Blood roared in her ears. Her head began to pound. But she didn’t let it show.
The bastard—using, conniving,
murdering
bastard. He thought to use her, did he . . . the fool didn’t know who he was dealing with—
Vaguely, she realized she was smiling at him.
She was talking to him.
“That doesn’t quite answer my question, does it? I suppose that means wisdom isn’t your forte because if it was, you would know precisely what you’re dealing with, dear.”
She
sounded
nothing like herself. Her voice was cool, confident, taunting.
And not exactly . . . American.
She felt nothing like herself—she felt strong, certain and clear-headed. It wasn’t from the blood, though. In fact, she felt
too
strong. The power of blood couldn’t do this. She couldn’t siphon this much energy even if she slaughtered two hundred people. This kind of power didn’t come from blood.
It flooded her with more than just strength. It flooded her with purpose and for the first time in
weeks
, she felt
right
. She felt like she was who she was
meant
to be.
As she went to go past him, he caught her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh, tight and merciless. It would leave a mark. He dipped his face low and sneered at her. “I think perhaps you’ve gotten it wrong. You’re the clueless one. The man you killed—his brother works for me, too. Shall I send him to fetch your sister?”
Jerking away, she glared at him. The power flooded her—it felt like it was everywhere.
Everywhere.
She didn’t have to look to the blood to find it. It pulsed, breathed, sang in the air around her . . . hers for the taking. She’d felt weak for so long, but no longer. That power danced within her, shimmered in the air around her and flowed in the ground beneath her feet.
Where did it come from?
She didn’t know. She didn’t care. Her hand clenched. Power flexed. And she watched as Peter Sanders went white, gasping for air. He clawed his neck. Although she didn’t touch him, she could somehow feel his hands. She could feel his neck under her fingers. She could feel his heart racing as he struggled to breathe.
“You will leave my sister alone.” She pulled back on her power and listened as he sucked in a desperate breath of air. Then she started to choke him again. Without even touching him.
Manipulating the elements
, she realized. She could do that—kill without even touching him. It wouldn’t even weaken her.
The knowledge awoke the Leviathan within her, a great hulking beast, hungry for more power, for more blood.
No
. . . a voice whispered in the back of her mind.
You mustn’t.
He deserves it
! she thought.
He threatened Jazzy, used me. Why shouldn’t I kill him?
Oh, it’s not the killing him that’s the problem. You may well have to. But you cannot feed on the blood—don’t go down that road again. You don’t want that evil inside you and you don’t need that power
.
That was true . . . she
didn’t
need the extra boost. She already had power. It sang inside her veins, erotic, pure and
hers
. Hers, not stolen.
“You will not touch the girl.” She stared into Sanders’s eyes. “Do we have an understanding?”
She jerked the Leviathan back under control, refusing to let it reach for that blood. Cutting off the flow of power, she let Sanders breathe.
“You stupid little cunt,” he rasped. “You don’t want to fuck with me.”
She gave him a cool smile. “Again, you are clueless.”
In the back of her mind, she suspected she might have to kill this man. But not yet. Jazzy had been right—they should have just left. They would. As soon as she made sure this goon didn’t have people watching over her sister, as soon as she could make the plans, they were leaving.
I
N the back of her mind, Jazzy could still think.
She couldn’t move.
Couldn’t talk.
Couldn’t even turn her head to look around.
But she could still think.
All she could think, though, was,
Jazzy, you are in so much trouble
.
She still didn’t understand why she’d taken the bike. She’d been prowling around, looking for a car to boost. Something old and plain, something that wouldn’t attract attention.
The shining black-and-chrome Harley did nothing but attract attention.
She knew that.
Getting noticed had been at the bottom of her list of things to do. But she’d gotten noticed, and now she was in hot water.
As the man slowed his bike to a stop, she silently amended,
Scalding water
.
Though it was dark, she recognized the area. The pristine sand was dotted here and there with big, luxurious houses. This was where the money lived. Some were summer homes, while others belonged to the locals. The locals with money, of course.
This guy wasn’t a local. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did.
He climbed off the bike first. It should have been awkward with her still perched behind him, but he made it look easy. He turned to face her, the watery moonlight illuminating his face. Fuck, his eyes—were they glowing?
“Get off the bike.”
And just like that, she could move. She climbed off. Awesome. She could move. Now . . . could she run?
Fuck. No.
The only damn thing she could do was fucking
stand
there, with every muscle in her body frozen, like a slab of ice.
Her mind was playing tricks on her. Or maybe the light. His eyes weren’t glowing.
She needed to get away,
You don’t have a chance.
Didn’t matter—she wasn’t going to just make it easy for him to do . . .
Oh, shit, I’m in so much trouble.
For one brief second, she let herself think about Morgan. But Morgan couldn’t help her—her sister was so screwed up in the head, had been, ever since she’d come home.
It was a miracle Morgan hadn’t gotten herself killed.
There was no way she could count on her sister now. If she wanted to get out of this mess, she’d have to do it herself.
Run
, her brain commanded.
But her body wouldn’t respond.
Him.
