She pauses a beat as if a bell sounded only she could hear. A little light hits her eyes, but she blinks it away. It’s all so fast, I’m sure no one else noticed. “So you communicate telepathically?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he nods, taking another bite of shrimp. “When we’re fighting, when one of us is in danger. Not all the time.”

  “Hmm.” She nods and returns to her meal.

  “It’s so similar to my gift,” Elaine says, putting her hand on his arm. “Sometimes I’m amazed at how orderly the supernatural can be.”

  Patrick looks at her with an intensity that almost makes me blush. I still don’t have a good handle on this imprinting business, but I’m learning to be happy for my friend. Seeing them together, being able to be in the same room with him, has removed my doubts. He’s friendly and kind, and terribly powerful.

  “Did you always know you were a shifter?” Mariska asks.

  “No!” Patrick laughs. “The first time I got pissed at Stuart, I was about five.”

  “Five!” Elaine squeezes his arm, smiling.

  “He’d done something… Damn, I can’t even remember what it was, but I was so mad, I wanted to bite him.”

  Demeter sits back with a grin and takes a long, slender pipe out of her pocket. I watch as she tamps it against her chair then stuffs a pinch of tobacco in the small bowl and lights it.

  “Bite?” Mariska pretends to disapprove. “You immediately went to biting?”

  “I wasn’t very old,” he says. “Next thing I knew, I was gnawing on his leg in full puppy mode. He was swearing because you know. Puppy teeth are sharp!”

  We all laugh at that, and it’s the first time in a long time I remember relaxing into humor. I wonder if Mariska added anything to my lemon verbena tea, which is now gone.

  We spend the next hour listening to stories of the Knight brothers as children. Apparently their little sister Amy could hold her own once she learned she could shift into a cat.

  “Her fucking claws…” Patrick shakes his head, a twinkle in his eye. “Hurt like hell.”

  Demeter and I smile, but we’re the only two not fully engaged in the merriment. I’m sure for her it’s because she’s heard stories like this before. In my case, I only seem to lose the tension gripping my insides for a little while.

  Even though we’re here, miles away from danger, hidden in this well protected home with a formidable shifter guarding us, something dangerous is happening in the city. Something involving Derek.

  “Stuart really kicked my ass that time,” Patrick is finishing a story, leaning back against the wall with a grin.

  Elaine leans into his side, wrapping a slim arm around his waist, when all at once he stiffens and sits forward fast.

  We all jump at the sudden change in him. His eyes are focused on a candle in the center of the table, but I can see his thoughts are miles from here. He’s hearing something or feeling something—however it works. Elaine is beside him listening silently. Her eyes are round, and she holds his arm.

  “Patrick…” The whisper dies on her lips. It’s as if she knows what will happen next, and she knows she can’t stop it.

  He’s on his feet moving around the kitchen. Large hands go into the sides of his hair, and he looks down. Every muscle in his body is flexed, and the adrenaline in his veins is almost visible to me.

  Demeter’s crackly old voice breaks the silence. “You have to leave us.” It’s not a question.

  “How strong are you?” His green-hazel eyes fix on the old witch at the head of the table.

  She is calm as a stone. “I’m not strong enough to fight an old one. I am strong enough to hide us. For a little while.”

  He winces, the internal conflict clear on his face. “They need me.” His eyes move to Elaine, and his voice is quiet. “I have to go to them. It’s… critical.”

  My friend is on her feet and nodding as she crosses the room to him. “Do what you have to do.” She clutches both his hands. “We’ll be safe here. I’ll hear you if anything changes.”

  His jaw moves as the two look deeply into each other’s eyes. He pulls her against his chest, and for a moment, they only hold each other. Patrick’s eyes squeeze shut, and he inhales deeply at the top of her head. I can’t help thinking how primitive and perfect it is.

  Another breath and his eyes open. He moves my friend out, holding her at arms’ length. “You hear me?” She nods her pale blonde head rapidly. “Listen to me as long as you can. I’ll tell you if you need to hide, go underground, run as far from here as you can get.”

  Her eyes widen a bit, but she nods again.

