Even though
she
was so close . . . so close, he had even been able to sense the familiar lavender-vanilla scent of her skin.
It flooded his senses like a drug, a thousand times more potent than any of the illegal ones being passed around inside the club. More addictive than heroine, more seductive than ecstasy.
Close . . . so close. Just a few feet away.
After all this time, she was almost close enough to touch.
He ached. Ached to hunt her down, pull her close.
But he couldn’t. Not right now.
He could feel the threat in the air—sweat, fear, drugs, money. A bad, nasty combination, the kind that often ended in death. He couldn’t take Jazzy in there, and he couldn’t go in and hope she had the sense to keep her distance.
If she had, she would still be back at the safe house instead of slinking closer and closer.
He wouldn’t risk the kid but he couldn’t go in there with his attention divided, which meant he had to deal with Jazzy. Why in the
hell
couldn’t she have stayed at the beach house?
She was too strong-willed. He could have tried just laying a heavy dose of mind-control on her, but as it did with many of the gifted, vampire mojo crap would wear off if he wasn’t there—he’d already seen that she had a natural resistance.
He’d hoped she’d listen to him, and wasn’t that a fucking mistake? Should have figured something else out.
Closing his eyes, he tested the air.
Nothing.
His eyes flew open and then narrowed. Again, he checked the air.
Nothing.
He couldn’t smell her—not now.
What in the hell . . . ?
One second, he had known almost exactly where she was, how far away she was, just by her scent. He had even heard her heartbeat, her unsteady breaths.
Now it was like she had disappeared.
Couldn’t smell her, couldn’t hear her.
With silent movements, he made his way to the mouth of the alley. He peered down the street, searching through the shadows for her. There . . . she was right there.
A bright, blond head of hair was visible down the street now.
He could
see
her—she was still more than a quarter of a mile away, and walking slow, keeping to the shadows. But it was Jazzy.
Hissing out a breath, he withdrew back into the alley, hiding in the shadows.
Everything felt blunted.
It occurred to him that it wasn’t just Jazzy. He couldn’t hear much of anything over the music coming from the club.
He couldn’t smell anything beyond the trash in the alley and cigarette smoke.
He was scent-blind and his ears didn’t work any better than they had when he was a mortal.
A spell . . . ?
Jazzy hadn’t felt that powerful, but could she have done some sort of spell?
No.
That didn’t seem right. Magic had a feel to it. Witches had a feel. And even though he couldn’t smell her, even though he couldn’t hear her, he could still feel something coming off Jazzy . . . her magic.
Whatever this was, it didn’t feel like her.
An engine roared, drawing near.
Looking away from Jazzy, he glanced automatically up the street. A Mustang convertible, raven-wing black, the top down.
Dominic narrowed his eyes as the car began to slow down.
His nose and ears might not be working, but his eyes were just fine. He recognized the man behind the wheel of the car. He also recognized the pretty blonde in the seat next to him. The kid in the backseat looked vaguely familiar, too.
As the car rumbled to a stop, Dominic retreated into the shadows of the alley once more.
A door opened, and Duke Lawson climbed out.
“Shit.”
Although Dominic remained in the shadows, Duke’s gaze landed on him unerringly and a wide grin split his face. The shapeshifter ambled toward him.
“I don’t have time for this,” Dominic growled.
“Yeah, hello to you, too. Long time, no see. What am I doing here? Oh, hey, I just happened to be in the neighborhood, along with my wife and her obnoxious brat of a brother. That brat of a brother kept telling me we needed to be somewhere . . . but he wouldn’t say where. Then all of a sudden, I start feeling witch. Then I feel vampire. Then I feel blood. Now I know where I’m supposed to be, and why. Here. Right here, helping your sorry ass,” Duke drawled.
Dominic stared at Duke. It was the longest speech he’d ever heard out of the shapeshifter. “What?”
The car door slammed again and he glanced up, watching over Duke’s shoulder as Ana approached. The tall, lanky blond at her side looked vaguely familiar . . . her brother.
A memory flashed through his mind. A few years earlier, Dominic had spent a few days at Excelsior, after Rafe had told him he was showing Master tendencies. He had met Ana there, and her brother.
Brad, his brain finally supplied.
The boy’s name is Brad.
He didn’t look much like a boy now. He had one vivid memory of how this boy had sent a vampire hurtling through the air with just the power of his mind.
Although Dominic’s instincts still felt off, standing this close, he couldn’t
not
feel the power from these three. Especially the boy.
Power all but crackled off him.
Psychic.
He met Brad’s eyes and then looked at Duke. “I don’t need help . . . unless you feel like kidnapping a kid witch.”
Duke rubbed his jaw. “The witch I felt earlier wasn’t any kid. And there was a hell of a lot of blood.”
“Wrong witch—there’s a kid. I need her out of the way.” He reached up and rubbed his nose. Still couldn’t smell much of anything . . . he was barely even aware of his own scent. “I’ll handle the other witch.”
Running his tongue along the edge of his teeth, he looked from Duke’s face to Ana’s. She gave him a strained smile. Fear and nerves danced through her eyes.
Abruptly, he remembered something else. Something he had heard about Ana back at Excelsior.
