On the Hunt

"I'm not leaving here without it."

"Yes, you are." She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and waved it in front of him. "If you prefer to do so with a police escort, I'm happy to provide one."

His mouth tightened and his eye twitched. He crossed his arms over his wide chest, making his jacket creak as his biceps bulged against the leather.

His size contrasted with the gentleness of his touch earlier. She was used to soft, intellectual men with smooth hands and wool suits, not brutes in leather. And although he'd been nothing but careful with her, Mr. Etan was definitely a brute. A man didn't get to be as big and muscular and . . . imposing as he was without also adopting that barbaric kind of demeanor.

He was a man misplaced in time. Centuries ago, he would have been a prize, but now, in modern civilized society, he had no place. There was no purpose for all those muscles other than vanity. And attracting women.

Viviana would just bet he was used to having women hang all over him, cooing and fawning and simpering like idiots. She could hardly stand the mental image.

He stared into her eyes for a long moment—long enough that Viviana began to heat under his gaze. She knew better than to be drawn to a man like him, but apparently her body did not.

Apparently, there was some vestigial part of her that had woken up and taken notice of him and his outdated muscles.

She told that part of her it could just go right back to sleep as soon as he left her home.

"We're not done, you and I," he said, making it sound like a promise. "Wherever you go, I'll be there. Call all the cops you like. It won't change a thing. I'm getting that gadget for my friend and that's final. As soon as you get sick of having me breathe down your neck, I'm sure you'll see things my way."

The idea of his breathing on any part of her was more than a bit intriguing, which only served to anger her further. "Good night, Mr. Etan."

"Call me Neal," he said as he turned to leave. "I have the feeling the two of us are going to be spending a lot of time together."

Chapter Two

Viviana stood there, flustered and flushed. Her whole body was shaking by the time she heard her front door swing shut.

She hurried to check and make sure he hadn't faked her out and gone roaming her home. She wouldn't have put it past him to do just that—stomping through her personal, private space as if he owned it.

Through the curtains, she saw the big shadow of his body move smoothly down her steps and out onto the street. She parted the lace panels and watched him go. He had far too much grace for a man his size. It was hard not to stare as he moved, his long limbs loose and strong as he strode away. He almost seemed to glide across the snow. Only his big footprints gave away the fact that he walked like anyone else, one foot in front of the other.

A passing truck obscured her vision, releasing her from whatever spell he'd had on her.

She turned, refusing to look again for fear she'd be sucked back into his gliding stride.

He was bluffing about staying nearby. She was sure of it. It was just a tactic meant to force her to comply with his wishes.

As if she would bend so easily. She might not be some huge, hulking man, but she was no wilting flower, either. She hadn't yet met the man who could make her back down. That gadget, as he'd called it, was hers and she was keeping it, regardless of any lies he might tell her about his dying friend.

Avid collectors would say anything to acquire an item they sought. He was just one more.

Viviana locked her door and fetched a towel, broom, and dustpan to clean up the broken glass.

Her hands were still shaking, and as she picked up a large shard of glass it sliced across her finger. A few drops of blood stained the towel as she finished cleaning up the mess.

Irritation tightened her shoulders. It wasn't like her to let a man—or anyone, for that matter—rattle her so deeply. She needed to find her sense of calm and put him out of her mind. She refused to dwell on Mr. Etan for one more moment. She had more important things to worry about, like why a living, breathing man felt the same to her as the artifacts from a long-dead ancient race.

Maybe it was that ring he wore. She'd never seen anything like it before. Maybe it was an artifact that called to her, not the man himself.

That made much more sense and settled her nerves. Her shoulders relaxed as she decided that must be the case. The answer would be somewhere in her books. All she had to do was find it.

Viviana went to her third-floor study, and had just laid out the first ancient book in her collection—the one with a barren tree embossed on the leather cover—when she heard a faint scratching sound.

She peeked out the window, expecting to see animals pawing through the trash cans in the alley below. Instead, when the noise came again, it was behind her, in the hallway. Inside the house.

She whirled around, her heart pounding in her throat.

She told herself it was just a rat. She'd call an exterminator and the problem would be solved.

Instincts that were rusty from disuse screamed otherwise. There was someone in the house. Or something.

