Pulling away, I cup her cheek, my other arm still tight around her back. “Look at me, Laura.”
She gasps as her gaze locks on mine. Unsurprising. With my feeding haze at its peak, my normally dark blue eyes are probably blood red. I let my lips curve and lower my voice. “Where were you going when you saw me?”
“The bank.” Enraptured now, she gives me a lazy smile. “But we could go to a hotel?”
“No, sweetheart. Pay attention.” After another brief kiss, I push into her mind once more. “You were headed to the bank, but then you heard a kitten crying from the alley. So you went to look for it. As soon as you reached this spot, the sound ceased. You waited a few moments but never found the poor little thing, so you returned to your errands. You will have no recollection of me, and will feel no guilt for what we...shared.”
The memories firmly implanted in her mind, I break our connection and step back, using a small amount of my newly refreshed power to hide myself behind my glamour.
Laura shakes her head and blinks hard. “Here, kitty, kitty. Where are you, little one?”
After another few seconds, she shrugs, straightens her jacket, and almost floats back towards the bank. She’ll remember nothing, other than how amazing she feels.
Letting my glamour slip away, I head in the opposite direction to find another very willing victim.
Three
Sin
Fort Baker State Park.
Dead shifter off of Bunker Road.
CSI and Coroner en route.
Meet Agent Dawes there and DO NOT be your usual dickish self.
Commander Eve’s terse message grates as I dab my lips with a handkerchief and watch my latest conquest toddle off, floating on the memory of shaking hands with one of the Helmsworth brothers.
Some days, my only joy comes from the little falsehoods I plant in the minds of those who keep me alive with their energy. Sated at last, I stride to my car, the lights on the Audi A3 flashing seconds before I sink into the buttery leather seat. Once I take the top down, I gun the engine and peel out into traffic.
After close to six hundred years exiled to the mortal realm, little excites me. The chase, the joy of feeding? Both provide temporary distractions, but most days, I am bored out of my mind. Bored enough to consider petitioning Gabriel to reduce my sentence. Though the celestial realm is the most droll place in all of creation. Now that my brother has left to make his place on earth—and mated himself to a warlock for fuck’s sake—there’s even less reason for me to want to return.
My work for the Bureau of the Occult and the Other is all that keeps me from stabbing my eyes out with a ball point pen. Other-on-Other crime can’t be left tohumans, but most of our cases are no more than run-of-the-mill. Werewolves, vampires, witches, and Fae can rob, steal, and maim as easily as humans. They are merely harder to catch.
Rolling to a stop at the light, I tap the in-dash controls. “Play case report: Fort Baker State Park.”
A melodious voice oozes through the speakers. “As you wish, handsome. Victim is a twenty-five-year-old female tiger shifter. The body was discovered by two human runners approximately ninety-minutes ago. Mem-Clear has been dispatched, and the humans’ statements have been recorded, along with their memory scans. A perception screen is in place along the perimeter, and all traffic has been diverted. CSI Team Two is en-route. Agent Zoe Dawes arrived on scene five minutes ago and isnotawaiting further instructions.”
Of course. I shift into a higher gear and take the curves at speeds only a being with preternatural abilities can handle. The tires leave the road as I careen around a bend, but I know my car—my sexy beast—and she can take more. Especially when I have so recently fed.
I cover the ten miles in under seven minutes, slam on the brakes, and squeal to a stop mere feet from the containment area.
The woman crouching by the body, elbows on her knees, fingers steepled, with her auburn hair blowing in the breeze turns her gaze to mine.
A punch of power knocks me back against the seat, and her green eyes narrow and focus on me. There is something decidedlyotherabout this human. Her stare draws me in and stirs something deep inside me. A long-ago feeling I cannot pinpoint or name. Or decide if I like.
Her photo didnotdo her justice. Rough-chopped red curls tumble around a thin, pale face. Freckles dot her nose, and bruised, puffy bags give her eyes a hollow look. The leather jacket hides her body and must be at least two sizes larger than she needs.
Rising, she unfolds her long, graceful legs, and I catch sight of a simple black blouse clinging to her breasts. Her full lips—unadorned—part, but the brief moment of desire that flashes in her eyes vanishes in a single breath.
She shakes her head. “Are you Sinclair?” she asks, jamming a palm on her hip.
“I am.”
“You’re late.”
* * *