  “I won’t lose you,” he finishes, moving his hands to her shoulders. He looks up at Demeter then. “Use your strongest magic. Cover the house. You can’t fight him, but you can protect this place.”

  The old woman’s lips pucker. “I’ve encountered strong ones before, cher. Your lady will be safe.”

  Patrick’s breathing is fast, and I sense his desperation. Defying his alpha’s direct order is a unique stressor on its own, but leaving his mate unguarded is worse. Ice floods my veins as understanding fills me. He would only leave her if someone were about to die.

  I shudder, thinking of Derek so far away. Oh, god, don’t let him be killed…

  * * *

  Derek

  Stuart drums his fingers on the glossy wooden bar in Chartres House. “It’s not smart working with an unproven witch.”

  “Patrick trusts her,” I say, lifting a tumbler of scotch to my lips. “And with him in Algiers, we don’t have a choice.”

  He props an elbow on the ledge. “Too much is wrong with this situation. Our mission was finding Alison’s killer. We should be back in Princeton finishing that job. We’ve taken a personal detour, and now you’re carrying vampire blood in your veins. We’re not prepared, and if something happens to you—”

  Normally, talk like this would piss me off, but I’ve served with this man in combat. He saved my life. Of all the people in the world I should listen to, he’s one of them. I manage to control my temper.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I say. “Yes, it’s a personal detour, but it’s not outside our mission. We’re after justice, Stuart.” The vampire’s plans to torture Melissa flicker across my mind, the wooden box. “Tonight is about justice. Trust me.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  Nodding, I accept his concession, even though I know he’s right. We’re vulnerable. We haven’t traded blood. Patrick is miles away. We’re facing one of the strongest vampires I’ve ever encountered—stronger than my immunity. If I didn’t believe emphatically time is of the essence, we wouldn’t be here right now.

  I’m mentally calculating all our weaknesses when Star pushes through the door. She’s different, although I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s a witch in New Orleans. Dealing with the undead is second nature to her.

  She looks around the room, chin lifted as if inspecting her domain. Her eyes light on me, and a thin dark brow arches. A smirk curls her velvet-red lips, and she crosses the small space, slim hips swaying under a long, black dress.

  Her dark eyes sweep slowly from my waist to my face, and I have to confess, she’s good. She’s everything those undead fuckers love—rich, confident, and dripping with sex.

  “How about you buy me a drink.” Her deep voice is sassy.

  The bartender, along with all the straight men in the room, picks up his jaw and asks what we’re having.

  “Scotch neat,” I say. I don’t have to ask. I know Star is a scotch drinker. Actually, I’m betting she’s more of a whiskey gal.

  The small barroom returns to business as usual, and the bartender scurries off. Stuart hasn’t moved from leaning on the bar beside me. Irritation rolls off him in waves, but Star doesn’t seem to notice.

  She looks up at me, speaking quietly. “My neck, arms, and wrists are all exposed. The slit in this dress provides access to my inner thighs…”

  The bartender’s back, and I nod, slipping him a twenty. He’ll take care of us and leave us alone at the same time. Once he’s gone, she continues.

  “I spent the last hour drinking a tea of verbena root, mountain ash, and wild rose. If he swallows even an ounce of my blood, he’ll be weak enough for you to kill him.” She slants a dark eye at Stuart. “A dose of shifter blood would make me practically invincible.”

  My partner clears his throat and straightens, taking a hit of scotch.

  She faces him then, amusement flickering in her dark eyes. “How about it, wolf? Care to step into the alley for a quickie?”

  “No thanks,” he grumbles not making eye contact.

  Her grin is wicked as she takes a long pull off the drink I ordered her. “You act like you haven’t been laid in a month. Is the horniness getting you down?”

  That does it. Stuart’s voice rises. “Don’t fuck with me, witch. If I fucked you, you wouldn’t walk straight for a week.”

  “Hmm… that’s a challenge I’m willing to accept.”

  “Okay, cut it out.” I give Stuart a pointed look, and he turns away while I lower my voice again. “Let’s hear your plan.”

