Kitabı oku: «Chasing Midnight», sayfa 3

Patience, he thought. You have waited thirty years. You can wait another few weeks.

A few weeks, a taste of ambrosia, and the new age of glory would truly begin.

“I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND what’s happened to her, Grif,” Malcolm Owen said, dropping his head into his hands with a sigh. “It’s been three months since I’ve spoken to her. Three months! I don’t care what De Luca says…she wouldn’t just give me the brush-off like that.”

Griffin steepled his fingers under his chin, regarding his friend with sympathy. “You’re absolutely sure her father didn’t send her away?” he asked, signaling for Starke to refresh Mal’s drink. “Just because he didn’t object before, that doesn’t mean he approved of your plans. It’s one thing for you to take his daughter out to nightclubs and speakeasies, and quite another to marry her.”

Mal laughed bitterly. “You talk as if De Luca was a real father to her instead of a mobster more interested in his profits than any genuine human emotion. He could have stepped in long ago if he’d wanted to put the kibosh on our engagement.” He leaned forward, meeting Griffin’s gaze. “Margot wanted it as much as I did, Grif. She was sick of being a bootlegger’s daughter. She was ready to throw it all away…the furs, the jewelry, the automobiles, everything.”

And live happily ever after in your humble apartment off Washington Square, scraping by on a playwright’s income, Griffin thought. If she was that much in love with you, my friend, why did she disappear?

He frowned. Mal was a passionate lover, just as he was passionate about his plays and music and art and life itself. He threw himself into every scheme with a wide-eyed enthusiasm and guilelessness that belied his experiences overseas. There had been times during the War when only his high spirits and optimism had kept Griffin sane. Mal had been sixteen then…hardly more than a boy, but as courageous as they came.

He was nothing at all like Griffin, but there wasn’t much Griffin wouldn’t do for the man who’d saved his life.

Mal snatched up his glass and downed half his brandy in one swallow. “I don’t think I can go on without her, Grif,” he said. “She’s everything to me.” He ran his hands through his fair hair. “Should I go back to De Luca and grill him again? He doesn’t scare me. I’d do it in a second if I though it would make any difference.”

“I doubt it would help,” Griffin said. “The best you can hope for is that he’ll throw you out on your ear, and the worst…” He shook his head. “No, Mal. Recklessness won’t get you anywhere.”

“Then what will?” The young man’s eyes snapped with indignation. “I’m certain something has happened to her, and I won’t sit idly by if she’s in trouble.”

Griffin got up and walked to the window, pulling the heavy drapes away from the mullioned glass. Late-morning light beat a path over the aged Persian carpet but did little to brighten the study, encumbered as it was with dark paneling and heavy oak furnishings.

“I doubt she’d be in the kind of trouble you’re envisioning,” Griffin said. “De Luca has too much power.” He debated whether or not to speak his mind and decided to err on the side of mercy. “From all you’ve said, I still think it most probable that her father sent her away. And since he isn’t likely to tell you anything more…” He turned away from the window. “Let me look into it. I have a few…connections in the city. Someone may know more than De Luca is telling.”

Mal’s eyes filled with hope. “Would you, Grif? That’s awfully good of you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. It may take me a few days to track down my sources.”

“These sources…are they—” Mal cleared his throat “—are they like you?”

“The less you know about that the better.”

“But you will tell me as soon as you hear anything?”

“Of course.”

Mal grabbed Griffin’s hand. “You’re the best pal a guy could have, Grif.”

Griffin stepped back and gently freed his hand. “Will you stay at Oakdene tonight, or should I have Fitzsimmons drive you to the station?”

“Thanks for the invite, Grif, but I have that play to finish…and I think I might actually do it now that I know you’re on the case.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Griffin gestured to Starke. “Uncle Edward, will you please ask Fitzsimmons to—”

“Mal!”

Gemma’s voice cut across Griffin’s like sunlight through shadow. She bounded into the room, flashed Starke a smile of apology and came to a halt before Mal.

“Why didn’t you tell me Mal was coming, Grif?” she demanded. “He must think I’m terribly rude for not greeting him.”

“Nothing of the kind, Gem,” Mal said with a fond grin.

“It was just business…nothing that you would have found of interest,” Griffin said. “Are you already done with your lessons?”

Gemma took a sudden interest in the toes of her sensible shoes. “Miss Spires had a headache,” she said.

“I see. I wonder what brought that on?”

