The sleek jet landed smoothly on the private runway and taxied to a stop near the waiting limousine. The driver and passenger doors opened and two men emerged from the limo.

Matteo Cabrelli expected them both. The older of the two, Pietro, the limo’s driver, could no longer walk completely upright but he refused to surrender his position.

The jet’s door was opened and the stairs extended for Matteo by the steward who, like the pilot and Pietro, was padrall, a member of one of the human families who had served vampires in one way or another since the very beginning, each generation passing the duty to the next.

Matteo descended the stairs and walked to the limousine. “Shall I pour you a drink, Don Cabrelli?” Pietro asked.

“Grazie. I’ll get it myself.” He placed his hand on the old servant’s shoulder, ignoring the dhampir with the obsidian black eyes. “The house?”

Pietro stood taller. “Everything is ready for you and your kadine. Do you wish to go there first?”

Matteo gently squeezed the old man’s shoulder. “I don’t need to, not with your seeing to the arrangements. We’ll collect my missing bride. Once she and I have been safely delivered to the house, you’ll return to the carnival for her belongings.”

Pietro’s eyes watered. “I was afraid I wouldn’t live to see this day.”

“I’m glad this happened on your watch.”

Matteo got into the limo. Domino followed, deftly lifting the decanter of wine on the bar behind the driver’s seat. He poured two crystal glasses, lifted one of them but didn’t carry it to his lips until Matteo had added the potent, bitter tasting herbs to his own drink and taken a swallow.

The herbs left Matteo’s tongue and the insides of his mouth feeling as though they’d been scoured. He took another swallow, though after centuries of usage, the herbs only muted La Brama, The Hunger.

He finished the first glass and poured a second, in preparation for being in the midst of so much prey and in the presence of a woman who should never have been taken from him to begin with. He’d fought La Smania—the restless hunger and thirst for a mate that came with being reproductively mature—for centuries until he was ready for his life to revolve around a single woman. It had taken him a dozen years to determine the pair whose genes would create her, and then twenty years of hell searching for her after she’d been stolen.

“Your grandmother is lucky that the Cabrelli don’t want to war with the Santori. She had to guess what Sarael was when she saw the tattoo. With little effort at all, she could have learned that Sarael belonged to me.”

“My grandmother wasn’t born into our world. She’s made no secret that she doesn’t approve of the practice of creating kadines.”

“Hasn’t your mother told her how painful it is to be adapted the old way?”

Domino shrugged. “My mother survived.”

“Death isn’t the only thing to fear. In the past the adaption drove too many potential mates to commit suicide or go insane. When we get to the carnival, warn your grandmother not to interfere.”

* * * * *

The tarot cards lay on black satin. Three of them, lined up in a row.

The past. The present. The future.

Their black-and-white, whirlpool-patterned backs glowed in lighting meant to awe the townies who ventured into the small carnival tent.

Sarael Castillo rubbed her fingertips over her knees. She plucked at her jeans and wished she could escape this unasked-for reading using cards she’d never seen before.

Helki sat across the table, her ancient, wrinkled face free of expression though her eyes were filled with too much knowledge. “You don’t wish to see them?”

The old woman’s voice held a mild rebuke. A challenge. Something that had Sarael’s stomach tightening and a shiver going through her despite the denim jacket and the warmth inside the tent.

She ducked her head. Did she want to see the cards?

She shivered again. Her heart beat faster, turning blood into a snake of fear that stretched down her legs and into her feet so she tapped them on the rough wooden floor.

Toe. Toe. Toe. Heel.

Toe. Toe. Toe. Heel.

Toe. Toe. Toe. Heel.

Outwardly nothing was different, but for days she’d felt as though a dark storm gathered and would soon overtake her, ending everything that was familiar.

Bracing herself for what the cards would reveal, she said. “I’ll see them.”

Helki flipped them over one at a time.

The Hanged Man.

The Tower.

The Moon.

The past. The present. The Future.

Sarael’s toes and heels tapped faster. Her heart beat harder, widening the snake of fear and sending it racing up her throat to encircle her neck and tighten like a noose, not that she needed to say anything, not with Helki there to voice the interpretation.

“You’ve lived among us, held in limbo by choices that weren’t your own. Soon you’ll have reason to leave the carnival, and you must leave.”

The elderly fortune teller took Sarael’s hand. She turned the palm upward then removed the leather band from around Sarael’s wrist, exposing the strange tattoo, a stylized scorpion embedded in a rose.

Helki tapped it. “A man who thinks to possess you will soon appear. He intends for you to live in his world.”

Sarael believed, feared. She visually traced the tattoo she’d worn from her earliest memory.

“And will I live in his world?” The world of The Moon.

“It’s not what I’d have for you but… I have no power to shield you from that fate.” Helki tapped the tattoo and then scooped up the cards, signaling the end of the reading.

Zeraac picked up another photograph, Kaylee as a toddler, dressed up and in the arms of her policeman father, his uniform and expression giving the image a cool feel. It was the last picture in which he appeared.

Ariel took it from him, surprising him by putting it down so the image lay flat against the wood of the bookcase. “Colin was killed almost a year ago, while he was undercover, investigating a suspected mafia leader involved in selling weapons and drugs. The man’s name was Alexi Sulemanov. The district attorney had a witness to Colin’s murder, Alexi’s girlfriend—a teacher named Krista Thomas—but she disappeared. And so did Alexi. They’re probably both back in Russia, enjoying the good life now. Or maybe he killed her and fled the country.”

Zeraac’s fingers circled Ariel’s wrist. “Alexi is dead.”

She stilled, turning so she could meet Zeraac’s eyes, probing them for the truth she heard in his voice. “How can you be so certain?”

“My brother—” Zeraac paused, uncertain how to proceed, how much to reveal. If they succeeded in getting Ariel and Kaylee to Winseka, they would soon encounter Krista as well as the other human bond-mates who now called the bridge city home.

“Your brother…” Krista prompted, her body language warning that suspicion would soon make her draw away from him, widening a gap he desperately wanted to close until there were no secrets between them.

“My brother, Adan, is involved in law enforcement. The man who murdered your husband was killed by Adan’s partner, Lyan d’Vesti, in a cabin where Krista was being held prisoner. But rather than free Krista from fear, she knew Alexi’s death would only make his family members want to avenge him, striking out at both her and those she cared about. She sought protection and my brother and his partner offered it.”