  She bends an elbow, passing her fingers over her lips as she speaks. “It’s dark tonight. Fog is rolling in off the river, hiding the moon. I’ll take a lonely walk on the levee toward Woldenberg Park. Two small pavilions are hidden in the trees there.”

  Remembering our pretense, I slide my palm along the outside of her upper arm, stepping closer as if we’re making a connection.

  “You think you can entrance him?”

  “I’m tipsy, half-dressed—easy prey.” She looks over her shoulder, ensuring no one is listening. Her chin drops, and her forehead almost touches my chest. “Don’t move too fast. Wait until he’s in the frenzy, then take him out.”

  The simple perfection of her plan convinces me. I nod at once and glance up at Stuart, giving him a slight nod.

  “We’ll be close. I won’t let him kill you.”

  She exhales a laugh, stepping back to finish off the scotch in one large gulp. “I would hope as much. Later, wolf.”

  She gives my partner a wink and turns on a tall stiletto. I watch her ass sway under long black silk as she makes her way to the door and leaves. Only a few customers glance at us as I bump my partner’s arm, and we settle up the bill. We’ll give her a bit of a head start then take off after her.

  Out on the street, the night feels close. The fog has rolled in quickly, shrouding everything in a thick blanket. Tension grips my shoulders as we make our way the two blocks to the river. Stuart looks around as we cross Decatur and grabs my arm.

  “Give me a minute.” He steps into a deserted alley, and I inspect the empty street, waiting.

  Moments later an oversized black Rottweiler is at my side. As much as I hate to lose direct communication with him, his vision and hearing are improved, and one man walking a dog is less conspicuous than two men walking alone, clearly on a mission. Too bad we didn’t have time for the ritual.

  Making our way down St. Louis Street, the lamps are hazy balls of light in the thickening fog. Banana trees cast eerie shadows, and a few bodies are hunched against the wide planters lining the large, waterfront parking lot for the Creole Queen riverboat.

  On nights like this, the city settles into an unusual quiet. Of course, the revelers are going strong on Bourbon Street, but once the French Market vendors clear out, the storefronts roll down their doors, and only a few bars remain open for tourists brave enough to roam the streets of New Orleans in a fog this thick.

  We’re at the steps leading up to the levee. The riverboat entrance is behind us, and the large vessel is gone, making its nightly voyage up and down the expansive waterway. Two dark figures are moving toward us. My fight reflex kicks in, but after a moment, I realize it’s only a couple strolling the levee, talking and laughing, oblivious to the danger around them as they gaze out at the wide, black water swirling in crosscurrents.

  Their soft, disembodied voices reach us through the fog before they do, and I place my hand on Stuart’s neck. He’s not wearing his protective chain collar tonight, but I still try to make it look as if he’s restrained. The less attention we draw the better. They pass us without greeting, and we keep moving.

  The Mississippi River Bridge looms in the distance, white lights dotting its three metal arches. A small tugboat pushes a massive barge out on the water. Only muffled beams of light and large ripples signal its presence. The further we go toward the trees and bushes surrounding the small pavilions that dot the path, the darker it becomes.

  We’re completely alone, and we both stop to listen. Stuart’s ears perk forward. He might not like Star, but he won’t let her be vampire food any more than I will. For moments that stretch out like hours we hear nothing. Then Stuart’s ears twitch. He detects something, and with a slight lowering of his massive head, I know it’s time to move.

  My heavy boots make a dull thud against the pavement as we jog quickly to the hedge surrounding the smaller pavilion. Palms mix with holly bushes to form a thick, natural barrier. It’s good—it will cover our scent.

  Adrenaline races in my veins. I open my mouth to quiet my breathing. I don’t see anything. I don’t hear anything. I’m relying strictly on Stuart’s lead. The gun loaded with silver bullets is in my left boot, and a stake is strapped inside my coat. If he’s latched onto her, it won’t take long to finish him. I can only hope her potion is as powerful as she believes.

