he gestured at the wolf’s coffee cup. “You left your post?”
The second guard trembled, and the five others who’d gathered around tut-tutted as if they would
never
consider doing such a thing.
“We’re reviewing the camera footage now.” The voice of the head of security came from a speaker, and everyone hushed.
Tanner, too.
“I’m sending it up to your monitor now.”
The picture on the monitor blinked then showed an empty hallway with a timer on the upper right. It scrolled back in time, then forward from the point that the shifter guard lumbered into view and pressed the elevator button.
“Shit, man, are you in trouble,” one of the guards said, making the wolf groan.
Tanner stood very, very still, staring at the screen long after it showed the guard disappearing into the elevator. His nails bit into his palms, and a fresh line of sweat broke out on his brow. He’d be the one in a hell of a lot of trouble if his timing had been off.
“Nothing,” one of the men muttered. “Not a thing.”
He exhaled slowly.
“I’m telling you, she’s a witch!” Antoine insisted. “She must have levitated a chair and popped me over the head.”
It took everything Tanner had not to smirk. That had been his fist, not a chair. But hell, if Antoine wanted to believe that, it sure suited him.
“How else could she break into the penthouse?” Antoine went on.
That part, Tanner had to agree with, and it made his skin itch. Could it really be?
“I’m telling you, she’s a witch,” Antoine insisted.
Tanner glared at him, but inside, his mind spun. Shit. Could his mate really be half witch?
Chapter Six
Karen followed a stumbling group of all-night revelers for five long city blocks, then darted down a side street and looked back.
No alarms. No security guards chasing her down. No undercover vampires showing their teeth.
Well, not yet, it seemed.
The only faces she spotted were bleary-eyed and weary — the faces of gamblers and drinkers — humans, one and all. Some were just waking up, while others were weaving their way home after too many drinks downed and too many dollars lost.
She shook her head, as much at herself as at them. What was she doing in this crazy place?
The sky formed a pinkish yellow backdrop to the blinking lights that never seemed to go out in Vegas. Screaming reds and neon greens and clamoring blues — a color for every one of her faults, it seemed. God, she’d gone and done it again — lost her head to the alluring glitter of it all, but how could she help it? After all, she was half dragon.
And yes, half witch. A second-rate witch whose powers were about as useful as her dragon powers were.
In other words, just enough to land her into trouble, but not enough to get her out.
She took a long breath of air that wasn’t as painfully dry as it would be in another hour or two and hung her head. Everything had gone smoothly — well, relatively smoothly — until she’d fucked up. She’d hexed the rooftop lock open — child’s play, really — then snuck down the stairwell and set a fire on the two floors below the penthouse. Fire was about the only spell she was really good at. Her dragon could cough up enough sparks for her magic to accelerate into a huge, hungry blaze. That was always satisfying — especially this time, because she got to watch Igor Schiller’s collection of blood-themed artwork go up in flames.
Then she’d backtracked to the penthouse, managed not to gag at the scent of old blood that permeated the place, and grabbed the diamond. Her diamond, damn it. But then she’d tripped the web spell and fucked it all up. That was the problem with being half witch — she could only sense some forms of magic. Others, she was as blind to as a bat.
So she’d lost her chance. No diamond, no revenge.
“Great job, Karen,” she muttered under her breath. “Great fucking job.”
How was it that her brilliant plans didn’t quite work out?
At least a guardian
The second guard trembled, and the five others who’d gathered around tut-tutted as if they would
never
consider doing such a thing.
“We’re reviewing the camera footage now.” The voice of the head of security came from a speaker, and everyone hushed.
Tanner, too.
“I’m sending it up to your monitor now.”
The picture on the monitor blinked then showed an empty hallway with a timer on the upper right. It scrolled back in time, then forward from the point that the shifter guard lumbered into view and pressed the elevator button.
“Shit, man, are you in trouble,” one of the guards said, making the wolf groan.
Tanner stood very, very still, staring at the screen long after it showed the guard disappearing into the elevator. His nails bit into his palms, and a fresh line of sweat broke out on his brow. He’d be the one in a hell of a lot of trouble if his timing had been off.
“Nothing,” one of the men muttered. “Not a thing.”
He exhaled slowly.
“I’m telling you, she’s a witch!” Antoine insisted. “She must have levitated a chair and popped me over the head.”
It took everything Tanner had not to smirk. That had been his fist, not a chair. But hell, if Antoine wanted to believe that, it sure suited him.
“How else could she break into the penthouse?” Antoine went on.
That part, Tanner had to agree with, and it made his skin itch. Could it really be?
“I’m telling you, she’s a witch,” Antoine insisted.
Tanner glared at him, but inside, his mind spun. Shit. Could his mate really be half witch?
Chapter Six
Karen followed a stumbling group of all-night revelers for five long city blocks, then darted down a side street and looked back.
No alarms. No security guards chasing her down. No undercover vampires showing their teeth.
Well, not yet, it seemed.
The only faces she spotted were bleary-eyed and weary — the faces of gamblers and drinkers — humans, one and all. Some were just waking up, while others were weaving their way home after too many drinks downed and too many dollars lost.
She shook her head, as much at herself as at them. What was she doing in this crazy place?
The sky formed a pinkish yellow backdrop to the blinking lights that never seemed to go out in Vegas. Screaming reds and neon greens and clamoring blues — a color for every one of her faults, it seemed. God, she’d gone and done it again — lost her head to the alluring glitter of it all, but how could she help it? After all, she was half dragon.
And yes, half witch. A second-rate witch whose powers were about as useful as her dragon powers were.
In other words, just enough to land her into trouble, but not enough to get her out.
She took a long breath of air that wasn’t as painfully dry as it would be in another hour or two and hung her head. Everything had gone smoothly — well, relatively smoothly — until she’d fucked up. She’d hexed the rooftop lock open — child’s play, really — then snuck down the stairwell and set a fire on the two floors below the penthouse. Fire was about the only spell she was really good at. Her dragon could cough up enough sparks for her magic to accelerate into a huge, hungry blaze. That was always satisfying — especially this time, because she got to watch Igor Schiller’s collection of blood-themed artwork go up in flames.
Then she’d backtracked to the penthouse, managed not to gag at the scent of old blood that permeated the place, and grabbed the diamond. Her diamond, damn it. But then she’d tripped the web spell and fucked it all up. That was the problem with being half witch — she could only sense some forms of magic. Others, she was as blind to as a bat.
So she’d lost her chance. No diamond, no revenge.
“Great job, Karen,” she muttered under her breath. “Great fucking job.”
How was it that her brilliant plans didn’t quite work out?
At least a guardian
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