Ariel could think of nothing to say. Her emotions were a confused jumble, her mind scrambling back to those moments when they’d been sitting in Peter’s police car. Zeraac couldn’t have known who she was then, and yet, it seemed more than coincidence that his brother knew of Alexi, had offered his protection to the woman who’d witnessed Colin’s murder.

She rubbed her forehead and Zeraac’s hand was instantly there, making small, soothing circles against her skin. And she let him do it, let him push away her feelings of confusion and her half-formed questions, let him ease her mind with his gentle touch.

In a perfect world, Alexi Sulemanov would have been tried and convicted, sent to jail where he would suffer for all the misery he’d caused—but in the real world, she suspected his money would free him from paying for his crimes.

“I’m glad Alexi’s dead,” she said, leaning into Zeraac’s touch, not resisting when he lifted her into his arms and moved to the couch with her, sitting down and settling her on his lap, the hard ridge of his erection pressed against her buttocks. She closed her eyes, going lax against him, savoring his warmth, the security she felt when he was near. “But he didn’t take Colin away from me. Or from Kaylee. The disease did that, a long time ago.”

Zeraac acknowledged the comment by cupping her face and lowering his own, by whispering a soft kiss against her lips, teasing her with the gentle press of his mouth to hers, by the light stroke of his tongue. She whimpered and shifted, her arms going around his neck, her mouth opening under his, inviting him to deepen the kiss, to offer more of himself.

“Ariel,” he whispered, his heart thundering in his chest, his body shaking slightly with the need to lose himself in her sweet scent and feminine flesh. There was no way he could turn away from what she was offering, especially now, when he knew she was his to claim as a bond-mate. His tongue delved into her mouth, dueling with hers even as he maneuvered them so she was lying underneath him, his thigh wedged between hers, his body moving against hers.

She whimpered into his mouth, pressing herself against him and eating at his mouth as though she was starving for the touch and taste of him. And he responded by pushing his hand underneath her shirt and the strange article of clothing that covered her breasts, by tweaking and tugging at her nipple, masculine pride surging through him at how responsive she was, how her body arched into his.

Pleasure ripped through Ariel. Longing. Desire. The need to be held, touched, loved by a man. Not just by any man. By him. He’d taken her emotions by storm. Awakened a part of her that slept deeply.

“Zeraac,” she whispered. Wanting him to take charge. To take responsibility. To make her forget—at least for a little while. And yet even as she thought it, a part of her pulled back, knowing she wasn’t ready to go any further with him.

“Easy,” he whispered, as though sensing the beginnings of her panic and uncertainty. “Only this, Ariel. Just this.”

She closed her eyes, unable to stop a soft whimper from escaping as he settled more heavily on her, the feel of his erection making her vulva swell, her clit ache for more than a clothing-shrouded rub, one body against another.

His hand speared into her hair, holding her in place as his tongue dueled with hers, pressing and retreating, coaxing and commanding, making her feverish with desire.

Tears of need escaped and she widened her legs, encircling his hips and pressing into him, rocking against him, her clit so engorged that she wanted to push her jeans down and beg him to suck it, to lave it with his tongue, to give her release.

But the words remained trapped in her throat and she let them stay there, accepting something less and grinding against him, arching into him until his hand moved from her hair, joining the other one under her shirt, both going to her nipples and as if sensing her desire for just a little pain with her pleasure, tightening on them, the extra stimulation enough to make her climax underneath him.

With a husky laugh Zeraac finally had to lift his head so that they both could breathe, and almost immediately the spell was broken. Heat rushed to Ariel’s face. Guilt. And he knew her thoughts were on Kaylee.

“I…can’t,” Ariel started, but Zeraac leaned in and stopped her with a kiss, exploring her mouth in a leisurely fashion this time, gentling her, calming her as though the fury of what had just happened between them had not left him hard and aching.

When he lifted his lips from hers, his gaze was tender, soft. “I ask nothing more than just to be able to kiss and touch you.”

Her face filled with uncertainty and embarrassment and something much more precious to Zeraac—trust and caring. “I’ve left you…hurting.”

He laughed, unable to resist brushing his mouth against hers again and saying, “I’ll survive. A little pain beforehand only heightens the anticipation and deepens the satisfaction.”

Apparently she wasn’t the only one who wanted to eat him up. Storm frowned as a couple of women stopped in front of the booth, blocking her view of the delicious university professor and causing her aggravation meter to go up a notch—the way it did when she was in uniform and had to deal with a particularly obnoxious drunk.

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind and suppress the unexpected feeling of possessiveness. Get a grip here! She had never fought over a man in her life, and she was not going to start with this one—no matter how many erotic images flitted through her thoughts, and there were plenty of them.

She’d spent more time thinking about her brief encounter with Tristan than she’d ever admit to. She’d even gone so far as to pull up the university catalog to see what classes he taught.

She had not signed up for one of them. Her self-respect demanded that she draw the line somewhere.

Besides, she had a feeling that there were no audit spots available. Hell, there was probably a waiting list—a long, long waiting list of female students who wanted to be dazzled by his…knowledge.

He stood then, saying something to the women so that they turned and glowered at Storm before moving away from the booth. Storm’s heart skipped a beat then raced when his smile reached out and stroked her from the inside out, reaching deep and brushing against every erogenous zone she possessed in the process.

“I took the liberty of ordering a glass of wine for you,” he said when she got to the table. His hand enclosed hers, not shaking it as she’d intended, but bringing it to his mouth instead and brushing his lips against her knuckles.

For a shimmering instant Storm was dazzled, unable to look away as the golden haze of lust surrounded them both. And then his mouth quirked upward in the same smile that had caused her heart to race when she’d visited him in his office, only here, now, it eased them from staring into each other’s eyes into taking their seats.

“Thanks again for being willing to help,” Storm said, retreating behind the case before she did something out of character—like suggest they walk on the beach until they found a place where they could make love.

She took a deep breath and corrected herself. Have sex. Let’s not confuse fantasy with reality here. Her cunt clenched, not caring what she called it, as long as the ache was soothed.

A waitress appeared next to the table, barely acknowledging Storm as she set their drinks down. Even after Tristan had placed several bills on her tray and told her to keep the change, she lingered, her presence like a crisp fall breeze that clears the air as it passes.

