Damn earthquake. Barely a three-point-five, but it was strong enough to cause everyone at Midnight Sin—the nightclub I purchased a decade ago when I moved to San Francisco—to evacuate before I could settle on a snack for the evening.
I catch sight of my reflection in the two-way glass outside Interrogation Room Three and curse again. When I’ve fed, I’m normal enough. But as hungry as I am, I look like a cross between Matt Bomer, Jason Momoa, and Channing Tatum. That is if any of them had irises rimmed with crimson.
Bursting out of headquarters, I turn half a dozen heads—mostly women, but a few men as well—and three of them make a beeline straight for me.
“Are you a movie star?” The meek little mouse who reaches me first doesn’t have enough power in her for a snack, let alone a full meal. But she might be able to take the edge off.
“No,” I purr as I take her arm. “But I’ve often thought I should be. What role would you like me to play?” Steering her towards an alley, I scan the rest of the crowd, ensuring my glamour has taken hold and they see nothing as my tasty treat prattles on about how I’d make the perfect action hero.
“Or you could be a vampire,” she says with a giggle. “And drink my blood. After you...bite me.”
“What’s your name, love?” I have one rule. I refuse to feed from anyone without knowing their name. Well, two rules. No killing. I’m a demon. Not a monster. Not anymore.
She gazes up at me with wide brown eyes. “L-Laura.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Laura.” Choosing the cleanest section of wall in the alley, I cage her, pressing my forearms to the bricks. “May I kiss you?”
“Y-yes,” she stammers, and I crush my lips to hers.
Fuck. So sweet. And stronger than I’d thought. Her life force flows into me as our tongues dance together, and when my teeth scrape her lower lip, she moans. Or perhaps...that sound is coming from me.
Laura melts against the bricks, and soon, I have to wrap my arms around her slight frame to hold her upright. She claws at my shirt, desperate for more, but I probe her mind, seeing a husband, two children—adorable ones, even.
Enough.
Pulling away, I cup her cheek, my other arm still tight around her back. “Look at me, Laura.”
She gasps as her gaze locks on mine. Unsurprising. With my feeding haze at its peak, my normally dark blue eyes are probably blood red. I let my lips curve and lower my voice. “Where were you going when you saw me?”
“The bank.” Enraptured now, she gives me a lazy smile. “But we could go to a hotel?”
“No, sweetheart. Pay attention.” After another brief kiss, I push into her mind once more. “You were headed to the bank, but then you heard a kitten crying from the alley. So you went to look for it. As soon as you reached this spot, the sound ceased. You waited a few moments but never found the poor little thing, so you returned to your errands. You will have no recollection of me, and will feel no guilt for what we...shared.”
The memories firmly implanted in her mind, I break our connection and step back, using a small amount of my newly refreshed power to hide myself behind my glamour.
Laura shakes her head and blinks hard. “Here, kitty, kitty. Where are you, little one?”
After another few seconds, she shrugs, straightens her jacket, and almost floats back towards the bank. She’ll remember nothing, other than how amazing she feels.
Letting my glamour slip away, I head in the opposite direction to find another very willing victim.
Three
Sin
Fort Baker State Park.
Dead shifter off of Bunker Road.
CSI and Coroner en route.
Meet Agent Dawes there and DO NOT be your usual dickish self.
Commander Eve’s terse message grates as I dab my lips with a handkerchief and watch my latest conquest toddle off, floating on the memory of shaking hands with one of the Helmsworth brothers.
Some days, my only joy comes from the little falsehoods I plant in the minds of those who keep me alive with their energy. Sated at last, I stride to my car, the lights on the Audi A3 flashing seconds before I sink into the buttery leather seat. Once I take the top down, I gun the engine and peel out into traffic.
After close to six hundred years exiled to the mortal realm, little excites me. The chase, the joy of feeding? Both provide temporary distractions, but most days, I am bored out of my mind. Bored enough to consider petitioning Gabriel to reduce my sentence. Though the celestial realm is the most droll place in all of creation. Now that my brother has left to make his place on earth—and mated himself to a warlock for fuck’s sake—there’s even less reason for me to want to return.
My work for the Bureau of the Occult and the Other is all that keeps me from stabbing my eyes out with a ball point pen. Other-on-Other crime can’t be left to humans, but most of our cases are no more than run-of-the-mill. Werewolves, vampires, witches, and Fae can rob, steal, and maim as easily as humans. They are merely harder to catch.
Rolling to a stop at the light, I tap the in-dash controls. “Play case report: Fort Baker State Park.”
A melodious voice oozes through the speakers. “As you wish, handsome. Victim is a twenty-five-year-old female tiger shifter. The body was discovered by two human runners approximately ninety-minutes ago. Mem-Clear has been dispatched, and the humans’ statements have been recorded, along with their memory scans. A perception screen is in place along the perimeter, and all traffic has been diverted. CSI Team Two is en-route. Agent Zoe Dawes arrived on scene five minutes ago and is not awaiting further instructions.”
Of course. I shift into a higher gear and take the curves at speeds only a being with preternatural abilities can handle. The tires leave the road as I careen around a bend, but I know my car—my sexy beast—and she can take more. Especially when I have so recently fed.
I cover the ten miles in under seven minutes, slam on the brakes, and squeal to a stop mere feet from the containment area.
The woman crouching by the body, elbows on her knees, fingers steepled, with her auburn hair blowing in the breeze turns her gaze to mine.
A punch of power knocks me back against the seat, and her green eyes narrow and focus on me. There is something decidedly other about this human. Her stare draws me in and stirs something deep inside me. A long-ago feeling I cannot pinpoint or name. Or decide if I like.
Her photo did not do her justice. Rough-chopped red curls tumble around a thin, pale face. Freckles dot her nose, and bruised, puffy bags give her eyes a hollow look. The leather jacket hides her body and must be at least two sizes larger than she needs.
Rising, she unfolds her long, graceful legs, and I catch sight of a simple black blouse clinging to her breasts. Her full lips—unadorned—part, but the brief moment of desire that flashes in her eyes vanishes in a single breath.
She shakes her head. “Are you Sinclair?” she asks, jamming a palm on her hip.
“I am.”
“You’re late.”
Zoe
Great. My partner’s a pretty boy in a hot car with a swagger that could topple buildings. He strides over to me like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Someone’s dead, dammit. Show a little fucking respect.