A series of pale lines marked the inside of her wrist, almost too light to be seen. As he turned her arm, unlike the rest of her skin, they caught the light and reflected it. The shape they formed was that of a small, round-headed bird.
Exactly, in fact, like the outline of an owl.
Lucan noticed three things about the state of Georgia: The land was beautiful, the natives’ dialect made them almost as incomprehensible as the Cubans of south Florida, and the men in authority here did not care for females having the same.
“That there’s the problem, miss,” the fat desk sergeant said as he settled his bulk on one elbow so he could get a better view of Samantha’s neckline. “Y’all come here without an invite to pick up a prisoner after hours. I don’t know how y’all run your department down there, but that’s not how it works in Atlanta.”
Much to Lucan’s disappointment, Samantha did not leap across the scarred surface of the reception desk or rip out the offensive mortal’s throat. She, the soul of patience, merely smiled.
“The prisoner has considerable financial resources at his command and is a serious flight risk,” she told the insolent mortal. “The last time he made bail on capital murder charges, he fled the state. The district attorney wants only to assure that he stands trial in Fort Lauderdale.”
“Lady, my captain don’t care if he has to go before a judge in the North Pole.” He chuckled at his own joke. “We got our way of doing things, and this ain’t it.”
“Obviously.” Lucan took her elbow and pulled her to one side. “This is a waste of time. I will go and retrieve the bag of scum.”
“Scumbag,” she corrected. “We had an agreement. We’re here to extradite Max Grodan, not terrorize and destroy half the city.” Before he could reply, she added, “Behave yourself, suzerain, or I’ll make you fill out the paperwork.”
He eyed the stack of forms the desk sergeant had produced. “You would not be so heartless.”
“Keep pushing and find out.” She went back to the desk, collected the forms, and made an appointment to see the chief of homicide the following afternoon. “Would it be possible to obtain a copy of the arrest reports?” When the man scowled, she added, “I have to call the district attorney tonight, and I’m sure he’d be interested in how cooperative your department has been.”
The sergeant released a long-suffering sigh before he trudged into a back office and returned a few minutes later. “Here’s copies of what all the feds sent over with him.”
“Thank you.” Sam took the folder and glanced at Lucan. “We’ll need a hotel room.”
“Five of my favorite words.” He clasped her hand in his. “But I’ve already arranged suitable accommodations.”
She didn’t seem to hear him, engrossed as she was in the contents of the file.
In the car, she finished reading and closed the folder. “That’s odd. I thought they caught him in the act, but they didn’t even know he was in the city. Stop driving so fast.”
“This is a Ferrari,” he reminded her. “It does not allow itself to be driven slowly. What act?”
“Setting up another con,” Samantha said. “The guy uses his partners for everything—making hotel reservations, renting cars, buying whatever he needs—all under their names. That way there’s never any evidence implicating him. He never leaves a trail. I figured his new partner tipped off the Bureau. Instead, they get an anonymous phone call reporting him and the partner.”
Lucan shrugged. “So a good citizen did their duty.”
“Someone knew everything—where he was, who he was with, what they’d already done in New York, and what they planned to do here. Max is a ghost. He just doesn’t exist.” She frowned, thinking. “Maybe one of his old partners got away from him. But how would she know where he was, and what he was doing?” She looked up through the windshield. “Where are we?”
“Our hotel room, so to speak.” He parked at the curb in front of the Armstrong building. “I spoke to Scarlet. He was kind enough to extend to us the use of his city stronghold.”
She didn’t look happy as she got out of the car. “All right, I suppose it’s okay. Which floor is it?”
“All of them.”
She stared at him. “You borrowed the entire building?”
“Of course. I am a visiting suzerain.” He put an arm around her waist. “What would you have me do, Samantha? Take rooms for us at the Motel 6?”
“Oh, shut up.” She walked with him to the entrance, where a human male dressed in a dark brown suit met them at the doors.
“Suzerain Lucan.” The mortal bowed. “I’m Charles Kendrick, the building manager. Suzerain Scarlet sends his regrets that he could not personally attend you, as he is still overseeing the repair work at Rosethorn. We’ve prepared a suite for you on the fourth floor. If you require anything during your stay, please notify the staff by pressing zero on any phone.”