Storm blinked, grateful for the interruption. Of its own accord, her hand covered the necklace Aislinn had given her where it rested under her shirt.

It burned warm and comforting in her palm, but more importantly, the feel of the smooth male faeries holding the crystal somehow grounded her, somehow made her feel…back in control—even if she was still horny.

Tristan murmured something and the waitress finally moved away. The grin he directed at Storm shot right to her heart, and yet she had the presence of mind to joke, “I guess that happens to you all the time. At least she ignored me. I had to check my clothing for burn holes the day I came by your office. Your coeds didn’t like seeing me there. Just walking down the hallway felt like running the gauntlet.”

His smile and husky laugh made her want to lean across the table and press her lips to his. “Not my coeds. Though I count myself lucky that you were courageous enough to contact me again. I’ve thought about your visit often and followed your success in the media.”

Tristan lifted his glass and swallowed, the simple play of tanned skin over muscle enough to claim Storm’s attention while his casual admission had her nipples going tight and hard as her panties grew wetter. She lifted her wine glass and followed suit, glad to have something to moisten her suddenly dry mouth with.

Was he being honest? Had he really thought about her? Or was he merely engaged in a verbal dance of seduction?

Did it matter? Would she really pass up a chance to be intimate with him?

No.

She tried to live each day to the fullest, to enjoy herself. It was her nature, and an acknowledgement of the danger inherent in her job, the gut-level understanding that the next car she pulled over or the next suspect she tried to bring in could be the one who ended her life.

So no. If spending time with him led to further intimacy, well…

As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Tristan reached over and took her free hand in his. “Would you care to dance?”

Other couples were already moving to the dance floor as the band transitioned to a slow, moody melody. Storm set her wine glass down on the table and let him ease her from the booth and into his arms.

They were a perfect fit.

Storm closed her eyes and savored the brush of his chest against her tight nipples, the rub of his erection against her swollen, needy clit as he held her against his body, surrounding her with his masculine scent. Her breath caught when his lips touched her neck, pressing hungry kisses along sensitive skin, moving upward to her earlobe. She almost cried out when he teased it with his teeth before tracing the rim of her ear with his wet, sensuous tongue. And all the while, his hands stroked along her back, her shoulders, her sides, the top of her buttocks.

Her hands moved in tandem with his, discovering the contours of his body as he discovered hers, the firm muscles of his back, his sides, his shoulders. She luxuriated in the warmth radiating off his body, surrounding and caressing her like a perfect spring breeze, the pleasure of being held by him somehow making her heart feel light, her spirit carefree.

Tristan breathed in the scent of her, rejoiced in the feel of her soft skin. She was the one. His forever wife. She had to be for her to take over his thoughts so thoroughly. For her to command his body so easily.

His cock throbbed and yet he savored this closeness, this harmony of movement as the music surrounded them like a heavy fog, encasing them in a world that wasn’t spoken, only felt. It was sweet agony and painful need.

He parted from her only when the music ended and the band moved into an upbeat, catchy tune meant for energetic steps and swirls. But rather than return to their table, he took her hand and led her outside. “Walk on the beach with me,” he coaxed. Dance with me underneath the stars as the fey have always done.

Fear skittered through Syndelle as the Viper pulled away from the hotel. She could feel Brann’s immense power moving against her own power like a hungry tiger rubbing its face and body against the bars of a cage—only it was the prey trapped inside the cage and not the deadly predator.

Her blood sang with Sabin’s ancient knowledge of who Brann was, what he was.

Sorcerer. Executioner. Vampire. A being who would recognize what she was, a being who could unleash the ancient magic inside her and use it for his own purposes.

The mate of her nightmares. The bogeyman she’d feared her entire life.

But even so, the melody of a thousand chimes sang in her mind, insisting that she finish what she started, that the bond be closed. The feel of Rafael’s hard cock against her bottom as he held her on his lap in the tight confines of the sports car, added to the need.

She pressed her forehead against the window and closed her eyes, trying to block out the sound of the chiming, the urgent, primordial call to merge with these two men.

That she would ultimately yield her body was a foregone conclusion. She knew it, accepted it. Only death would free her from the demands of the Angelini magic that had created her, and she had no death wish.

The call to mate with Rafael had overwhelmed her, surprised her, pleased her. He was human and she did not fear humans. He was what she’d once hoped for, a human mate.

Like a turtle, she pulled deeper into her shell, retreating to a place where neither the chiming, nor the heady scent of Rafael, nor Brann’s power could reach her, retreating to a place where she could pull her strength and courage around her.

Syndelle. Already the name resonated within Brann, calling to his body, his soul, his heart.

She was a prize beyond measure, beyond compare, one he’d thought might be more vampire myth than reality.

The Coronado family had guarded her and kept her secret well. So well that there wasn’t even a whisper among members of the council of her existence, of what she was, what she would be to the vampire who could possess her. He doubted that even the Angelini knew what she was. There would be those among them who would want to see her dead if they knew, who would fear the return of the old magic, the old days, should she fulfill the destiny carried within her blood.

Brann pressed against her shields again, harder this time, using his link with Rafael to try and move into her mind. The way was blocked. Impenetrable.

Only the most ancient, the most powerful vampires had shields so strong. But he would have expected nothing less from Sabin’s daughter. He would have expected nothing less of the Coronado line. Or from The Masada.

He pushed again, trying to gauge whether his attempts to breach her barriers were weakening her, but felt only the flare of her power countering his own. They were well-matched, a perfect complement to one another.

Brann smiled in the dark interior of the car. The battle would be delicate, though hard-fought, but in the end his will would reign. In the end, she would be the answer to his centuries’ old prayer, one that had started the first night he awakened as a vampire. In the end, she would be his companion—bound to him by blood, his in every way, his to command even as it was his duty to protect and provide for her.

Rafael shifted in his seat, his cock so hard and full that he felt more animal than man. A multitude of feelings and conflicting desires warred inside him. Brann’s powerful will pressed through his veins, adding to the tangle of emotion and sensation swirling inside Rafael until he couldn’t stand it anymore. “Enough already. Get out of my fucking head!”

