Fangs of Anarchy: Forbidden Alpha (Part 4) In the Zone: A Werewolf Vampire Shifter Romance by Dakota Cassidy Page B

her greasy hair. “Oh, no.
I’m not leaving the Zone, Irish. I can’t. I’m close. I can feel it.”
    He cracked his knuckles. “Close to what, is the question?
Are you so close now that you can’t leave?” Irish’s eyes scanned the worn brick
building, cracked and in disrepair, his gaze followed the length of it to the
top floor.
    “Well, not as close as I could have been, because now you’ve
blown my cover.”
    He gave her his deadpan stare. “Your cover? Lookit you, little Miss Alias. I could hear you from a mile
away, Claire. How do you suppose I knew where you were? How I found you? The
Zone is pretty vast. You need to work harder, ninja.”
    He was right. She’d stumbled through this entire stay in The
Zone like a two-year old in her mother’s high-heels. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. “That’s only because you’re a vampire and
you have good nostrils.”
    He pointed to the brick before crossing his arms over his
chest. “And this building doesn’t house vampires? What if the undead lives here
and they smelled you?”
    Points. He had so many.
    Okay, so she didn’t know what it housed. It was only a hint
of a hint from some drifter demon, but it was all she had after skulking about
the scum of the Zone and coming up dry. Of the four people she’d summoned the
nerve to talk to, four people she’d carefully scoped out by watching and
waiting, none would even entertain her when she asked about the name she’d been
given in that text. They either cringed and ran away, or clammed up.
    “I don’t know what it houses, Irish. You didn’t give me time
to find out,” she hissed, frustrated with herself for not using her nose to her
advantage. She knew Irish’s scent, but she’d let fear and adrenaline overpower
common sense.
    Footsteps crunched behind them, stilling their words. Her
heart jumped to her throat, clogging it with the fear of ending up caught.
Neither of them could be caught here. She wasn’t sure
if it would be worse to end up caught by the people who frequented the Zone,
like the rumored murderer or two in hiding, or the authorities who did sweeps
from time to time to check identifications and passports. Jail or death by
mutilation? Hmmm…
    Irish put his finger to his lips as raucous male laughter
and slurred words filled the rank air in a putrid cloud of profanity.
    Claire held her breath, praying whoever they were, they wouldn’t round the corner and find them in the
alleyway.
    As the hard thunk of boots on
concrete grew closer, her pulse quickened. She readied her stance. She might
not look like much, but she was no slouch when it came to defending herself,
and she’d do so if pressed.
    Because if the person who she thought lived in this building really lived in this building, and
the feet she heard belonged to him, things were going to get ugly—fast.

Chapter Fifteen
    Irish was next to her in a blur of legs and feet, pulling
her close to him, dragging her backward toward the wall and planting one on her
lips.
    “Nice ass,” someone sneered. Someone with a raspy voice
thick with too much booze. Laughter ripped across the cold breeze in varying
degrees of tone.
    When she tried to pull out of Irish’s arms to address
whomever was leering at her ass, Irish pulled her in tighter. “Not a word,
Claire,” he muttered against her mouth, continuing to probe her lips.
    “Hey, lovebirds! Take your shit somewhere the fuck else,”
another, even more slurred voice ordered.
    Irish lifted his head, but only enough to say, “Sorry, man.
Just got paid. You know what it’s like. Got carried
away with the goodies.”
    There was cackling, lots of men
cackling because they thought a man had spent his paycheck on a hooker. Only a
group of men would high-five each other over a complete stranger blowing his
hard-earned money on paid sex.
    She heard sniffing before the man said, “Yeah, yeah . Now move it along, bloodsucker. Go fuck somewhere else.
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