Lucan noted the small black cameos glinting in the mortal’s cuffs, indicating the mortal was a tresora, a trusted human who had been trained from birth to serve the Kyn. “Thank you. We should not be here for long.”
Lucan could feel Samantha’s tension building as they took the lift to the fourth floor, where it opened as an entrance to the massive guest suite.
She glanced around the walls covered with peach silk hand-painted with trompe l’oeil trellises and dark green ivy, the light oak English country furnishings, and the crisp white and sky blue draperies. “Jesus. I feel like I just stepped into a dinner mint.”
“I could inquire to see if they have something more in line with a Skittles theme,” he said, bending to place a kiss on her shoulder, and then frowning as she moved to avoid his touch. “Perhaps the bedchamber will be more to your liking.”
She ignored him and wandered around the sitting room, almost but not quite touching several of the room’s treasures. “You only see stuff like this in high-end house porn magazines.” She looked up at the room’s rock-crystal chandelier, from which a small bluebird hung in perpetual flight.
She pushed her hands into the pockets of her trousers, but not before he saw that they were shaking. “How far away is Motel 6 again?”
Lucan realized his sygkenis had little exposure to the sort of luxuries the centuries had allowed the Kyn to acquire, but she was hiding something else behind her sarcasm. “We can leave and go anywhere you wish. You have but to say.”
“No, I can do this.” She sat down gingerly on a French chaise and hunched her shoulders as she rubbed the side of her forehead. “Sorry. I’m just a little tired.”
As he went to her, her scent wrapped around him. It had a deeper, more pervasive note than usual, one that betrayed her real state. “You lied to me.”
She glanced up. “Huh?”
“You said that you would attend to your needs before we departed Fort Lauderdale.” He cupped her cold cheek. “If you had, your body would be warm, and your hands would not be trembling.”
“It slipped my mind.” She rose and tried to go around him, but when he countered the move she came up short. “I’ll give myself an injection later.”
“Why not now?”
“I forgot to pack my syringes, all right?” Her pupils shrank to thin black crescents as her hazel eyes turned pure gold. “I’d order some more from the local pharmacy, but I doubt they carry the copper-tipped, blood-filled brand.”
Knowing that her temper could easily incite his own, he forced his own thoughts to remain calm. “You cannot keep depending on the needles. Before you shout at me again, remember that our bond and your distress rouse my talent, and you are standing directly beneath a crystal chandelier.”
“I’m sorry.” She exhaled slowly. “Alex told me she uses only injections. She said it’s better this way. Easier to live with—like being a diabetic.”
“Alexandra heals humans,” he reminded her. “You hunt their killers. Your personalities are different, and so are your instincts. The needles have not been satisfying you for some time now, have they? Why have you concealed this from me?”
“It’s my problem,” she snapped. “I don’t need blood all the time. I can go a couple of days without it.”
“But tonight you want it. Very badly, I think.” He studied her stubborn expression. “Who tempted you? Rob’s tresora downstairs? Or that annoying mortal at the police department?”
“I didn’t do anything.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’m still in control.”
“Are you?” She didn’t seem to realize that her dents acérées were fully extended, or that she was shedding enough scent to seduce a small army. “There is no reason to deny yourself any longer.” He took hold of her arms and tugged her closer. “I will hunt with you.”
“Honey.” Now she bared her fangs. “You’re not helping.”
“You would not blame a starving mortal for feeling hunger,” he told her gently. “Yet you condemn yourself for this.”
“When I look at someone and all I can think of is sinking my teeth into his throat, being happy is a little hard to swing.” She turned her head. “They must have some bagged blood in here somewhere.”
“You cannot hunt a plastic bag.”
Her fiery golden eyes flashed up. “I don’t hunt anything.”
“I disagree, Detective.” He pulled her closer, ignoring the stiffness of her limbs as he pressed her face to his chest. “Do you trust me?”
“No,” she said into his shirt, and then, reluctantly, “Yes.”
In that moment, his love for her almost overwhelmed him. “We are hunters, Samantha. Our needs cannot be ignored or forgotten, or we risk losing control. When that happens, we do not merely feed. We kill. You will kill.”
