and dragged me against his long, strong body. His free hand slid under my sweater, caressing skin, sending delighted shivers up my spine. "Are you sure you don't want to come back? That wound bleeds profusely and should really be tended to."

His lips were so close that his breath burned mine, and suddenly it was all I could do not to stand on my tippy-toes and kiss him. "Starke, release me or I'll kick you in the balls."

And that would hurt, given the current rock hard state of that area.

"I'm only trying to help—"

"Bullshit. Now release me."

He sighed dramatically and did as I asked. I stepped back and tried to ignore the hammering of my heart. And the urge to step right back into the hard warmth of his embrace.

"Don't try that again, Starke, or there will be trouble."

Amusement glittered in his bright eyes. "Trouble and I are old companions. I enjoy its taste." His gaze swept down me then rose to meet mine again. His desire was stronger than ever before, scorching my skin. "As I will eventually enjoy tasting you."

He gave me a slight bow then walked away before I could say anything, his gait effortless and sexy.

Lord. I mentally slapped the lusty image away, then shifted shape and trotted to the car. Once back in human form, I took off my blood-sodden sweater and shredded bra, chucked them in the trunk, and retrieved the spare t-shirt I kept there for emergencies.

As I climbed into the car, my phone rang. I turned the key in the ignition to warm the engine, then answered the call. "Riley here."

"Riley? Liander. Rhoan's just been shot."

My heart just about stopped. For several minutes, I couldn't think, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything. Rhoan had been shot. And I hadn't felt it. Hadn't even known he was in trouble.

"He's okay," Liander added quickly. "The bullet winged him, nothing more. They've almost finished stitching the wound and it looks fine."

If he was in a hospital, then it was more than just a graze. I needed to get there. "Where is he?"

"At the Albert Hospital. But there's no need to come here—meet us at home."

"Liander, I can't—"

"Riley," Liander interrupted, tone stern. "He's okay. He's being released, but it'll take us at least another hour to finish up here and get home, so you might as well meet us there."

I took a deep, shuddering breath. He was right, I knew that, but the urge to run to my twin's side was an instinct I couldn't easily shake. "Okay, I see you there."

"Good."

I hit the end button, then glanced down as the phone beeped again. This time it was a text. I opened the message.

How's your brother? it said. Silver bullets can cause such nasty wounds.