Predatory
“Your work is flawless. As always,” he swiftly eased her fear, a strange edge in his voice although she was too relieved to notice. “It’s something we’ll discuss later.”
“Then what is it?”
He hesitated, almost as if considering his words.
“I heard rumors there was a stalker in the area.”
“A stalker?” She blinked in surprise. The small Midwest town had its share of petty crime, but violence was extremely rare. “In town or on campus?”
“The person has been seen on campus as well as in the surrounding neighborhoods.”
“I haven’t heard anything. Have the police been notified?”
“Of course.” His gaze swept down to her br**sts that were on blatant display, and just for a moment she thought she might have seen a flicker of heat in the icy depths. Then, clearly unimpressed, he returned his interest to her flushed face. “You haven’t noticed anything unusual, have you?”
She shook her head, telling herself she didn’t give a damn. “Not that I can think of.”
“There haven’t been any strangers lurking around?”
Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Most people will tell you that I’m not the most observant person,” she said, recalling her mother’s resigned complaint that Angela could recite the periodic table when she was barely five, but didn’t know the name of one classmate. She hastily squashed the age-old pain before it could fully form. Her mother’s death last year meant that the older woman could no longer be disappointed in her only child. “Outside the lab I tend to be distracted.”
“What about when you’re home?” he demanded. “Have you seen anyone new in the neighborhood?”
“No.” She frowned. “Shouldn’t the police be asking these questions?”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “They didn’t want to spook the students so I agreed to do a bit of discreet investigating for them.”
“Oh.” It seemed weird to have a visiting professor investigating a potential stalker, but what did she know? “I’m sorry I can’t help.”
He reached into his pocket to pull out a pen, scribbling on a piece of napkin.
“Here,” he murmured, folding the paper before he lightly pressed it into her unresisting fingers.
Angela’s heart slammed against her ribs as pleasure exploded through her. Her head might warn her to stop weaving futile fantasies about this man, but her body hadn’t received the memo.
His fingers were hot—shockingly hot—against her skin. A branding heat that sent darts of excitement to the pit of her stomach.
And his scent was wrapping around her like a cloak of invitation.
“What is it?” she husked, becoming lost in the astonishing blue of his eyes.
“My phone number.”
“Phone number?”
“I want you to call me.”
Her heart gave another stuttering leap. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“I . . .” She licked her suddenly dry lips. “When?”
“The very minute you notice anything out of the ordinary.”
Shit. She came back to earth with a resounding crash.
The stalker. Right.
She lowered her head, determined he wouldn’t guess her flare of humiliation.
“Okay.”
“If you notice anything,” he insisted. “No matter how small.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
Without warning his hand was cupping her chin, tilting her face up so he could study her with a faint frown.
“You promise?”
There was another jolt of sensation before she was pulling free of his destructive touch and rising to her feet with a stubborn expression.
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Angela—”
“I need to find Megan.”
Chapter Two
Standing near the railing of the second floor of the nightclub, Nikolo studied the throng of people that moved below him.
College students jerked and hopped around the dance floor while townies and aging professors lined the bar at the back.
Over and over, his gaze skimmed the swarm of norms before returning to the slender brunette who’d moved to a front table with her friend.
He didn’t worry about the aggravating scientist catching sight of him. He couldn’t actually make himself invisible, but he could . . . convince people not to notice him.
It was a talent of most Sentinels. Along with heightened senses, predatory instincts, and a cunning patience that would allow him to track his prey from one end of the world to other if necessary.
He also had the ability to sense when a high-blood was near.
Of course, the public was far more accustomed to the Sentinels who performed as guardians to high-bloods. Those Sentinels were raised and trained by monks in mysterious arts that were never spoken of outside the monasteries. They were also heavily tattooed to protect them from being controlled by psychics or attacked with spells.
They were lethal beasts, but they were also ridiculously noticeable in a crowd.
Massive killers tattooed from the top of their bald heads to the tips of their toes tended to attract attention.
Which is why the Sentinels also needed hunters who could travel unnoticed.
Hunters like him. Oh, and the man currently standing a few feet away.
Never allowing his gaze to stray from Angela Locke, he gave a tiny motion of his hand. All high-bloods understood you didn’t approach a Sentinel when he was locked on his prey.
Bad, bad things could happen.
“Arel,” he murmured, recognizing the scent of the fellow Sentinel.
The younger man stepped forward, the flashing strobe lights shimmering over the honey highlights in his light brown hair and turning his eyes to molten gold.
Most humans dismissed Arel as a charming playboy. A role he performed with consummate skill. But those trained to look beneath the surface could detect the muscles honed to lean perfection beneath his casual T-shirt and faded jeans, and the ruthless determination that simmered deep in the gold eyes.
“Dylan?” Arel murmured softly.
Niko grimaced at the mention of the female high-blood they’d been hunting for the past six weeks.
“Still in the wind.”
“Are you positive she’ll show up here?”
Niko didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“And you’re always right?”
“Always.”
Arel snorted. “You know you’re an arrogant SOB, don’t you, Niko?”