“Do you want to come inside?” she asks, but her voice is small, uncertain. It feels as though she’s offering out of obligation rather than want.
“I can’t.” The words taste like ash. “Club business. It never sleeps.”
She nods, trying for a smile and failing. “Right. Of course.”
We stand here in the dim hallway, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead, neither of us knowing what to say.How do you apologize for almost murdering someone when they don’t even know that’s what happened?
Finally, I lean in and press a brief, chaste kiss to her cheek, careful, controlled, nothing like the hunger that nearly consumed us both. “Goodnight, Sloane.”
“Goodnight, Crave.” She breathes out heavily. “Crave?”
“Yeah?”
“You still owe me answers, and looking at your shirt and what happened at the lookout, sooner would be better.”
“Yes. Before I do, I need to talk to my club. Can you give me time?” I ask almost pleadingly.
“I’m scared.”
Slowly, I raise my hand and cup her cheek. “Nothing is going to happen to you. I give you my word, but what you ask of me is no small thing. I will answer all your questions… all I’m asking for is time.”
Sloane closes her eyes and leans into my touch. “It feels as if time is running out.”
I lower my hand, and her eyes open, then I force myself to turn and walk away.
I force myself onto my bike.
I force myself to start the engine.
I force myself not to look back at her silhouette in the doorway.
But as I ride toward the clubhouse, my Bloodfire settles into a low simmer, contained but not satisfied.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
I need answers.
I need to know what Sloane is and why her presence affects me like this. I need to understand why her blood calls to me with such intensity while simultaneously protecting her from me.
The clubhouse is blazing with light when I pull up, unusual for this hour.
Something’s wrong.
I stride through the doors into chaos.
Brothers everywhere, armed and angry. Hex hunched over his laptop, screens glowing with data feeds. Dread is standing in the center of the room, his fear projection crackling through the air like static electricity, making every supernatural in the vicinity tense with primal unease.
“What’s going on?” I demand.
Hex looks up, his face grim. “Found your rogue vampire, Prez. And it’s worse than we thought.”
He spins the laptop to face me. Security footage plays across the screen, grainy, black-and-white, but clear enough. A vampire I recognize, one of my own scions from the Sacramento Chapter, is turning a human in broad daylight. Not feeding,turning, and the human is screaming, drawing attention, with phones coming out to record.
“Viktor,” I growl.
“Gets better,” Hex says darkly. “He’s not just breaking theLaw of Silence. He’s doing it deliberately. Leaving bodies where they’ll be found. Turning humans in public places.”
