Alexandra Ivy: Predatory

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.”

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?”

Niko shrugged. Yep, he knew. But his confidence wasn’t just conceit.

From the second Dylan had murdered her two guards to escape from Valhalla, he’d dedicated every waking moment to studying his prey.

He knew the day and hour Dylan had been born. He knew that she’d been less than a week old when her parents had left her in the field outside Valhalla. He knew that she nursed a bitter fury at having been abandoned by her family despite her welcome among the high-bloods. Perhaps because she was one of the unfortunate freaks that had been born with a mutation that left her with startling crimson eyes and large black spots on her skin, like a cheetah. Unlike many high-bloods she’d been unable to pass as norm, which only increased her resentment.

Or maybe she’d just been born a psychopath.

Being given special powers didn’t mean that a person was automatically a superhero.

High-bloods possessed all the usual failings of norms. Only they could do a hell of a lot more damage if they weren’t contained.

Which was where Niko and his fellow Sentinels came in.

He shrugged. “I know what she’s going to do before she does,” he said.

“And you think because she’d been searching through Calder’s files on your scientist that she’s coming here?”

“Yes.”

Niko had been baffled at first when he’d discovered that Dylan had been sneaking into the Master of Gifts’ office. Calder and his order were dedicated to tracking down those high-bloods who either didn’t realize they were “special” or were trying to pass as normal. Like a Sentinel they possessed the ability to sense talents, even latent talents, although they used their skills to convince high-bloods to join with their brethren at Valhalla, or in one of the many compounds located around the world. While Niko . . . well, his duties weren’t quite so nice.

At last he’d put together the reasons for Dylan’s late-night visits to Calder’s office.

And it had everything to do with Angela Locke.

“Not that I’m questioning your conclusion, amigo,” Arel said in dry tones, “but why is she currently on a killing spree through Texas?”

“She’s trying to disguise her true purpose and throw us off her trail.”

“For six weeks?”

“She’s always been patient.”

“True.” Arel’s features hardened, his charming smile replaced by a cold hatred. Both Niko and Arel had reason to want Dylan tracked down and destroyed. The sooner the better. “She must have planned her escape from Valhalla for months.”

“Years,” he corrected.

“We can’t keep cleaning up her kills, Niko.” Arel grimaced. “There have been five more. Plus the losses we suffered—”

“I know how many she’s killed,” Niko interrupted. He couldn’t discuss Fiona’s bloody murder.

Not yet.

“Then you’ll understand that I was sent by the Tagos to warn you that you have until the end of the month,” Arel said, referring to the ultimate leader of the Sentinels. “After that he wants you on the trail in Texas.”

Niko shrugged, unperturbed by the warning. “Dylan will be here before then.”

Arel snorted. “You’re good, but you’re no psychic. How can you be so certain?”

“Spring break starts at the end of classes tomorrow,” he said, his gaze narrowing as he watched Angela being led to the edge of the dance floor by a blond jackass who obviously ate steroids like candy. No mere mortal had those kinds of muscles without pharmaceutical help. He didn’t like the way the bastard was staring at her overexposed breasts. In fact, he might very well find a way to make Blondie disappear if he laid a hand on the vulnerable female. “It will be the perfect opportunity to make Angela Thorne disappear.”

“It’s a little late for her to try and be subtle, isn’t it?” Arel demanded.

“She wanted to attract attention to draw us south. Now she’ll want to fly below the radar. She won’t want us knowing that she has the scientist,” he pointed out, his tone absent as his attention remained homed in on the female who was moving with a surprising grace. “Besides, it’s far more difficult to disappear when you have a hostage.”