The Wild Side: Urban Fantasy with an Erotic Edge Read Free

Hunger reigned in until she got everything else she wanted. When she looked up, he wrapped a hand around her cheek, his skin warm against hers. She caught his gaze again, her eyes silvered, and she let her desire draw up his.
    “Say yes.”
    He swallowed. She touched his throat, following the movement, then licked the sweat from the tips of her fingers. He exhaled, shakily, his breath smelling of mint and coffee.
    “Say yes.”
    “Yes.”
    She slipped a hand behind his head as she took him to the floor, careful of her strength, careful not to damage him. His belt buckle jammed so she ripped the leather apart and threw it hard enough to sink it into the drywall.
    When he bucked up under her, his rhythm gone, his fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips, she let the Hunger go. Curved her body over him, hands gripping his arms, and sank her teeth into his throat. Hot blood gushed into her mouth as he slammed up into her one final time. She drank without caring, drank her fill, drank until . . .
    “What the hell is going on here?”
    It was the Hunter who twisted in place to face him, lips drawn back off bloody teeth.
    The second guard gasped, staggered, and fell, right hand clutching his left arm.
    * * *
    Vicki felt her hands curl into fists. “Son of a fucking bitch.”
    Rage sizzled under her skin. Rage at the singer who’d used her. Rage at herself for being used. The wooden end of the packing crate splintered against the cinder block wall as she shoved it aside. Vicki had never been the icy cold anger type. Her anger burned and she only barely managed to keep it under control as she slid through the false wall and into Mike’s crawlspace.
    Sunset came late enough this time of the year that he was home. Above her. In the kitchen.
    She used his heartbeat—slow and steady, more familiar to her than her own—to find calm. Enough calm, at least, to allow her to get a handle on her emotions. By the time she’d showered in the basement bathroom and shrugged into the robe hanging on the back of the door, she’d managed to use the same techniques that hid the Hunter to bury the events of the night before. Bury them deeply enough that even Detective Sergeant Mike Celluci wouldn’t be able to find them.
    Mike worked violent crimes; if this wasn’t his case, he’d have heard about it.
    He’d know where the evidence pointed and at what.
    Not who.
    And Vicki intended to keep it that way.
    He could know what vampires were capable of, he just couldn’t believe it of her.
    Her clothing was in the master bedroom closet with his—because that’s what normal couples did and they fought to keep the line as close to normal as possible—but she could avoid the kitchen on her way through and delay facing him until she was dressed and ready.
    To lie.
    Hide the rage at being used. Hide the other emotions roiling about below that.
    Show time.
    “Any chance there’s another vampire in town?”
    Vicki stopped and stared across the kitchen at Mike who watched her over the edge of his laptop, his expression completely police neutral. The question was a little more direct than she’d been expecting but infinitely preferable to what were you doing between midnight and four a.m. “Say what?”
    “The offices of Droege Shipping were destroyed last night . . .”
    “Destroyed as in blown up?”
    He turned the computer around.
    Vicki moved closer, frowned down at the pictures, and remembered strength and speed unchecked. “Messy. Explosives aren’t out of the question. Anyone hurt?” The logical question to ask. Cop question.
    “One security guard dead. One”—Mike reached around and changed the screen—“used.”
    She remembered the heat of his flesh under her mouth. Remembered the cry he’d given, caught somewhere between pain and pleasure. She hadn’t been careful. If not for the coagulant in her saliva, he’d have bled out when she pulled away.
    “Vicki?”
    She forced her lips down off her teeth and made sure she had her