“You.” He stared at her, hard. “You are the reason I can hardly smell a damn thing, the reason I can’t hear much of anything beyond that fucking music.”
She gave a single, jerky nod. “I’m blocking. Have to, otherwise the witch will feel Duke, and maybe me and Brad. Definitely you.”
Protectively, Duke placed his body in front of her. “I told her to. You got a problem, you settle it with me.”
Dominic scowled at the shapeshifter. “Hell, if you three are here to help, who in the hell am I to complain about how you do it?” Then he headed back toward the mouth of the alley, peering around the corner.
Jazzy was getting closer. In another few minutes she’d be just outside the alley.
“There is a kid coming. The witch I want you to help with. You wanna help me, you get her out of the picture. Get her someplace safe.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Hell. Just take her to Excelsior. Dump her in Kelsey’s lap. Kelsey will know what to do with her.”
“What about the other witch?” Duke asked.
“She’s mine.”
M
ORGAN shivered, the mysterious confidence from earlier gone—along with that unending well of power.
She still had the strength she’d gotten from the blood, but the rest of it? Gone, like it had never existed, and damned if she could figure out why. She stood there, confused and shivering, while her head pounded and her heart raced.
She tried to tell herself she was just tired, cold and hungry. She tried to tell herself she just needed some sleep. But deep inside, she knew that wasn’t it. Something was
wrong
. If she was honest with herself, she might admit she was afraid. But screw that.
Tired, cold and hungry
sounded so much better than
afraid
.
And her head—her head was
killing
her, like it was trying to split apart from the inside out. Those annoying whispers kept coming and going, and she’d almost give her right kidney for some peace inside her skull.
Yeah, a headache, cold, tired, hungry—much better than afraid. She’d already shown Sanders she could deal with him and she damn well knew she
could
, right? She didn’t need to be afraid of
him
. He was just a two-bit, mean-ass drug dealer.
All she needed to do was get through the night and make sure he hadn’t set her up and planned anything to hurt Jazzy.
One night. Make it through one night and they were out of there.
But it was a night that seemed unending.
She had spent much of the past two hours in this exact same position. Arms folded over her chest, head lowered. Listening . . . and waiting.
She didn’t even know what she was waiting for but there was something . . . something big. Something inevitable.
Her skin buzzed, adrenaline crashed through her veins and for reasons she couldn’t understand, she was hyperaware of everything. Despite the loud music pulsing in the club below, it seemed like she could pick up individual voices. The mingled scents of sex, sweat and smoke flooded her head, nauseating her.
Her ears caught every little sound.
Her eyes caught every little motion.
She felt jacked-up, but she couldn’t figure out why. It was almost like the other night when that nameless sensation had pulled her from her sleep and sent her hunting. Almost.
Ready . . . be ready.
In the back of her mind, she heard a voice murmuring to her.
Be ready . . .
Be ready for what . . . she didn’t know.
But she was ready for whatever in the hell it was. Standing in the shadows, she waited.
Her so-called boss sat at a table with several other men. There were two doors in the room and both were guarded by men with guns. Every once in a while, Sanders would flick a glance her way. His snakelike eyes were cold with dislike.
She stared at his profile and wondered where the courage from earlier had gone. She wanted him dead. Would do it as soon as she had a chance, but that cool, calm confidence of earlier was gone, like it had never existed.
It was just a matter of hours now. Once this night was over and done, she’d be back at home, she’d make sure Jazzy was safe and they’d get the hell out of town. Just like Jazzy had said.
Rubbing the back of her neck, she glanced around the room and started to pace. Sanders gave her a narrow look and she flipped him off as she made a slow circuit around the room.
So far, she hadn’t done anything other than stand around and listen to them talk. The more they talked, the edgier she got. Every second that ticked by wound her tighter and tighter.
A warning whispered through her mind as she passed by the window.
Get ready. Get ready. Not much time . . .
Morgan closed her eyes. Her muscles were tight, but as she took a deep breath, they loosened, relaxed.
Somebody was watching her—no. Not
watching
.
Stalking.
She felt like she had a big, fat target painted on her back, even though none of them seemed to be paying her that much attention.
One of them was, though. One of them was watching her with way too much interest.
Danger. Danger there.
Heat formed in her hands, her magic concentrating in that one spot.
Opening her eyes, she looked at the men, from one to another, until her gaze landed on one in particular.
That one . . . threat.
He was a quiet one, sitting at Sanders’s left hand. He continued to watch her, and the hair on the back of Morgan’s neck stood on end. A smile curled his lips and the look of it made her blood run cold. His nostrils flared and she had the ridiculous suspicion that he was
smelling
her. It must’ve been her imagination, but a sickly sweet odor seemed to waft from her.
You’re afraid . . . he knows it. He likes it. You have to get it under control.
Morgan swallowed, her mouth painfully dry. His smile widened, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. Blood roared in her ears and reality twisted inside out. An image superimposed itself over his features—he wasn’t a man.
He was a monster.
His face deformed, an elongated jaw lined with wicked, sharp teeth. Fine hair covered his features. He looked like he was caught frozen between a bad Halloween mask and a wolf on steroids.
But it wasn’t what she
saw
that told her he was evil.
It was what she sensed inside him.
Pure, undiluted evil. His heart was black with it.