Chapter 1
Logan Kyllwood had never gone for the career type with the business skirt, buttoned shirt, and upswept hair. But this woman…she rocked it. Head to toe, high heels to hair clip, she owned the pencil skirt look.
He relaxed on his tall stool in the sports bar, behind a dented table, and watched her stride around other tables toward a booth in the back. Almost on an automatic swivel, men turned from chips, potato skins, and loud discussions about the Hearts and Hibernian football teams to watch her move. And hell, could she move. Tight ass swaying in the skirt, toned legs moving with the grace of a dancer. She was petite enough to be considered fragile…also not his type.
Her features were narrow to the point of being elfin, her lips full and lush, and her skin pale and smooth in contrast with her dark red hair. She wasn’t so much beautiful as intriguing. Very.
She reached the booth where two of her friends sat drinking what looked like margaritas, stiffened, and did an about-face, turning to look directly at him.
Everything in him fell silent.
She stared at him for two seconds before gliding back into motion—towardhim. Then, keeping his gaze, she drifted past tables to reach his.
A guy with narrow glasses and a designer flannel shirt grasped her arm from a tall table, halting her progress. Her eyes widened.
Logan straightened, his blood sparked, and he set his glass down with a loud thump.
The guy turned, his lip twisting. The second his gaze met Logan’s, he released the woman. Immediately and based on what were probably pretty decent instincts.
Logan settled back down and grasped his chilled mug again, his concentration returning to the woman.
She glanced at the man turning quickly away from her, and a small smile played on her enticing mouth. Then she visibly gathered herself, lowered her chin, and continued uninterrupted toward Logan.
The second she arrived, he kicked out the stool across from him in a silent invitation, unable to look away from her. This close, her eyes were the dark green of a Scottish moor. The kind surrounded by enduring moss and ancient stones. He wasn’t sure if he was impressed or surprised when she slid onto the stool. Maybe both.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice intriguingly smooth and sultry for her petite frame.
Her scent washed over him, wild and free gardenias, heated in its intensity. In its effect on him. He sure as shit couldn’t answer her question honestly because his entire system had just gone into overdrive.If all else fails, deflect.“Excuse me?” His hoarse voice hinted at his demon heritage, but she wouldn’t know that.
She met his gaze levelly, unusual for a human. “You’ve been watching me the whole hour I’ve been here with my friends. And even though you tried to hide behind a pillar, I saw you at the coffee shop earlier this morning. Also watching me.”
He hadn’t been hiding. “You don’t believe in coincidences?” he asked.
She rolled those stunning eyes. “No. Never have. I do, however, believe in stalkers and creeps.”
A light and mellow energy cascaded from her, not nearly as strongly as he’d expected. Her enhancement—the ability that made her one of the three female Keys his people needed to find—was surprisingly subdued. He gave her his most charming smile. “Which am I? Stalker or creep?”
She craned her neck to the side, and her gaze ran from his head down his torso to his boots…and all the way back up.
His chest heated and his groin tightened. The woman had guts. Not many people, especially humans, faced him so fearlessly. Their instincts warned them away.
Did this woman not have instincts?
“Well?” he prompted. “Stalker or creep?”
“I really couldn’t say.” Her narrow nostrils flared. “If I had to guess…it’d be lost soul.”
Wasn’t that sweet? And disarmingly damn correct. His soul had been lost years ago.
She leaned in. “Are demons chasing you?”
The entire room disappeared around them, and his focus narrowed only to her. Adrenaline poured through his veins and his muscles clenched. “Excuse me?” he said for the second time.
She sighed, looking both put out and impatient. “You heard me.” Those finely arched brows drew down.
He swallowed. Wait a minute. She’d meant the question figuratively. The woman was just flirting with him. It had been so long since he’d flirted with a female, he’d forgotten how. “Demons are always chasing me, sweetheart.” His answer was more truth than banter, but she wouldn’t know that. He smiled. “You gonna save me?”
“Sometimes it’s too late to save a soul,” she mused, as if talking to herself.