Gemma glanced up at him from under her thick brown lashes. “I’m making excellent progress.”

“I hope so. I’d hate to think that I made a mistake in extracting you from that boarding school.”

Gemma shuddered. “Mal, tell my brother how much I love America, and that I never want to go back to those horrid—” She broke off and put on a prim expression. “I’ll be forever grateful for the education I received in the convents and boarding schools, but I am nearly seventeen. Isn’t it time that I should see something of the world?”

“If that’s your aim,” Mal said helpfully, “New York is the place to do it.”

“Thank you, Mal,” Griffin said dryly. “Gemma, don’t you think you should take some tea up to Miss Spires? It might make her feel better.”

Gemma pulled a face. “Tea.” She looked toward the sideboard. “Brandy would do her more good, or maybe whiskey…”

“You know very well that Miss Spires doesn’t drink.”

“Only because she’s an old—” Gemma bit her lip. “Don’t you think I should be allowed to try it, big brother? My birthday is in less than a week.”

“Out of the question.”

“Why?”

Mal stared at the ceiling. Griffin sighed. “You’re too young, Gemma, and alcohol is illegal.”

“It’s only illegal to sell it, not drink it. And anyway, you keep it here.”

“Only for guests. You know I don’t drink.”

“You shouldn’t keep the stuff around just for my sake, Grif,” Mal said.

“Thank you, Mal. Your concern is appreciated but entirely unnecessary.” Griffin turned back to Gemma. “I’m not going to argue the merits of the Volstead Act with you, Gemma. You aren’t to drink in this house.”

Gemma glared for a moment, turning undoubtedly rebellious thoughts about in her head. It was amazing how quickly she’d gone from obedient schoolgirl to willful young woman. Griffin could still remember the day of the fire, when he’d held a wailing two-yearold in his arms and watched, helpless, as their parents and elder brother were consumed by the flames. She had been so tiny then, so desperately in need of his protection…

“You can’t keep me locked up forever,” Gemma said in a deceptively calm voice. “In a few more years I’ll be able to make my own decisions, and then…”

“Gemma, Gemma—” Griffin cupped her chin in his hand “—why are you in such a hurry to face the world? It’s not as pretty as you imagine.”

She met his gaze. “I know how hard it was for you…in the War, I mean…all the things you had to do—”

He dropped his hand as if she had burned it. “You know nothing about it, and I never want you to learn. You’ll have a good life. Nothing will ever hurt you, Gemma. That I promise.”

“A good life.” She flounced away from him, banging her heels on the carpet. “You mean, a life among the stuffy, boring, proper members of New York society. You want me to marry an ordinary man and become a good, obedient wife who gives respectable teas and occasionally plays tennis with the other young matrons.” She swung back to face him. “What if I don’t want that kind of life? What if I want jazz and dancing and fast motor cars? What if I want to be free?”

“Gemma…”

“Don’t you see? We aren’t like other people, Grif! We can’t just pretend we are. What would happen if I married some nice, upstanding young man and he found out what I really am? Or will I have to hide it for the rest of my life?”

Griffin looked away, knowing she had hit on the one point he could not refute. He thought of anotherwoman who would probably represent Gemma’s ideal of the liberated, modern woman: a certain long-legged vamp with a black bob and aqua eyes and a throaty voice made for whispering seductive promises; a brash and brazen youngwoman who considered herself the equal of any male, human or otherwise—who’d made Griffin remember that he was still very much a man…

“Why can’t you just let me meet the others in New York?” Gemma demanded, cutting into his thoughts. “Why can’t we be with our own kind?”

“The pack would hardly permit you the freedom you crave,” he said.

“How do you know what they’d permit? You say you don’t trust them. I know it has something to do with what happened in San Francisco, but that was a different place. They aren’t the same!”

“They’re bootleggers,” Griffin said grimly. “They break the law every day.”

“But that isn’t—”

“Please go to your room, Gemma.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again and retreated with the air of one who had suffered only a temporary defeat. Griffin gave Mal a weary smile.

“I’m sorry about that little contretemps,” he said. “You shouldn’t be subjected to our family squabbles.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Mal said. “You should have seen me and my sisters.”

“I don’t enjoy such disagreements,” Griffin said. “She’s so much younger than I. She never knewour parents.”

“You had to raise her yourself.”

“Starke took care of us after the fire, until I was old enough to assume responsibility for the administration of our inheritance.”