His harsh snarl made Syndelle tense on his lap, the involuntary clench of her buttocks sending a shockwave through his cock. Rafe’s arms tightened around her, forcing her ass down hard on his erection. Fuck, after years of not being allowed to come, he was about a breath away from shooting his load into his own pants. “Don’t move,” he growled against her neck, his teeth automatically gripping the place where he’d bitten her earlier.

She whimpered in response, going soft and submissive, and Rafael knew he’d be lucky to make it out of the car before taking her again. He groaned against her spring-scented skin, his heart racing as the Viper moved through the opened wrought iron gates of Brann’s most heavily protected home.

A thin layer of sweat coated his skin as he fought off the need to rut like a crazed wolf. Brann’s anticipation stroked along their link and he knew the vampire wanted this. Wanted to see him fucking her. Wanted much, much more than just that.

Rafael didn’t know which was worse—what the vampire’s bond had done to him or what the Angelini mating had done to him.

He was panting by the time the car came to a stop.

Rafael’s harsh challenge to the vampire had jolted Syndelle out of her protective shell and into a maelstrom of emotion and desire. There was no fighting the need to mate. Rafael’s cock burned through their clothing, his heavy breathing and the feel of his teeth awakened the wolf and the Angelini magic rose with it.

Brann got out of the car and moved to the passenger side, opening the door and easily lifting her from Rafael’s lap. It was the first time he’d touched her and a moan escaped as the dark melody of his power poured through her and the wolf lifted its head, howling, its song blending with the music of a thousand chimes. She shivered, resting her head against the waterfall of Brann’s hair, its deep red color a reminder of what was to come. She wouldn’t escape this night without exchanging blood with him. He would never allow it.

Dante met his brother’s gaze. Whatever was happening with Benito, he wanted it out on the table. “You’ve met someone?”

Benito’s dark eyes, mirror images of his own, actually flashed with amusement momentarily, and then with surprise as his attention shifted to the bar entrance. “Not yet, but I’d like to.”

Dante turned in his seat and his cock went from mildly interested to flat-out desperate, while at the same time his mind traveled from oh yeah at the sight of the dark-haired beauty to oh fuck when he saw who she came in with. “Shit.”

The two women could almost be twins themselves except the one with the raven-black curls halfway down her back was just a little taller and oozed sensuousness while the one with the straight hair, the one who had Dante’s cock pressing hard against his jeans, had an innocence about her that usually would have been more effective than a cold shower.

“You know her?” Benito asked, his cock thick and hard and straight as it strained to get past his waistband. He hadn’t been with a woman since the last one he and Dante had taken together, hadn’t thought to seek one out either alone or with his brother—not that the need wasn’t there, but it had changed and deepened until he knew a parade of easy, forgettable women wouldn’t give him what he craved.

He hadn’t intended to pursue a woman tonight. He hadn’t even planned on bringing up the subject of women again until this mess with the shooting was over. He’d planned only on trying to persuade his brother to take over part of the Giancotti Security operation.

His intentions changed the moment the dark-haired woman walked into the bar and his heart tripped into an unsteady beat while his cock rose to rigid attention. He couldn’t make out her features clearly, but she looked delicate, soft, with gentle curves that made him think of intense sex—followed by a lingering warmth instead of the usual need to disentangle and distance himself. “You know her?” Benito repeated, his eyes moving to Dante and seeing the lust riding his twin.

“The one with the long curls is Lyric Montgomery. Now Burke. She’s married to a vice cop.”

Benito gave a slight shake of his head confirming what Dante already knew. It was the woman with Lyric who had caught his brother’s attention. “What about the other one?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen her before.” He shrugged. “But I don’t spend a lot of time down here.”

They watched as the two women found a table, then frowned identical frowns when a blond man sporting a ponytail just as long as Benito’s joined them, receiving a hug and a kiss from both women before he sat down.

“I want to meet her,” Benito said, hating the timing, hating that he had to push now when he’d been prepared to hold until Dante’s head got clear about his career, hating that he risked opening a rift between them. But his gut, hell, his cock was screaming at him not to let the opportunity to meet this woman pass.

Dante gritted his teeth. Shit. Either way he was screwed. Benito would go over and introduce himself whether he went or not. “She’s not what you usually go for,” he said, already knowing it didn’t matter. Hell, his own cock was aching for a chance at her.

Benito shrugged and rose from his seat. Cursing, Dante also stood.

Calista watched as the two men approached. God, they were gorgeous. Brothers, maybe twins, not identical, but close enough. She recognized the one with the shorter hair, his face had been in the news lately. He might be a cop, but he had the dark Italian looks and confidence of a street-wise gangster. Dante something. She should remember it. He’d been a topic of conversation around her parents’ dinner table. To a one, the men in her family agreed he’d done what a cop had to do and made a righteous kill. Too bad the perp had come from a moneyed, politically inclined family.

She shivered—the pictures hadn’t done Dante justice. The man was a walking orgasm, a sexual animal that could give a woman a night she’d never forget. Or repeat. His hard eyes and hard face were warning enough. The only thing he was offering was his body, and only while it suited him.

Calista’s eyes moved to the brother and a ball of heated anticipation settled low in her belly, sending a warm flush through her cunt. She’d always had a thing for men with long hair, and this one, with the soft eyes and the lips that promised unspeakable pleasure, had her praying they weren’t zeroing in on Lyric. That would be a major bummer. Not that she wouldn’t understand it, but…

She straightened her shoulders. This was her night, and if a couple of guys couldn’t resist hitting on Lyric, then she was not going to get upset about it. She wasn’t going to let it ruin her excitement about getting a chance to work a case for Crime Tells. She was not in a competition with Lyric. Any guy would want to do her sister-in-law. Of course, if they were stupid enough to try it, Kieran would convince them it wasn’t a good idea. But…

“Oh shit,” Lyric muttered, “Kieran is never going to believe I didn’t have something to do with this.”

“Not with your reputation,” Tyler Keane agreed and Calista’s attention shifted back to her companions.

“What?” she asked, her interest instantly piqued by the mischief dancing in Lyric’s eyes. What had she ever done without Lyric in her life? Her sister-in-law was a walking catalyst for change.

“That’s Dante Giancotti heading our way. I met him when I was helping Cady on her last case, well the last one before she took off to Texas with Kix.” Lyric grinned. “Kieran was with me and I teased him with the prospect of introducing Dante to you.”