  I pull up short when at last I hear voices, and we recede into the shadows. A quick scan of our surroundings confirms we’re alone. They’re in the smaller pavilion, the one away from the river, and their voices echo off the tin roof clear as a bell to where we’re hiding.

  “…just taking a walk.” Star’s voice is high and a little giggly. She’s going for tipsy, vulnerable. It’s good.

  The voice that answers puts ice in my veins. “You’re overdressed for a walk on a night like this.”

  His speaking voice is different from his voice in my head. It’s smooth and polished with a low vibration of glamour. But in addition to that, in addition to the overt threat, something else gives me pause. I can almost place it…

  “Oh, I was at a party,” she sighs, and we see her in the shadows, leaning on the pavilion railing. “I just got so bored. Do you ever get so bored of people you want to scream?”

  “All the time.” His smile is hungry. “What bored you tonight?”

  “Nothing.” She turns and faces him. “I mean, the prospect of nothing. Another night. Nothing changes.”

  “Ah.” He nods, sitting on the opposite railing facing her, watching her.

  From our vantage point behind the foliage, we can see and hear them. If Star gets in trouble, we’ll have a slight delay reaching her, still, if we get too close, we risk detection—especially with Stuart in his shifter form.

  Pushing off the rail, she walks straight to him. “You say I’m overdressed. What’s with the tux?”

  She slides her hands under the lapels of his black dinner jacket. I’ve got to hand it to her, she’s brave to get so close.

  “I’m going to dine.”

  “Dinner? You’re going to dinner, you mean?”

  “No.” He reaches out and catches her wrists, lifting one to his mouth. “I said what I meant.”

  My muscles tighten. I’m not sure if he’ll bite her… He seems only to inhale her skin.

  Everything stops.

  His expression hardens, and he throws her arm down abruptly.

  “How often does this work for you?”

  “What?” She’s still grinning, stepping to him again.

  Faster than the human eye, he spins her around, pinning her arms and holding her back against his chest. A little shriek comes from her as he restrains her. Her breasts rise and fall rapidly with her breathing.

  “You thought you would trick me?” The smooth vibration is gone, and he’s speaking in the sinister hiss I recognize. “You think I can’t smell the poison in your veins?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Her voice trembles. “You can smell my veins?”

  I can’t tell if this is more of her act of if she’s truly asking. It seems the vampire isn’t sure either. He releases one of her wrists in favor of grasping the front of her throat with his long fingers.

  “You’ve drunk verbena root… and it smells like mountain rose.”

  “M-my perfume is rose.” Her lips are quivering, and I can see tears in her eyes. Stuart and I start to move until… “What is verbena root?”

  We stop again, waiting. She knows exactly what verbena root is. Is she working an angle?

  The vampire pauses as well, but his slim fingers clutch the front of her neck as if he’ll rip it away. For a moment, the only noise is Star’s whimpering. Her rapid breathing shifts the deep V of her dress, revealing the crease under her cleavage. It’s a succulent sight for a vampire, but ours isn’t biting.

  “I didn’t get this far being stupid.” His gaze lifts, and he looks around the area. “You’re a trap.”

  His grip tightens, and the sound of choking fills the air. His fingers are strong enough to break her skin and throw her windpipe across the levee. I’m not convinced he won’t do it.

  “Is this clever, little witch?” He hisses in her ear, and Star lets out a strangled cry. He jerks her around to the side, and the muffled lamplight falls across her face. I see her cheeks are slick with tears. Her nose is running.

  “I don’t… know… what—”

  “LIAR!” He snarls, but just as he starts to tear her throat out, my partner dives through the opening, knocking him back. Star instantly falls in a heap as a loud yelp screeches from my partner.

  The vampire has both hands on his body, and I see his pale head in my partner’s throat, shaking side to side. More heart-chilling screeches come from Stuart.

  “STUART!” I yell, pushing my arms against holly, fighting to get through the fucking hedge.

  I’m finally out and running, grabbing inside my jacket for the stake.

  The monster throws my partner to the ground, a limp, black heap of fur. His whimpers meet my ears, but he doesn’t get up. He appears to be paralyzed. Or injured so badly, he can’t stand.