“That’s why you call him Uncle Edward?”

“He was like a second father to us.” Griffin glanced away. “Afewyears later came theWar. After that, Gemma spent more time with governesses or away at school than with me.” He walked with Mal toward the door. “It’s my own fault if she doesn’t see things as I do.”

“It’s not your fault, Grif. Change is in the air. It’s not the way it was before the War. There are so many girls just like Gemma…girls who won’t go back to the way our mothers lived.”

Griffin stopped at the foot of the staircase. “Gemma won’t be that kind of girl, not as long as I have anything to say about it.” He gripped the newel post, tightening his fingers until they ached. “My life has no purpose if I can’t protect my sister.”

“No purpose?Your money does plenty of good in the world.”

“What I do is a drop in the bucket.” The newel post creaked under his hand. “Gemma has no resources to face the harsh realities of a mad and violent world. I intend to see that she reaches womanhood with her innocence unspoiled.”

Mal glanced at the floor and then back at Griffin, his expression guarded. “I hope it turns out the way you want it to, Grif, but don’t blame yourself if it doesn’t. Gemma isn’t an ordinary girl, and not even you can control everything.” He scuffed his shoe on the parquet floor. “I know it isn’t any of my business…”

“No. It isn’t.” He heard the harsh tone of his own voice and managed a smile. “Don’t worry about us, Mal. You have enough problems of your own, and I intend to help you as best I can.”

“You know I’m grateful.”

“There are no debts between us, Mal…not now and not ever.”

They continued on to the door, where Fitzsimmons could be seen waiting in the drive with the limousine. Griffin sent Mal off to Manhattan and returned to his study, his thoughts bleak and troubled.

Despite what he’d told Mal, he wasn’t at all confident that he could control Gemma. She had abilities far beyond those of a human girl her age. She was also far too inexperienced to fully grasp the consequences of employing them recklessly.

Griffin picked up the brandy snifter and swirled the liquor around and around, flaring his nostrils at the strong, sweet scent. Gemma would have been delighted to drink what Mal had left, but alcohol was the least of the dangers she faced. Maintaining Gemma’s respectability would be easy in comparison to holding her wolf nature in check. For Gemma, just like her brother, could become an animal in the blink of an eye.

And once the animal was free, there could be no certainty of restraining it.

The smell of the liquor went sour in Griffin’s nostrils. He’d been speaking no less than the truth when he’d told Mal that his life’s only remaining purpose was to protect Gemma. God knew, nothing else seemed very important. Any competent businessman could take his place administering the Durant estate, charities and commercial holdings. He had little interest in politics and even less in high society, beyond what was required to secure Gemma’s future.

And as for women…

He closed his eyes, drawn once again to the alley and his unconventional meeting with Allegra Chase. “You’re truly alone, aren’t you?” she’d said. “Is that why you spend your time rescuing damsels in distress?”

Her question had been intended as a gibe, but somehow she’d sensed that he’d cut himself off from the opposite sex, unwilling to embark on empty liaisons with the kinds of women who gave themselves freely for a handful of expensive trinkets or a few months of sexual gratification.

Allegra Chase was exactly that sort of woman, or would have been if she were human. She had her “obligations,” her powerful ties to the vampire who had Converted her, as well as to the rest of the clan—literal ties of blood even more binding than those that governed the world of the pack.Yet Griffin was still thinking about her, still remembering the fire in her eyes and the curves of her shapely legs. He’d dreamed of her last night, and awakened this morning hard and aching with need.

It was ridiculous. Allegra had been honest enough to warn him that the attraction he’d felt wasn’t real when he was too muddled to think for himself. She obviously had no more interest in him than she might have had in an African ape.

He should have been grateful. At the time, he’d thought she’d done him a favor. Allegra Chase was only a fantasy, and such visions eventually faded.

But this one hadn’t. If the attraction hadn’t been real, it surely would have died a quiet death by now.

Griffin scowled with self-disgust, nearly cracking the snifter in his hand. The only cure for these irrational thoughts and feelings would be time…time and the inevitable distance ensured by two very different lives.

Time and distance made no difference to Mal, he reflected. Once his friend had given his heart, nothing would shake him from his course. And that was why Mal deserved his happiness, he and the dreamers like him. No one—except for a few ambitious debutantes and their mothers—would notice or care if Griffin Durant cut himself off from the society that had kept him civilized.

