Keri Arthur - Full Moon Rising

“Not being able to read him must have pissed you off.”

“A little.”

More than a little, if his expression was anything to go by. My grin became full-blown. “So what did you do when he shot me?”

“What do you think I did? I killed him.”

Which was the vampire’s answer to any problem—kill first, ask questions later. It was an okay solution if the problem happened to be someone who’d undertaken the ceremony to become a vampire, but pretty much useless with everyone else. The truly dead couldn’t answer questions. “And the body?”

“Unfortunately, your attacker fell into the path of an oncoming train. Services were delayed for some time while police investigated.”

“And, of course, they will find no indication of murder.”

“Of course.” He studied me, and despite the amusement touching the corners of his eyes, his expression still held a lot of wariness

He didn’t entirely trust me, but hey, that was okay, because the distrust was completely mutual. He might be who he said he was, but as yet, I had no idea if he actually knew Rhoan

“Have you any idea why that wolf tried to kill you?” he added

I shrugged. “Shit like that happens all the time.” Though admittedly, I’d never heard of a werewolf shooting a fellow wolf before. “We’re shot at almost as much as you vamps.”

In fact, most humans considered us one step down the ladder from vampires—thanks mostly to the many werewolf movies produced by Hollywood over the years. As a general rule, werewolves did not go crazy and hunt down humans with the full moon. Those who did were quickly dealt with within the pack. And it was extremely, extremely rare that victims of such attacks became wolves themselves—generally because few humans survived such attacks. But of the few who did, the change came only if there was wolf in their background anyway. But humans, it seemed, still preferred the Hollywood myth over reality. Or maybe vampires were just deemed sexier than someone who turned into an animal every full moon

“Have you seen him before?” he asked. “Scented him?”

I shook my head

“So how did he know you’d be coming home at that time? And why would he shoot you?”

“If you had bothered to question him before you killed him, we might actually have those answers.”

He didn’t react to my none-too-subtle dig. “Is it possible someone is trying to kill you?”

“That guy sure seemed intent on it.”

He grimaced. “I meant, have you pissed off anyone lately?”

I grinned. “I’m a werewolf.”

He nodded, his face solemn but a smile touching the corners of his eyes again. “In other words, yes.”

“I’m quite capable of protecting myself, you know.” Unless, of course, someone decided to shoot me at close quarters with a silver bullet again

He rose, and the coat flapped open, revealing tantalizing glimpses of well-toned thighs. Heat slithered through me, a quick flick of longing that was only going to get worse as the days progressed toward the full moon

“I’d better take you home.”

I liked the sound of the “take” part, but wasn’t so sure about the rest. It all just seemed a little too convenient at the moment. “Feel free to go elsewhere. I don’t need an escort.”

“Maybe not, but right now, until Rhoan returns, I intend to continue camping in your hallway.”

Why? That was the question, and it was one he wasn’t answering. “Why not go get a hotel room? There’s one not far from here.” Of course, it was frequented by hookers and druggies, but I didn’t think he’d particularly care. He might be rich, but he was still a vampire, and at one time or another, most vampires had been down that path. Or so Kelly reckoned. “At least then, you could shower.”

“If he is too much longer, I will.”

He pressed a hand against my back as he escorted me out of the waiting room, his fingers seeming to burn against my spine. Combine that with the thick scent of sandalwood teasing my nostrils, and was it any wonder my pulse began to gallop?

Being a vampire, he was undoubtedly aware of my reaction. As if to confirm it, his gaze touched mine, dark depths rich with awareness and hunger. Not blood hunger. Sexual hunger

Not only could I see it in his eyes, but I could smell it. On him. On me

I blew out a breath and tore my gaze away from his. The force of a werewolf’s aura, though usually well shielded, tended to go into overdrive and sometimes “leaked” during the moon phase, which was why most wolves didn’t turn up for work during that week. There was nothing worse than being pawed or chased by humans when they wouldn’t normally touch you with a ten-foot pole. Though I very much doubted Quinn was being affected by any leakage from my aura. I think it was more a case of plain old lust

“Does the suggestion to get a motel room mean I’m not getting an invitation inside your apartment when you get home?” His hand slid down my spine and across my backside, a teasing touch that had desire flashing across my body

“It certainly does.”

“That’s a shame.”

My hormones thought so, too. But, luckily for me, my hormones weren’t running the show

Yet

“And it’ll remain a shame,” I said. “At least until I know what you’re truly up to.”

We headed up the stairs and across the road to my street. Sunlight caressed him, warming his skin as we walked. He didn’t flinch, meaning he was older than I’d thought. Generally, vamps didn’t achieve any great degree of immunity to the sun until they were well over five hundred years old

“If I wanted to kill you,” he said, his dark eyes meeting mine, “I could do so now, and no one on this street would see, or hear, a thing. No matter how hard you screamed.”

The fact that he made the threat so calmly, without the sense of menace that always cloaked Gautier’s threats, made me believe him. And yet, perversely perhaps, my desire for him only increased. Like our animal kin, we wolves were genetically programmed to seek out the strongest mate. This vampire could certainly be classified as that

But I couldn’t dance with him, no matter how much I might want it, not until I knew the truth. And to discover that, I’d have to find Rhoan

When we reached my home, I left him standing in the hall and headed for the shower. All the while fighting the urge to invite him in to share the water. Fighting the images of washing the mud from his wet golden skin and dark silky hair

Even cold water didn’t shake the fantasy or cool my reaction

Once I’d stepped out of the shower, I padded over to the mirror and checked out the bullet wound. It was nasty—a puckered, red mess that more than likely would leave a scar. And I needed another scar like I needed to be shot again. I had more than enough scars littering my knees, hands, and back, all reminders of childhood scraps or less-than-bright explorations

Not that there was a lot I could do about the new one. I dried myself, then headed into my bedroom to get dressed. If I was going to do the club circuit after work, I needed something suitable to wear. A knee-length skirt and sensible sweater, my current—and usual—work garb didn’t cut it in any of the werewolf clubs Rhoan or I knew. Actually, most preferred skin, but if clothes had to be worn, then the fewer the better. I scanned my limited wardrobe and eventually chose a black microskirt and gauzy, dark green shirt. I threw extra undies and shirts into the bag, as Talon—the biggest of my two mates in more ways than one—tended to get a little rough on clothing during the moon phase, then I got down on all fours and looked under the bed for my green and glittery six-inch heels. Once they were retrieved from the dust bunnies, I shoved the shoes in with my change of clothes, put on my thick woolen coat, and left. Quinn was parked in what was becoming his usual spot, and it took every ounce of control I had to walk past him