Heat rushed to Calista’s cheeks. She could just imagine how that had gone over. The men in her family tended to be overprotective, and that was a gross understatement. Calista shook her head. “Don’t bother repeating what Big Brother said. I can guess.”

Lyric actually snickered. “I won’t have to. I’m sure he’ll tell you himself when he gets here.” Her eyes moved from the approaching Giancotti brothers to the exquisitely, delicious Tyler who’d been her childhood friend and who now worked as a police artist and as a consultant for Crime Tells. “But don’t expect Kieran and I to stick around for long. Not with all this gorgeous male flesh present.” Her eyebrows went up and down. “You know how your brother gets when he’s around too much testosterone.”

Calista was still laughing as Dante and his brother reached the table.

“Mind if we join you?” Benito asked after his brother and Lyric had made the introductions.

Lyric’s laugh was pure mischief. “That’d be great, pull up a chair. We’re celebrating. As of today, Calista is working for Crime Tells.”

Kix laughed softly at the challenge she’d just issued. He couldn’t wait to get her underneath him. Hell, he couldn’t wait to get her on top of him. He’d give her a no-holds-barred ride that she wouldn’t get anywhere else. Damn, but she was driving him crazy.

Truth be told, he hardly had to lift a finger and the women came running. Between being the sheriff and being part of the Branaman clan, he almost had to use the nightstick to beat them off.

There’d been a couple of fillies along the way who’d tried to play hard to get, but Cady was the real deal—a heap of honesty laced together with sensuality. She’d probably be a hellcat in bed—with the right man. And he was planning to be that man.

Kix grinned. She felt the attraction, and he’d bet his favorite truck that her sweet pussy was all slicked up and waiting for him. And her nipples—they’d been as hard as his cock from the moment Adrienne had introduced them. Now he just had to get her to stop dancing out of reach and accept what was going to happen between them.

“The Weasel sounds like a good man to talk to,” Kix said when they were on their way to the racetrack. He couldn’t resist the temptation to lean closer and brush the wild curls back from her face.

For a split second she allowed the touch, then color rushed to her face and she jerked away from him. “Do you think you could stay on your side of the truck?”

“I reckon I can try if you really want me to.”

Cady risked a glance in his direction and immediately wished she hadn’t. He was just…too masculine…too sexy…too adorable…too everything…and definitely too much for her. “Are you sure you’re really a sheriff?”

“Yeah, been one for the last five years.” He grinned and she was immediately entranced by the sparkle in his eyes and the little dimple next to those kissable lips. His eyebrows moved up and down. “You want me to bring out the handcuffs, or do you want to move right to the nightstick?”

Cady forced her eyes back to the road, though she had a harder time forcing erotic images of being cuffed to the bed out of her mind. Not that she’d ever even come close to experiencing that fantasy, but with Kix—whoa, nix that. She was not going to get involved with him. He was trouble with a capital H for heartbreak.

When they got to Bay Downs, she pulled out her camera and made sure she had release forms along with film. Besides being a great cover for investigating, she genuinely loved photography—it was one of many things she had in common with Erin and Lyric.

Kix quirked an eyebrow. “No digital camera?”

“Not on Bulldog’s cases. He wants to have negatives.”

Kix picked up her camera case and studied the laminated business card glued to the front. “Cady Montgomery, Professional Pet Photography.” He grinned. “This for real?”

“Yes.” Cady cringed inwardly when she heard the defensiveness in her voice.

“Would have pegged you for a doer instead of a looker.”

“What does that mean?”

A slow grin settled on Kix’s face. Damn if she wasn’t as prickly as a hedgehog. “I’m just surprised you’re a picture taker. Way I’ve always seen it, there are two kinds of people—those that stand around watching life go by and those that take it by the horns and ride it for all it’s worth.”

Cady frowned at him. “A person can be a professional photographer and live life to the fullest, just like a person can be good at multiple things. Not everyone”—her eyes conveyed a silent like you—“is good at only one thing. I’m also a good PI and a damn fine poker player.”

“Well darlin’, I’m good at a lot of things, too. In fact, I’ve been known to play a mean game of strip poker, myself. Maybe later we can see who’s better—just to set the record straight.”

Before she could stop herself, Cady’s eyes dropped to the still very noticeable bulge in his jeans. “Pass.”

Kix chuckled. “Darlin’, at least hesitate for a minute before you slam my ego.”

Her eyes moved back up his body until she met his gaze. God, he was hard to resist. She was a sucker for men who had a sense of humor and didn’t take themselves so seriously. “I’ll bet you weren’t even raised on a ranch. You probably grew up in the city watching westerns.”

Kix slapped his hand on his chest. “You’ve wounded me. I was born and raised on the Kicking A Ranch—home of fine horses, fine cattle and mighty fine men.”

“Of which you’re the exception.”

Kix took the opportunity he’d been waiting for and moved in, trapping her against the side of the truck before she could escape. He speared his fingers through her silky hair and turned her face up to his, delighting in the way her cheeks flushed with color and her eyes couldn’t hide the fact that she wanted this as badly as he did. “Darlin’, I can’t let that insult to my manhood go unchallenged.” He dipped his head and sealed her lips with his own.

Cady melted the moment his mouth covered hers. When his tongue teased her lips open and stroked inside, she felt like someone had poured warm honey into her.

The man could kiss. That didn’t surprise her in the least—what did was the fact that she not only let him, but couldn’t help returning the kiss. She wanted to eat him up.

He moaned and pulled her even tighter against him, thrust his tongue in and out in a rhythm that had her channel clenching and her nipples straining. Cady shivered and pressed closer. God, he should be banned or jailed—everything about him was sinful and tempting.

Kix shifted, burrowed his cock closer to where it wanted to be. Damn, but this attraction
had him feeling like a bull rider who got tossed and stomped on right out of the chute. If he didn’t get a tighter hold on himself, he was going to end up hog-tied and too sorry-assed in love to care.

They were both breathing hard by the time the kiss ended. Cady somehow managed to move away from him, her eyes once again dropping to the erection that pressed boldly against his faded jeans.

Kix grinned. He was randy as a stud and lighthearted to boot. “You’re a mighty fine distraction, little darlin’.”

“I do have a name,” Cady muttered.

Kix pulled her against his body, tight enough so that his heavy cock pressed against her. His laugh was low and husky as he whispered a kiss along her neck before nuzzling her ear. “Oh, I plan on using your name all right, Cady, just like I plan on hearing you scream mine.”