Shaking off his grim mood, Griffin picked up the telephone receiver and gave the operator a number he hadn’t called in far too long.

“Kavanagh,” the man on the other end answered.

“Ross?”

“Griffin? Griffin Durant?”

“Hello, Ross. I know it’s been quite a while—”

“Hell, man. Far too long. How is life among the polo players and stuck-up debutantes of the North Shore?”

“The same as always. Nothing much changes here.”

“So I’ve heard. How is Gemma?”

“Her seventeenth birthday is just around the corner.”

“That old? You must be watching her like a hawk.”

“I do what I can.”

“And the pack? They aren’t giving you any more trouble?”

“No more than usual. I can handle them.”

Ross Kavanagh laughed, an edge to his voice. “Yeah. I’ll bet.”

“And you?”

“I’m dead to them. They leave me alone, and I don’t tell the other cops or my friends in the Prohibition Bureau about their little operation.”

“Good.” Griffin sat in the chair next to the telephone stand, forcing his muscles to relax. “Listen, Ross…I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it, brother?”

Succinctly Griffin recounted the situation with Margot De Luca. “Mal’s already been to see her father, and asked around every club he and Margot frequented, all with no success. If you could keep your ear to the ground, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure. Mal’s a good kid.”

“Honest, honorable and the bravest man I’ve ever known.”

“That’s saying a lot, coming from you.” Griffin heard the sound of a pencil scratching on paper. “I’ll give you a call if I turn up anything.”

“Thanks, Ross.”

“Don’t be such a stranger, Grif.”

As he hung up and walked to the window, Griffin wondered if he would ever be anything but a stranger. He had chosen his course, and he had no one to blame but himself.

With a snap of his wrist, Griffin closed the drapes and let the darkness enfold him.

Chapter Three

LULU’S WAS JUMPING tonight, and the hottest table in the joint belonged to Allie Chase.

She relaxed in her chair, an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips, and watched Pepper Adair dance the Charleston on the tabletop, red hair bouncing to the jazz band’s hectic rhythm. Bruce and Nathan were clapping in time, shouting encouragement as the tempo increased, while Nikolai stared into his drink with a feigned air of gloom and pretended he wasn’t having a good time. Sibella scribbled furiously in her sketchbook, deftly working to capture Jimmy McCrae in action as he balanced an empty glass on his nose.

“It is all so meaningless,” Nikolai said in his heavy Russian accent. “Must we always fiddle while Rome burns?”

Allie laughed. “Is there a fire somewhere I haven’t heard about, Kolya?”

He gazed at her from dark, soulful eyes. “There is the one in my heart, which only you can extinguish.”

“Oh, knock off the mushy talk, comrade,” Jimmy said, tossing his glass from hand to hand. “You know Allie ain’t interested.”

Allie smiled sweetly. “What would I do if I didn’t have you to tell me all about myself, Jimmy?”

“Good question.” He grinned and loosened his collar. “What I don’t get is why you haven’t fallen for me.”

“Because she has better taste than that,” Bruce said. “Such good taste, in fact, that I doubt any guy will meet with her approval in the foreseeable future.”

“Don’t listen to him, Allie,” Nathan said, his gentle face achingly sincere. “Sometimes he just likes to hear the sound of his own voice.”

Bruce snorted. “Allie would be the first to agree with me.”

The music had stopped. Pepper jumped down from the table and plopped into a chair, her face flushed and her eyes bright. “What are y’all talkin’ about?” she demanded. “Come on, tell!”

Allie signaled to the waiter to bring another round of drinks. “It’s nothing very interesting, really,” she said lightly. “Just a discussion of my love life.”

Pepper leaned forward, the neckline of her frock falling open to reveal a sliver of her fashionably flat bust line. “How excitin’! Who is he, darlin’?”

“Nobody, Pep,” Jimmy said. “Just the usual string of one-night stands.”

“That’s right,” Allie said. “I believe in keeping things uncomplicated.” She accepted a whiskey from the waiter and took a long drink. “I’m not the kind to settle down like Bruce and Nathan.”

“Who says I’ve settled down?” Bruce said.

“Don’t you be mean to Nathan, darlin’, or you’ll regret it. Won’t he, Allie?”

Allie gave Bruce a long look, and he acquired a sudden interest in his drink. Kolya heaved a great sigh. Sibella chewed on her pencil, oblivious. The jazz band struck up another number.