It had something to do with him.
He pointed toward the house. “Head up the stairs.”
Once more, light flashed in his eyes. No, it was like the light flashed
behind
his eyes. And even though all she wanted to do was run, she realized her body was responding to his command. Again. She was walking up the stairs with him following close behind.
The door swung closed behind him and he flicked on a light. She flinched against it, lifting a hand to shield her eyes. Or rather, that was what she tried to do. But she couldn’t move a muscle. Couldn’t even blink voluntarily, she realized.
He came around to stand in front of her. “You can move.” His eyes glowed, and she felt an odd little
push
on her brain. “But you will not scream. You will not try to run.”
Like hell.
She nodded—then stopped when she realized she could nod. “What are you doing? How can you do that?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You won’t remember it in a few minutes anyway.”
“Yeah? What are you going to do—hypnotize me?”
A faint smile curled his lips. “You got it on the first try. Smart girl.”
Hypnotize . . .
“That is a bunch of bullshit.” She sneered at him, even as some small voice of common sense screamed at her not to make him mad.
“Really? Don’t you think it’s kind of strange that you haven’t wanted to run away?”
“Oh, I want to, believe me. I just . . .”
Can’t.
Swallowing, she looked away from him. She needed to get out of here. Why in hell had she boosted
that
bike?
“Relax. I’m just going to ask you a few questions. I won’t hurt you.” She felt that weird little push again, but it didn’t seem so strong.
Jazzy snorted, careful to keep from looking at him. His voice was soothing, compelling. She
wanted
to look at him. Wanted to answer his questions. Wanted to relax, even to trust him.
But when she wasn’t looking at him, it was easier to ignore.
Again, she felt something pushing against her mind.
“Look at me.”
She kept her gaze focused on the window in the far wall. It faced out over the water and she could see the silvery glow of moonlight dancing on the surface.
Good. Just don’t look at him. Good.
Again, he ordered,
“Look at me
.”
The push on her brain was harder this time and she flinched.
Then, abruptly, it stopped. “Huh. You got a natural resistance.”
From the corner of her eye, she slid him a quick glance. Then she focused on the window again. She heard him breathing—
Okay, really weird now. Is he
smelling
me?
“You’re a witch.”
He said it so calmly, his voice so matter-of-fact. Shocked, Jazzy nearly looked him in the eyes, but quickly stopped herself.
“What?”
He shrugged. “You smell like magic.” His lashes lowered, shielding his eyes. “It would make my job a lot easier if you didn’t have a natural resistance.”
“What job?” She stared at him, forgetting that she didn’t want to meet his eyes. “What do you mean I
smell
like magic?”
“You just do. As to the job, I’m looking for somebody. And I think you know who she is.”
“Really.” She gave him a sugary sweet smile. “Do you smell her, too?”
His nostrils flared. A strange look entered his eyes. Goose bumps broke out over her arms. The air around them felt tight, hot. Then he looked away and the moment was broken.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”
It took all of her self-control not to gape at him. Mustering up as much bravado she could, she sauntered past him and flopped down on the couch situated just under that big picture window. “Well, I really don’t know what to tell you. Whoever it is you’re looking for? I don’t know her—can’t help you.”
“Now, see, I haven’t even told you who I’m looking for.” A lopsided smile curled his lips and he shook his head. “How do you know you don’t know who she is? I haven’t even asked you about her yet.”
S
CARED little rabbit
, Dominic thought. But he had a feeling she would bite when she was cornered.
He didn’t want to frighten her, at least not any more than he had to. Settling into the chair across from the couch, he said, “She looks quite a bit like you. A few years older. And her magic is stronger.”
Fear flashed through her eyes. The scent of that fear filled the air around them—sickly sweet. But she gave him another one of those cocky smiles, careful not to meet his eyes as she shrugged. “Magic . . . like, what . . . hocus-pocus crap? Man, you are nuts. That shit isn’t real.”
“Really. That’s weird, because I smell it all over you.” Drumming his fingers on his thigh, he asked, “Where is she?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Liar.” He leaned back in his chair and stared at her.
After thirty seconds, she started to squirm.
After two minutes, she came up off the couch and started to pace. “You can’t keep me here.”
Dominic lifted a brow. “You sound awful certain about that.”
“This is called
kidnapping
. It is
illegal
.”
“So is stealing a Harley,” Dominic replied with a grin.
She gaped at him. “You’re comparing taking a stupid bike to kidnapping a person?”
Dominic shrugged.
“You know what? You’re right, I did steal your bike. Call the cops.”
She made a good bluff. He studied her face, her eyes. She didn’t look worried or afraid. But he could smell her fear. “I’m not going to call the cops. You don’t belong in jail. You’re a scared kid who made a dumb-ass mistake. You don’t need to go to jail for that. But I do want you to help me. I need to find the woman. You know who she is. Tell me.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she whispered. But she wouldn’t look at him.
The thick miasma of fear grew stronger, now tinged with the acrid, bitter sense of anger. “You do know who I’m talking about. I get the feeling she’s in trouble. Am I right about that?”