Detective Rico Santana knew there was going to be hell to pay. One way or the other, there always was when she was involved. If not from Rivera, his captain, then from the unrelenting ache in his cock and the lack of sleep that always followed any encounter with Skye Delano.

Fuck! He lusted after her. Maybe if he went to bed with her, it would get her out of his system.

Rico gritted his teeth against the need he could already feel building, the anticipation. Now he was sorry he’d brought along backup. If he just had some time alone with her he’d—

Shit. He needed saving, from himself. Fucking Skye would be professional suicide, maybe even personal suicide. He had a feeling that once would never be enough with her.

He hit the turn signal and eased the unmarked police car toward an empty parking space. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cia Caldwell’s tight disapproving frown. She was the newest member of the department, and as far as he knew, she’d never had any personal contact with Skye. She’d heard the stories though, and read the captain’s file.

His mistake was calling Skye from the bullpen. When he’d looked up, Detective Caldwell was standing next to his cubicle. “Rivera is going to ream you,” she’d said before the phone had even hit its cradle.

“It’ll be dark soon. They’re not going to find those kids without Skye’s help.”

Cia squared her shoulders. “I’m going with you.”

Anger shot through Rico. He didn’t need a babysitter.

A flash of sanity followed. Yeah, maybe it’d be better.

The captain was going to be pissed enough. At least this way Rivera would see it was all about finding the kids and not about finding an excuse to see Skye again.

Fuck! How could he be so hard when right now the only thing he should be thinking about was two missing kids?

Rico parked the sedan in front of Skye’s apartment complex. Caldwell had her door open before he could even turn off the engine. He grimaced and looked down at the bulge in the front of his pants. “Wait here,” he said.

Caldwell’s mutinous expression let him know what she thought of his order. But he was the senior detective and she was new.

He got out of the car, heart double-tapping and cock throbbing. Every time he saw Skye the lust that rolled through his system made him think of standing in front of a wave of molten lava.

Rico braced himself as he took the stairs up to her apartment and rang the bell. It was going to be worse this time. He knew that. Always before he’d seen her at a crime scene or the station. He’d never been alone with her in a place that might lead to something physical.

The cop in him said he was crazy to go into this situation without backup. The man said he was a fool not to try and fuck her.

When the door swung open, Rico knew he couldn’t keep denying what his body was telling him. Shit. Everything about Skye whispered of sex and dark mystery, danger. She was beautiful temptation, silver-blonde hair and jet-black lashes framing hypnotic pale blue eyes.

In that second he didn’t care whether the rumors about her were true or not. She was a fantasy. His fantasy.

Rivera had warned him off her after the last search, when the perps responsible for kidnapping a couple of kids had turned up dead. The captain had told him more as a friend than as a commanding officer that a personal relationship with Skye could be the end of his career.

Rico was a cop first. Came from a family of cops. Above everything else, that’s what he was, what he’d always wanted to be. A cop.

So he’d kept his distance. Avoided her. Until now.

Now the only thing he could think about was pressing her back into the apartment and taking her against the wall. On the floor. Eventually in the bed.

Fuck! The things he wanted to do to her, the things he wanted to let her do to him, actually shocked him.

She half-smiled and it was like a fist around his dick, the ache was so bad. “You came quick,” she said and his heart jumped at her choice of words. He wondered if she’d guessed how badly he wanted her. Fuck, he’d be lucky if he lasted one stroke before shooting his load into her.

For a minute all he could do was stare into her eyes. He thought he saw desire in them but he wasn’t sure if it was real or imagined. All his cop instincts failed him when he was around her.

He tried to focus on the reason he was here. The kids.

It helped—some. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Skye studied the raven-haired cop standing in front of her. She could feel the lust pouring off of him, could read the fantasies even without delving into his mind.

Her body craved his, had from the first moment they’d met.

It’d be so easy to get involved with him.

So easy but so dangerous.

So very, very dangerous.

She stepped out of the apartment and locked the door behind her. “Ready.”

Lyric hesitated for all of one minute before giving in. Her gut told her that they didn’t have much time before the dogs would disappear—permanently. And what he said about working together made sense—not that she couldn’t read the writing on the wall. He was in for trouble if he thought he was going to turn this into his investigation.

“Fine, let’s go.”

Gene Surbeck’s address turned out to be in an apartment complex, a collection of ugly, blocky buildings with peeling paint and plenty of borrowed shopping carts straddling the curbs. The name G. Surbeck showed up in a crude scrawl above the mailbox for apartment 15-C, Building Three. Kieran led the way up two flights of stairs, confidence rolling off him like a wake behind a barge.

The TV in 15-C was turned way up, probably to drown out the sound of a yelling kid. But Kieran’s knock sounded official enough that the noise level dropped and the door opened just wide enough for Lyric to get a look at the woman inside. Her face was heavily made-up, but no amount of bottled goop was going to hide the damage—puffy eye, split lip.

“Yeah, what-da-ya want?”

“You Linda?” Kieran asked.

“Not likely. If you’re looking for her, you’re a year too late.”

“Actually we’re looking for some dogs,” Lyric said.

The woman’s smile turned sly. “I got one here. I might be interested in parting with her.” She stepped back to let them in.

The place stunk of urine, cigarettes, and beer. A little boy with no clothing wandered in from another room and peed on the carpet in front of the TV. The woman reached over and gave the toddler a whack on his butt. “Not on the carpet!”

The boy started bawling. The woman knelt down next to the sofa and reached under, grabbing until she caught a hind leg and managed to get a protesting mass of filthy white fur out from under the couch. “Here she is.” The woman huffed to her feet. “Her real name is Ant-wa-nette. But we just call her Lady.”

Lyric held out her arms for the dog. The woman relinquished her without a word, then lit a cigarette and sucked in a lung full of smoke. “I got her awhile back. She was real cute and fancy when we brought her home. But I don’t have no time to cut her hair and give her baths. Besides, she didn’t take to Frankie.” The woman waved her cigarette in the direction of the still crying child. “Guess she’s never been around kids. Mainly she just stays under the couch.”

Lyric’s skin tingled with the sixth sense she’d learned to trust. “Where’d you get her?”