Pepper seized Jimmy’s hand and hauled him onto the dance floor. After a moment, Bruce and Nathan wandered off together, while Kolya began to feel the effects of his drinking and sprawled across the table. Allie smiled fondly and ruffled his dark hair.

“Look after him for me, Sibella,” she said. “I’ve got some business to attend to.”

Sibella mumbled agreement, and Allie strolled away from the table. She felt the eyes on her…covetous eyes, hungry eyes, eyes that saw a length of leg in a rolled silk stocking, the sway of hips beneath a low-waisted black satin dress, and thought nothing of the woman to whom they belonged.

That suited her just fine. The men who watched her, who assumed she was a hot little number who would jump into bed with the first big six to pass her a line…they were her rightful prey. The boldest fish were the easiest of all to hook.

She allowed her gaze to wander from table to table, seeking the most likely mark. A young man in Oxford bags, his face as yet fresh and unblemished by years of dissipation, tried to catch her eye. She ignored him and passed on, pretending boredom as she examined the darkest tables in the back of the room. An otherwise appealing mobster grinned in her direction, but when he lit his cigarette she crossed him from her list.

At last she found the perfect donor: a good-looking man in his early thirties, his cynical expression hinting at experience, his body firm and fit. She sauntered toward him, dipping her finger in his gin and slowly licking it clean.

“Buy me a drink?” she asked, sliding into a chair beside him.

He looked her up and down. “What’ll you have, baby?”

She picked up his half-empty glass, drained it and gave him a heavy-lidded stare. “Whiskey and soda,” she drawled. “And make it fast.”

He ran his fingertip from her bare shoulder to her wrist. “Why’re you in such a hurry?”

“I don’t believe in wasting time when I find what I want.”

“I can see that.”

“Then let’s have that drink.”

He signaled to a waiter, his attention focused on Allie. When the waiter failed to appear at the table, he glanced reluctantly toward the bar.

“Promise me you won’t go anywhere, baby,” he said, an edge to his voice.

She stretched luxuriantly, letting him glimpse several inches of bare thigh. “Now, why would I do that?” she purred.

He wrapped his fingers behind her neck, pulled her against him and kissed her, hard. She gave him exactly what he wanted, melting into him with a little gasp of admiration.

“There’s more where that came from,” he said, rising from his chair. “You stay right where you are.”

He strutted off like a peacock, all broad shoulders and jutting chin. He thought he’d won the prize with his natural charm and good looks. Men like him always assumed that any girl, even the most sophisticated flapper, would fall for them if they so much as crooked their fingers.

Let him keep his illusions. He would awaken from their encounter believing he’d had the best sex of his life, which meant that she could come back for more and he would be happy to oblige.

Allie rolled her toes inside her pumps and let her thoughts wander to yesterday’s fruitless search. She and Lou had practically turned the apartment upside down looking for the papers Elisha—and obviously someone else, as well—believed Cato might have given her. They hadn’t found anything but dust and a pair of earrings Allie had thought she’d lost last winter.

In a way, their failure had relieved Allie. She hadn’t solved the mystery of why those notes were so valuable, but at least she could honestly say she didn’t know where they were if someone questioned her again. And that might buy her time to keep looking into the circumstances of Cato’s death.

The watch on Allie’s wrist ticked out the minutes, and lover boy still hadn’t returned. She glanced toward the table where she’d left Kolya and Sibella. Kolya had fallen asleep over his vodka; Sibella was still sketching the various speakeasy patrons, her tongue between her teeth. Beyond them, at the entrance to the club, the doorman had just admitted a single girl in a cheap, overlarge yellow dress and a long string of very expensive-looking pearls.

Allie tapped her fingers on the tabletop. During her two years of hunting in Manhattan’s various clubs, speakeasies and dives, she had learned how to read people with almost perfect accuracy. For someone in her position, such a skill was essential. She’d used it to pick friends, like Bruce and Nathan and Pepper, who weren’t apt to question her peculiarities, and she relied on it to help her select her donors.

Now she looked at the girl in the yellow dress, all wide eyes and red lipstick, and knew exactly what was about to happen.

Get out, Allie thought. Get out while you still can.

The girl took a few steps farther into the room, staring about her with an expression that practically begged the worst of the roués and lady-killers to go for the throat. Fresh meat…that was all she would be to them. Easy to get drunk, since she’d probably never tasted anything stronger than near-beer, if that. Easy to win over with compliments and pretty words of admiration. All a man had to do was appeal to her desire to be daring and rebellious, and soon she would be eating out of his hand.