Her imagination ran wild with the images of horrible beasts she'd seen in her texts. Claws and teeth and horns mingled together into a massive collage of childish nightmares.

Viviana picked up a hefty brass candlestick. The smooth metal slid around inside the white cotton gloves she'd donned to handle her books. She gripped it tighter and stepped to the right to peer into the hallway.

She'd turned the hallway light off in her determination to be more environmentally conscious.

Stupid, stupid move. Now she couldn't see a thing.

A feral hiss rose up from the darkness, positioned too high to have come from a rat on the floor.

She kicked the door open wider with the toe of her shoe, hoping to shed some light into the hall.

A faint glow reached halfway across the space. Beyond that light, she saw glowing eyes at about waist height. They were a bright, sickly green. That green glow flared brighter and the hissing noise got louder.

The scratching sound came again, closer, and this time she heard it for what it was: claws on her hardwood flooring.

The thing stepped forward, landing one foot in the rectangle of light. The paw was huge. Furry.

Easily as big as her hand, tipped with oily black claws.

Whatever it was, it was definitely no rat.

Walking away from Viviana Rowan had been one of the harder things Neal had done in a long time, but it was necessary. He didn't think she'd be the kind of woman who would fold under a little pressure. Better to ease off and rethink his strategy, figure out what she wanted.

Not that he was thinking too clearly right now. The woman had rattled him.

He'd heard the rumors about Drake and Helen and how they'd met. She'd taken away his pain when they touched. Was it possible he'd found another one of their women? A female Theronai?

A bubble of hope swelled inside him, and despite his best efforts, he couldn't seem to make it stop. He knew that when it burst, he'd suffer, but he couldn't seem to stop that fragile feeling from gaining momentum.

Neal slid behind the wheel of his truck and dialed Drake. If anyone could help Neal figure all this out, it would be his buddy and fellow Theronai.

"Hey, Neal," answered Drake. He was out of breath, but the sun had been down for only a few minutes. It hadn't been dark long enough for the couple to be out fighting yet. Which left one other reason for all the panting.

"I interrupted you and Helen, didn't I?"

There was a smug smile in Drake's tone. "A couple of minutes earlier and you would have.

What do you need?"

"I met this woman tonight. When I touched her, the pain . . ." He didn't know how to describe it. "It faded. But then it came back so fast and hard I thought I'd lose my mind."

Drake's tone was sharp and clear, all business. "When you stopped touching her?"

"Yeah. Sound familiar?"

"Absolutely. Who is she?"

"Her name is Viviana Rowan. She collects antiques."

Hope rang pure and clear in Drake's voice. "Tell me about what you felt."

Neal didn't much like talking about his feelings, but for Viviana, he'd make an exception. "It's like I said. I shook her hand and the pain just . . . fell away. When she pulled her hand back, I thought I was going to be crushed under the pressure. It happened twice. I wasn't sure I'd survive a third round."

"Did your luceria react?"

Neal glanced at his ring. There might have been more movement of color in the iridescent band, but it was hard to tell in the dim confines of his truck. "I don't know. I wasn't thinking about it at the time. I was too busy trying not to puke up my guts on her floor."

"Does she bear the mark of a female Theronai?" asked Drake.

The ring-shaped birthmark. Neal had nearly forgotten about that. No women of their kind had been born for so long, their men had all but stopped looking for the signs. "I don't know. She was clothed from her neck down, all prim and proper. I didn't ask about any birthmarks, and if I had, she probably would have kicked me out sooner."

"You're not with her?"

"I'm in front of her home. Outside on the street."

"Where are you? Has the sun set there yet?"

"About five minutes ago."

"Get the hell back in there and don't you dare leave her side," ordered Drake. The note of fear in his voice was contagious.

Neal was already out of his truck when he asked, "Why?"

"Because if she is one of ours and you touched her, you might have destroyed any natural defenses she had. The Synestryn might be able to find her now, especially if she bleeds."

The broken glass.

Stark, ragged fear sliced through him as he slammed out of his truck. He ran across the street, cursing at the passing cars in his way. "Thanks, Drake. I won't leave her again until I know for sure if she's ours."

"I'll send Logan to you. He might be able to verify her bloodlines."