“She followed me home from the grocery store.” The woman giggled. “I just put her in the basket with the rest of my things and brought her home—kind of like a present to myself.”

“I didn’t know there was a grocery store in walking distance.”

“Well, it ain’t close. But I go to the Safeway over on San Carlos—usually cut through the Rose Garden to get there.”

Lyric nodded. The Rose Garden was an old neighborhood of beautifully maintained houses with a park in its center that had hundreds of different rose varieties in it. “Is that where you found Lady, in the Rose Garden?”

The sly expression appeared again. The woman shook her head. “Tell you the truth, I don’t remember any more. Gene’d know, but he ain’t here right now.”

Kieran shifted. “He the one who hit you?”

The sly expression disappeared, followed by a suspicious one. Lyric tried to divert the woman. “How much do you want for Lady?”

The woman took another long pull on her cigarette and looked at Lyric, then Kieran. “Fifty bucks.”

Kieran snorted. “For that flea-bag?”

Lyric shot him a warning look. He might be trying to haggle down to a cheaper price, but she wasn’t willing to risk losing the dog. She’d bet twice the fifty that somebody in the Rose Garden was missing a well-loved pet.

Lyric moved closer to Kieran, angling so she could press against his thigh and give her aching pussy some relief while clueing him in on how this was going to go. “I’m going to be mad at you if I can’t take Lady home with me.” She felt his cock jump against her leg and couldn’t resist rubbing against him just enough to see his eyes flash with lust.

Son of bitch but she was asking for it. Braden was right when he said his little hellion of a cousin needed a man to set some rules and enforce them. Two could play this game. Kieran speared his fingers through her hair and forced her face to his. “I’ll buy the dog, but you’re going to pay me back, baby, and I don’t take cash.”

Heat flashed through Lyric’s body at his show of dominance. She couldn’t resist answering his challenge. “Whatever you say, Kieran.”

His smile was feral as he loosened his grip on her hair and managed to brush his hand against her aroused nipple when he reached for his wallet. Lyric only barely held back a moan as she turned toward the woman.

Adan d’Amato grimaced as he studied the scene in front of him. Gambler’s Paradise they called this place, but it was more likely Gambler’s Hell.

Humans were packed in like miners on an old Ewellian transport. Between the noise that their mechanical machines made, and the sound of their voices, it was enough to send a less-seasoned warrior running for cover.

At Adan’s side, Lyan d’Vesti wore a fierce scowl. His mood was echoed in his mind-thought. The Council wastes our time. We’ll find no bond-mate here.

Adan laughed softly at Lyan’s impatience. Our mate will arrive. Whoever watches over her would not send us to this location if she were not going to be here.

Lyan snorted. You have too much respect for the infallibility of the Council and its genetic scientists. Their predictions and equations do not always hold true in the real world. Have I not told them so each time I was hauled before them to explain my actions? It would amuse them to send us on a wild chase, or mate us to a human with nothing of the Fallon in her. But if this human mate is unsuitable, then I will have one of my own choosing. The Vesti take what belongs to them when the time is right to take it. We do not beg at the table of the Council.

Adan didn’t bother hiding the amusement in his thoughts. No doubt you have managed to offend someone on the Council, if not all of the members. But I have been a model citizen. When the marker in your genes was matched to the human’s, the scientists had to know that you would choose me to complete the mate-bond. No doubt they would have welcomed the extinction of your traits, but because of the respect they hold for mine, they told you of the woman’s existence.

Lyan shifted impatiently. We will see if you remain amused as this plays out.

In front of the warriors, a red light suddenly began flashing. A siren screamed and an elderly human female with blue-tinted hair squealed in a tone pitched high enough to shatter Sarien glass. Only reflexes honed by hours of training and years of experience kept Adan and Lyan from using the Ylan crystals on their wrists to transmute the offending machine into particles so small that it could never be recovered.

Coins began tumbling out of the machine the elderly human had been hovering over. Lyan shook his head in amazement. Coins! It has been thousands of years since our ancestors were here and yet these humans continue to evolve at the creeping pace of a Tresor slug. No wonder our appearance gave rise to their legends of angels and demons!

Adan shrugged. Be glad that some of the Fallon were drawn to these humans and bred with them. If not for the genes of our shared ancestors, there would be no hope for either the Vesti or the Amato and both of our races would be doomed to extinction.

Lyan fought down the fury that always threatened to consume him at the mention of the fate awaiting those on Belizair. His heart raged at the pain his elder brother and his brother’s mate endured. Unless the genetic scientists found a solution to the bio-gene virus the Hotalings had let loose on Belizair, his brother’s pairing would produce no children. Nor would there be children for any of the Amato or Vesti females.

So far the scientists had found only one way to defeat the Hotaling virus. Now the Council’s agents searched among the humans in order to identify those females who had the genetic marker of one of the Fallon-the shared ancestor race of the Amato and Vesti.

All hope to avoid extinction rested on the unmated males, yet each male carried both the fear that there would be no match and the knowledge that it required a Vesti or Amato co-mate in order to produce offspring.

Lyan forced the tightness out of his chest. He was the first of his family to be matched. The continuance of their line rested with him-and Adan. He had never been drawn to females outside of his race but… Even as the thought took form, a woman entered the casino and need shot through him.

Suddenly he had to fight for air, fight even to keep his balance. The purple-colored Ylan crystals woven into the wristbands bearing the symbol of Lyan’s clan-house burned against his skin, echoing the searing heat swirling through his very bloodstream.

Adan took a sharp intake of breath, his eyes zeroing in on the woman. The deep gold Ylan crystals on his wrists swirled as his emotions surged in recognition of their mate’s presence. “By the Council, she is exquisite,” Adan murmured as he placed a hand on Lyan’s shoulder.

Lyan’s nostrils flared as every predatory instinct within him focused on their mate. She was small, even among her own people, and dressed in black-the color of a warrior’s clothing. And yet her body was made for pleasure, not fighting.

Against the black material, her hair was a golden torch. Lyan could imagine the silky heat of it burning its way across his skin and inflaming him further as it flowed over their writhing bodies. The mating fever of the Vesti race shimmered just below the surface of his control. He was rock hard, ready. Instinct urged him to pounce now, to take her, join with her, make her completely his. A low growl vibrated along his throat.

Like a cool wind, Adan’s voice whispered, warned, And to take her that way is to guarantee there will be no offspring, for either of us. It is not one or the other, it is both or there is no conception at all.