And then…

Hissing between her teeth, Allie folded her arms and turned away. It wasn’t any of her business if inexperienced girls who thought they wanted a fast life came slumming where they didn’t belong. The pearls suggested that this one had come from a privileged background. She’d probably never known a single day of suffering in her entire life.

Pampered and spoiled, Allie thought. She’s nothing like I was.

But Allie’s rationalizations didn’t improve her unexpectedly dark mood. She swiveled to watch as the girl walked up to the bar with an air of forced bravado and ordered a drink. The bartender asked her a question; she tossed her head and laughed. With a shrug, he moved to fill her order.

A moment later the first of the tomcats arrived…a handsomeValentino with slicked-back hair and a smile too full of teeth. He sidled up to the girl and engaged her in conversation, not quite touching her, playing the good old pal for all hewasworth. The girl picked up her glass, gingerly sipped and nearly choked on the liquor, her fair skin turning scarlet with chagrin. Valentino laughed companionably and gave her a brotherly hug. She gazed at him with gratitude and the beginnings of real interest.

Lousy taste, Allie thought. At least find someone closer to your age. Like that boy in the Oxford bags…

But the girl wouldn’t be interested in some collegiate type. She wanted the bad men, the dangerous ones her parents wouldn’t approve…just like the ones who were beginning to circle the bar like sharks smelling blood.

Maybe she’ll get out of it all right. Maybe she’s smarter than she looks…

“Miss me, baby?”

Allie’s own chivalrous suitor set a fresh pair of drinks on the table and settled into his seat beside her. “Where were we?” he drawled. “Oh, yeah…you were saying that you don’t like to waste time.”

“That’s right. I’m a regular bearcat when my interest is aroused.”

“No kidding.” He licked his lips, as his hand snaked under the table and came to rest on her knee. “I admire a doll who gets right to the point.”

Suddenly Allie was sick of his clumsy lovemaking. She stopped his hand in its progress and pulled him out of his seat. “Let’s go.”

He gaped at her. “Now?”

She smiled mockingly. “Having second thoughts?”

“Don’t you even want to know my name?”

“Why? You don’t know mine.”

“Sure I do. You’re Allie Chase. Everyone knows you.”

“Isn’t that nice.” She ran her fingernails up the length of his sleeve. “Are you coming or not?”

He surrendered to her tug and followed her to the back door. “Where are we—”

“The alley.”

“You want to do it there?”

“Why not?”

He grinned, excitement replacing surprise. “All right, baby. Fast and hard it is.”

Allie had barely stepped out into the alley when he lunged at her and pushed her against the brick wall, one eager hand pushing the skirt of her dress up to her hips, while the other fumbled with his trousers. She felt the hard bulge of his cock pressing against her belly. With a little sigh she pressed her face against his neck and kissed him, unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his collar. By the time he had worked her step-ins down around her thighs, she had pulled his coat and shirt away from his shoulders.

The hunger swept over her, demanding immediate relief. She kissed him at the juncture of his throat and shoulder, finding the veins closest to the skin. He forced her thighs apart. She bit him—gently, so gently that he would feel no more than the slightest pinch. She licked the small wound in his neck, tasting blood and releasing the chemicals her own body produced, waiting while they went to work…drew back and watched in astonishment as the slack face before her began to change, taking on strikingly different lines, brown eyes changing to gold, alight with fierce desire.

Allie swayed, startled by the sheer power of her own imagination. Her body grew hot and wet; she could almost feel Griffin Durant’s hands on her flesh, stroking, exploring, touching her breasts and her thighs. His mouth was on hers, savage and possessive; he pressed against her, demanding entrance, and she could think of nothing but taking him inside, making him a part of her for all time…

Her nameless prey gave a soft groan and let go of her shoulders. Griffin Durant vanished. Seized by desire that had become a raging thirst, Allie shook off her confusion and focused on the reality of the man in her grip. While he stood smiling in an erotic stupor, she took what she needed. The blood was both tart and sweet on her tongue. She felt new strength seep into her bones and muscles and organs, the first rush of euphoria that always came with a good feeding but was all too often so quick to evaporate.

When she was finished, she steered him to the wall and let him slump there while his wound began to heal. “That’s all, friend,” she said, patting his stubbled cheek. “You just sleep it off right here.”