Claiming the Wolf

Damn it! Everything he needed was now thoroughly shagged thanks to—her.

“Stupid vampire,” he growled, as another punch pummeled the sand-filled bag.

“What was that?” Tony set aside the water bottle.

“Nothing. Get out of here, man. I’m almost finished. Thanks for sparring with me.”

“No problem. You going to the games tonight?”

The blood games pitted two half-crazed vampires against one another to the death. Right now? Hart would love to see a vampire get its throat ripped out as a small means of recompense against the travesty committed against him. But if he smelled blood, let alone, saw it fly through the air and stain flesh, floor and walls? He’d lose it.

“Nah. Have a...date,” he summoned.

“Cool. Talk to you later.”

Date? He punched again, this time feeling the bones crunch in his knuckles and wincing through that small pain. Who the hell was he trying to fool? He had a date with the weights at his home gym because if he didn’t find a focus, his mind and body would stray toward the hunger.

Wicked, unnatural, wrong—so wrong—hunger.

As it stood, he wasn’t sure he could make it home, walking the streets filled with innocent mortals, smelling the hot blood gushing beneath their skin, calling to him, beating, pulsing, thumping...

“Aggh!” Hart kicked the bag and the chain snapped, sending it flying. It hit the wall, and knocked a hole in the plaster.

“Exactly how I feel.” Like a hole had been kicked in his gut. And the only way to fill it required a dark deed. “I have to resist.”

* * *

Her best bet was to return to the Lizard Lounge tonight. From the intel tribe Zmaj had obtained about pack Levallois, Remington Caufield frequented the place. Danni had to use caution inside the nightclub. Supposedly faery dust was dangerous to a vampire. Getting some on her skin would give her a contact high, and the place had glittered with the stuff. She’d suit up in head-to-toe Gore-Tex again and cross her fingers the second time proved the charm.

Masculine clothing was sort of her thing. Wearing form-fitting workout shorts, which reminded her of men’s boxer briefs—she loved them on a man—and a military-issue tank top, Danni leaned over the kitchen counter. The tiny tracking device was stuck to an adhesive tape she could wear inside the wrist of her glove. Slater had provided her with three. Because he’d suspected she would need the extra chances? The man was a self-possessed asshole whose crooked snarl always sent a chill up her spine. Yet his bite was frustratingly erotic.

Setting the glove aside, she turned to go gather her work clothes, when someone pounded on her apartment door.

Grabbing the nearest weapon, a bowie knife she’d been sharpening on a whetstone earlier, Danni stepped lightly and cautiously to the door. Could be someone from the tribe, in which case, she’d keep the weapon in hand. No love lost with any of her tribe mates.

Tightening her jaw, she leaned forward and turned the knob, stepping back and raising the blade to attack.

She lowered the blade, her jaw dropping as well.

In the doorway, palms to the white-painted wood frame, leaning forward and huffing as if he’d run a marathon, stood the werewolf who had rescued her. Hart. She’d never forget that name. It was ironic on this beefy hunk of wolf. And yet, she suspected she was more wrong about the irony than she could ever guess.

“What the hell?” She stepped aside as he plunged forward and landed on the sofa, hands to the back of it to support his weak stance. Had he run here? “How did you find me?”

“Followed your scent. It’s strong. And the big surprise is it runs through my system now. I can suss you anywhere. Weird.” He turned, leaning against the sofa. His muscle-strapped chest heaved and he seemed to relax as he took in the room, the bare white walls and furniture, and bright red pillows and rugs that popped like bloody stains. “Danni, right?”

“I’ll give you two minutes, wolf.” She thrust the blade up under his chin. The man didn’t flinch, yet his gray-blue eyes grew serious and his breaths calmed to silence as if a ninja preparing for the kill. “What do you want?”

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