past the time he should have been stopping by Gabrielle Maxwell’s apartment to return her cell phone like he’d told her he would. The device was still at the tech lab with Gideon, who was processing the images and running them against the Breed’s International Identification Database.
As for Lucan, he had no intention of returning the phone to Gabrielle, personally or otherwise. The images of the Rogues’ attack had to stay out of human hands, and after the near fiasco he’d had in her bedroom, the farther he stayed away from the female, the better.
A goddamned Breedmate.
He should have known. Thinking back on it, there had been a few things about her that should have clued him in to the fact right away. Like her ability to see through the veil of vampire mind control permeating the dance club that night. She had seen the Rogues—Bloodlusting in the alley, and in the scrambled images of her cell phone—when other humans could not. Then, at her apartment, she had even proven resistant to Lucan’s own efforts to bend her thoughts with mental suggestion, and he suspected she had succumbed more out of her own unconscious desire for the pleasure he offered than anything else.
It was no secret that human females with the genetic makeup unique to Breedmates possessed keen intelligence and flawless health. Many possessed uncanny extrasensory skills or paranormal talents that would amplify once a Breedmate was blood-bonded to a vampire male.
As for Gabrielle Maxwell, it appeared that she was gifted with a special vision that let her see what other humans could not, though just how far that vision went was anyone’s guess. Lucan wanted to know. His warrior’s instinct demanded he get to the bottom of it without delay.
But getting involved with the female in any form or fashion was the very last thing he needed.
So why couldn’t he shake himself loose of her sweet scent, her soft skin…her sultry sensuality? He hated that the woman had brought out such weakness in him, and his current mood was hardly improved by the fact that his body was aching with the need to feed.
The only bright spot in his night was the steady clip of Rogues’ boot heels on pavement somewhere near the mouth of the side street, coming his way.
The human turning the corner a few paces ahead of them was male. Young, healthy, garbed in black-and-white houndstooth pants and a stained white tunic that reeked of a greasy restaurant kitchen and sudden, anxious perspiration. The cook checked over his shoulder where the four vampires were gaining ground. A hushed, nervous-sounding expletive hissed in the dark. The human swung his head back around and walked faster, fists clenched at his sides, his rounding eyes rooted to the lightless stretch of asphalt at his feet.
“No need to run, little man,” one of the Rogues taunted, his voice scraping like gravel.
Another made a shrill, mocking squeal as he loped ahead of his three companions. “Yeah, don’t run away now. It ain’t like you’re gonna get far.”
The Rogues’ laughter echoed against the buildings flanking the narrow street.
“Shit,” the human whispered under his breath. He didn’t turn around again, just plowed ahead at a swift clip, two seconds from breaking into a flat-out, but pointless, run.
As the frightened human neared, Lucan took a slow step out of the gloom, bracing his feet wide beneath him. Arms extended out at his sides, he blocked the street with his menacing body and twin swords. He shot a cold smile at the Rogues, his fangs stretched long in anticipation of the fight to come. “Evening, ladies.”
“Oh, Jesus!” gasped the human. He made an abrupt stop, staring up into Lucan’s face in horror as one of his knees buckled beneath him. “Shit!”
“Get up.” Lucan gave him the briefest flick of a glance as the young man scrambled to find his feet. “Get out of here.”
He scraped his two blades together before him, filling the darkened street with the
As for Lucan, he had no intention of returning the phone to Gabrielle, personally or otherwise. The images of the Rogues’ attack had to stay out of human hands, and after the near fiasco he’d had in her bedroom, the farther he stayed away from the female, the better.
A goddamned Breedmate.
He should have known. Thinking back on it, there had been a few things about her that should have clued him in to the fact right away. Like her ability to see through the veil of vampire mind control permeating the dance club that night. She had seen the Rogues—Bloodlusting in the alley, and in the scrambled images of her cell phone—when other humans could not. Then, at her apartment, she had even proven resistant to Lucan’s own efforts to bend her thoughts with mental suggestion, and he suspected she had succumbed more out of her own unconscious desire for the pleasure he offered than anything else.
It was no secret that human females with the genetic makeup unique to Breedmates possessed keen intelligence and flawless health. Many possessed uncanny extrasensory skills or paranormal talents that would amplify once a Breedmate was blood-bonded to a vampire male.
As for Gabrielle Maxwell, it appeared that she was gifted with a special vision that let her see what other humans could not, though just how far that vision went was anyone’s guess. Lucan wanted to know. His warrior’s instinct demanded he get to the bottom of it without delay.
But getting involved with the female in any form or fashion was the very last thing he needed.
So why couldn’t he shake himself loose of her sweet scent, her soft skin…her sultry sensuality? He hated that the woman had brought out such weakness in him, and his current mood was hardly improved by the fact that his body was aching with the need to feed.
The only bright spot in his night was the steady clip of Rogues’ boot heels on pavement somewhere near the mouth of the side street, coming his way.
The human turning the corner a few paces ahead of them was male. Young, healthy, garbed in black-and-white houndstooth pants and a stained white tunic that reeked of a greasy restaurant kitchen and sudden, anxious perspiration. The cook checked over his shoulder where the four vampires were gaining ground. A hushed, nervous-sounding expletive hissed in the dark. The human swung his head back around and walked faster, fists clenched at his sides, his rounding eyes rooted to the lightless stretch of asphalt at his feet.
“No need to run, little man,” one of the Rogues taunted, his voice scraping like gravel.
Another made a shrill, mocking squeal as he loped ahead of his three companions. “Yeah, don’t run away now. It ain’t like you’re gonna get far.”
The Rogues’ laughter echoed against the buildings flanking the narrow street.
“Shit,” the human whispered under his breath. He didn’t turn around again, just plowed ahead at a swift clip, two seconds from breaking into a flat-out, but pointless, run.
As the frightened human neared, Lucan took a slow step out of the gloom, bracing his feet wide beneath him. Arms extended out at his sides, he blocked the street with his menacing body and twin swords. He shot a cold smile at the Rogues, his fangs stretched long in anticipation of the fight to come. “Evening, ladies.”
“Oh, Jesus!” gasped the human. He made an abrupt stop, staring up into Lucan’s face in horror as one of his knees buckled beneath him. “Shit!”
“Get up.” Lucan gave him the briefest flick of a glance as the young man scrambled to find his feet. “Get out of here.”
He scraped his two blades together before him, filling the darkened street with the
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