“Who is she?” He follows my gaze to the bar, his eyes lighting with interest. As a lycan, he can scent emotion, desire, fear, hunger, and read it as easily as breath. And right now, the desire rolling off me is sharp enough that he doesn’t need heightened senses to notice.
“No idea.”
“Liar. You knowexactlywhat she is. You just don’t want to admit it.” He leans back, grinning. “Want me to go talk to her? Feel her out?”
“Touch her, and I’ll rip your throat out.” The words are out before I can stop them.
Rogue’s grin widens. “Oh, this is delicious, Prez. When was the last time you gave a damn about anyone?”
Never.
Not in a thousand years.
But I don’t say that. Instead, I stand, downing the rest of my whiskey, and I move.
Vampire speed could get me to the bar in a blink, but I force myself to walk at a human pace, weaving through the crowd, letting her see me coming. Predators don’t sneak up on prey they want to keep—they announce their presence and let the prey choose to run or stay.
And she doesn’t run.
She watches me approach, one hand wrapped around her drink, something amber, whiskey maybe? The other is resting on the bar. Her posture is relaxed but ready, the quiet confidence of someone who knows how to take a hit. I see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw tightens slightly.
She’s nervous.
But she doesn’t look away.
I stop beside her, close enough to smell her. And God, she smells incredible. Not perfume, not anything artificial, just her. Warm skin and something deeper that makes my fangs ache to descend.
“You look like you’ve had a rough night,” I say, my voice coming out lower than intended.
She glances at me, one brow arching. “That your pickup line?‘You look like hell, can I buy you a drink?’”
A smile tugs at my lips. When was the last time someone was sarcastic with me? When was the last time someone didn’t immediately fall over themselves when I spoke?
“It’s not a line, it is an observation. You’re a nurse, right?” I nod toward her scrubs. “Late shift at the hospital?”
“How do you know I’m not a doctor?”
“Doctors don’t have that look. That I-just-spent-twelve-hours-keeping-people-alive-with-my-bare-hands-and-duct-tape look. That’s pure nurse.”
Something shifts in her expression. Not softening, exactly, but acknowledgment. With the sense I’ve seen something in her that most people miss.
“You’re right, I am a nurse. Long shift. Too many codes. Too many people I couldn’t save.” She takes a sip of her drink, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. “So yeah. Rough night.”
“Can I buy you another?” I gesture to her nearly empty glass.
She considers me for a long moment, those hazel eyes studying my face as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to buy me a drink? You don’t know me.”
“Maybe I want to know you.”
“Why?”
You woke something in me I thought was gone.
Your blood calls me in a way I can’t explain.