The growl in Lyan’s throat deepened. He snarled, Curse the Hotalings and their get. Let our people hunt them down one-by-one and rid the universe of them for their use of the bio-gene weapons.

And we will. But for now let us be glad that our scientists have found a way for us to avoid extinction. Our mate awaits. Do we stand here and argue what cannot be changed, or do we go and secure her so that through her womb our lines may both survive?

Adan didn’t wait for an answer, but stepped forward. As he did so, the woman sensed his movement and looked at him. He was too skilled a hunter not to see her tense, ready herself to escape. Her reaction flooded his being with the desire to protect her even as blood pounded through him in anticipation of a chase. Let her run. The victory and mating would only be that much more intense. On his wristbands, the gold crystals swirled in tune to his anticipation of a mate, an heir, the survival of his race.

Lyan’s voice growled in his mind, Now whose lust threatens to leave us without a mate? She must accept us willingly or there is no bond.

Adan laughed softly. Do you really doubt our ability to secure our bond-mate? Before this night is over, she will belong to us in all ways.

Goddamn, he had it bad. And if he wasn’t careful, every cop at the table was going to see it. That was the major drawback with hanging out with other detectives-observation was second nature to all of them.

It didn’t take any great detective skills to see that Aislinn was going to need some smooth handling. Trace winced as a fresh batch of erotic images flashed through his mind.

Christ. If he didn’t get her out of here soon, he was going to disgrace himself.

He was used to women opening the conversation, asking about his cases and cuddling up close to let him know they were available. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had to get a woman talking. If anything, he usually had the opposite problem-shutting them up.

Trace cleared his throat while his brain cells scrambled around for something to say that wouldn’t come across as an interrogation or manage to scare her off. But before he could think of something smooth, something that wouldn’t tip the other guys off to just how hungry he was for Aislinn, a slow song started playing and people wandered out to the dance floor. Aislinn’s eyes followed them. Sadness flickered across her face briefly and Trace’s heart did a little dive thinking maybe she’d just gotten out of a relationship.

Fuck. What was wrong with him tonight? She was here, which meant she was available. Period. And if she was trying to get over heartbreak, then he was her man…

Storm said, “Hey, isn’t that one of your father’s songs?”

Aislinn half smiled. “Yes. One of his last ones.”

Conner turned his attention from the delectable Tiffany. “Jessie Wolfe was your father?”

The name was vaguely familiar, but Trace couldn’t place it. His tastes ran more to country. The ballad playing reminded him of old Jethro Tull stuff.

Aislinn leaned toward Conner and something tightened in Trace’s gut at the way her eyes darkened as her attention focused on the other man. “Not many people remember him,” she said.

Conner grinned. “He was amazing. I have all five of his CDs. Play ’em at least once a month when I need inspiration.”

Miguel groaned. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Musical talent is a genetic thing and you were born without.”

The soft smile that Aislinn directed at Conner was like a kick in the gut to Trace. “What instrument do you play?” she asked.

The big cop actually flushed, but then he surprised the hell out of Trace by giving Aislinn a straight answer. “I do a little bit on the electric guitar, but mainly the flute, like your father.”

Aislinn said, “There was a sixth CD. It was never released.”

“Can I get a copy of it?” Conner asked, leaning so close to her that it was all Trace could do to keep himself from jerking them apart.

“Yes.”

“Great. I’ll come by and get it.”

Uncertainty flickered across Aislinn’s face, but she nodded and something snapped inside of Trace at that thought of Conner going by Aislinn’s place. He stood up abruptly and put his hand on her arm, pulling her from the chair. “Let’s dance.”

Dylan snickered while Miguel had the nerve to laugh out loud. Both reactions rolled over Trace, barely noticed. Now that he was touching Aislinn, he was having trouble thinking at all. He wasn’t sure he was going to make it through the slow dance with her body pressed to his, but there was no way in hell that he wasn’t going to use it as an excuse to rub against her.

Fuck.

Yeah. That’s what he needed all right. Maybe one dance would be enough of an intro and he could haul her out to the car and do her there, or better yet, on the beach. It wasn’t his usual style, but desperate times require desperate means. His house was half an hour away and he’d be damned if he was going to go looking for a hotel room. She’d be way too skittish for that.

He pulled her onto the dance floor and into his arms, making sure that every possible inch of their bodies touched. They both tensed as soon as his erection was pressed against her soft abdomen. Trace tightened his grip around her and tried to keep from groaning at the exquisite sensation. Christ, this was incredible. He must have gone without too long. It had never been this intense before.

Trace closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. The smell of her was just as intoxicating as the feel of her. As he stroked her back, she relaxed into him. “Yeah, feel what you do to me,” he whispered as he nuzzled her ear. She lifted her face and masculine satisfaction whipped through him at her passion-drugged expression. She’d go with him all right, and she’d be responsive when he rode her. He pulled her up against him even tighter and brought his lips down so that they hovered just above hers.

Aislinn’s heart fluttered wildly in her chest. Her body felt as though it belonged to someone else tonight-to him. It had from the moment she’d felt his gaze on her.

He was human and yet he beguiled her. Among her mother’s people such a reaction usually meant that a couple was destined to bond. Her heart opened and hope rushed in like a giant hand that might just as easily crush her as stroke her.

She knew that here among her father’s people things were different in ways that she didn’t always understand. But even knowing that, Aislinn knew that she wouldn’t be able to deny him. He called to her in a way that she couldn’t refuse.

A low growl sounded in Trace’s throat before he closed the distance and touched his lips to hers. She whimpered against his mouth and pressed more tightly against him. When his tongue pushed its way into her mouth and tangled with hers, she wanted to cry from the intimacy of it.

While she’d lived with her mother, no one had ever cuddled or held her, not even in friendship. She’d been an outcast for so many years, separated by her impure blood. It had left her vulnerable and cautious. That caution had followed her when she was cast from Elven-space.

Until now, she had not wanted to risk herself with any of the men she’d met. Trace’s nearness, his warmth and heated embrace were a battering ram against her fragile defenses. Aislinn moved her tongue against his, following his lead as her body prepared itself for him.

The music faded into a fast song. Trace kept her close for several long seconds before ending the kiss and guiding her from the dance floor and out of the building.