Speaking through her teeth, she informed him, “I can walk!”
He clicked his tongue against the back of his fangs. “Not without shoes. No girl of mine is walking barefoot on that nasty-ass hallway carpet.”
A fist bounced harmlessly off his side. “I have shoes!”
“Yeah, but I like this better.” Her thighs clenched around his hand as the scent of her arousal perfumed the air — unmistakable and raw. A deep purr erupted from his chest as he stroked her again, more firmly this time, and teased, “I think you do, too. I bet I could get you off just like this.”
She made a choked sound of outrage, but she didn’t try to deny it. They both knew what he felt between her thighs, and it wasn’t just warm silk.
Felix’s cock throbbed behind his fly. He couldn’t wait to get home and show her just how right he was.
Carrying her to the door, he told her, “You know what? I’ve changed my mind about ruining these shorts. I’ll just buy you a new pair.”
There wasn’t time for her to come up with a response. In a moment they were out her front door. Speaking to the guards flanking them, he ordered, “Have all her things packed and shipped back to the house.”
“Wait, wait—” Whatever she was about to say was cut off by his shoulder jamming into her stomach as he jogged lightly down the stairs. He did his best to not jostle her, but there wasn’t anything for it. Taking an elevator was a rookie move, since it was the easiest thing in the world to trap a person in, and they didn’t have time to go slow.
Nearing the ground floor, he said, “We’ll need to double security on the house. I want two men on every post twenty-four hours a day. Tell Milo that I don’t care who you have to pull. Once Bowan finds out we’ve got her, he’s going to throw one massive fucking hissy-fit and we need to be ready.”
Several firm grunts of assent bounced off the emergency stairwell’s walls. Nash asked, “How long do you think it’ll take, boss?”
There was no impatience in his tone. It was a question of preparation from a man who’d only just finished fighting in one war and was now being asked to fight another.
They both knew that honor demanded Alastair fight until the last man to get his daughter back. The key to avoiding war was to act fast. There was only one way to end things without one sideannihilating that other, and that was to make it impossible for Dahlia to be separated from Felix.
She needed to cleave to him — mind, body, and soul. When she became his bride in all ways, there would be nothing for Alastair to do but accept it.
So it wasn’t unreasonable for Felix’s men to wonder how quickly he could move the process along. They were all exhausted. No one wanted to fight another war so soon, and no one wanted to die when there was a pleasurable alternative to be had.
The problem was that he couldn’t force Dahlia to do anything. Not really. Not when it’d ruin the only truly good thing in his life.
Feeling the beginnings of a tension headache in his temples, Felix answered, “As long as it needs to.”
No one said another word, but he could feel their collective frustration simmering in the air as he pushed open the metal emergency door. The alleyway behind Dahlia’s apartment building was damp and ripe with the scents emanating from the dumpsters on either side of the door. Orange light from the streetlamps shimmered in murky puddles, contrasted by the depth of the navy blue shadows that stretched along the filthy asphalt.
Genevieve and her guards stood a little ways away, their backs against the opposite wall.
The witch was his single most expensive employee. Not only did he have to pay her exorbitantly for her services, but she had to be guarded at all times. Taking a shot at her was like slashing the tires of the getaway car, so protecting her was costly but absolutely necessary.
All of five feet tall, olive-skinned, tattooed, and with the sharp, fox-like features all witches somehow seemed to possess, Genevieve looked out of place standing between two hulkingvampire guards. It wasn’t helped by the fact that her dark hair was pulled up in a jaunty ponytail and she wore her customary uniform of over-sized sneakers, cardigan, and short pleated skirt. And when Nash, her dedicated bodyguard, resumed his normal place at her side, she managed to appear even more ridiculous.
She looked like a damn co-ed rather than the risky investment that had paid off again and again in the year since he’d found her.
He nodded at her. “Fire it up, pipsqueak.”
Completely unfazed by the now loudly protesting woman strung over his shoulder, Genevieve finished up whatever game she’d been playing on her phone and tucked it into her sweater pocket.
“Where are we landing?”
Normally he avoided tearing a hole in space inside his house, as it tended to wreak havoc on antiques and minor things like structural integrity, but instinct was instinct. He was practically coming out of his skin having Dahlia exposed. The urge to get her somewhere safe and private was impossible to fight.
“The foyer,” he answered, giving Dahlia a reassuring pat on the ass.
One of the things he liked about Genevieve was that it was impossible to tell by looking at her that she was a force of nature. With her small stature, preppy clothes, and sunny attitude, it was all too easy to underestimate her.
But all it took to correct that was seeing her in action one time.
All of his men except Nash took several quick steps back as the witch pressed her hands together. In an instant, the air in the alley grew heavy and full of static. He could feel the magic racing over his skin in little invisible arcs of electricity as the scent ofgarbage was overpowered by the metallic, blood-like stench of power.
