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He was standing too close, too. It was packed three-deep here at the bar, but he was still way inside her personal space.
Like, leaning in so far they were almost rubbing noses. A breath of male scent, some musky cologne, enfolded her.
Her heart gave a nasty, nervous thumping leap. Jesus! Sophie flinched back, dropped her gin and tonic on the bar, and retreated. The glass turned over, sending a tide of watered alcohol across the polished plastic, and a flash of terrified guilt burst reflexively under her rib cage.
Stupid. You’re stupid. Mark’s voice hissed inside her head, and she made it to the dance floor, going up on her toes to look for Lucy. She pushed her glasses up, and hoped they wouldn’t get smudged. That would just cap everything.
Dammit, Lucy. Where have you gone now? But her friend was nowhere in sight. Sophie canvassed the whole dance floor, glanced at the emergency exit, and decided that was silly. Lucy wasn’t at the bar, either—and it wasn’t like her to vanish completely.
Her heart was pounding like it intended to explode, and her breath came short and fast as she checked the ladies’ room and found no Lucy.
Don’t have a panic attack now. Luce wouldn’t bail on you.
But, oh, her body wouldn’t listen. It was bracing itself for something terrible.
Outside, the night was clear and cold, and the wind brushed the back of her sweating legs. It was too hot inside the club, and hypothermic outside. What a choice. Her glasses fogged briefly and cleared. Her breathing eased a little, and the tight knot of squirming panic inside her dialed back a little bit.
There was a group of smokers in a knot around a parking meter, all laughing easily. One of them was a college-age boy, doing some sort of jig to the beat coming through the walls for the enjoyment of his buddies.
But no sleek dark head or jingle of gold bracelets. Sophie stood, irresolute, on the pavement, and someone bumped into her from behind.
She thought it was Lucy, and turned around, opening her mouth to scold her. Instead, her jaw dropped even farther as she looked up—and up … he was at least six feet tall—at the man who had jostled her at the bar.
Oh, for Christ’s sake. “Watch where you’re going,” Sophie snapped, and took two nervous, skipping steps back. Leave me alone. Go away.
“Sorry.” He smiled, showing incredibly white teeth, but the expression was like a grimace. “You okay?”
She didn’t have to reply. A scream punched the night, a high feminine note cut sharply off the moment it reached full-throated terror, and Sophie almost leaped out of her skin.
I know that voice! She was already moving, her heart hammering and her heels clattering. The bouncer at the Paintbox’s door had his head up, staring down the street as if trying to figure out where the sound had come from.
“Lucy!” she yelled, and paused for the barest moment before plunging into the alley. “Lucy!”
The alley ended on a blank brick wall, and there was a crumpled pale shape moving weakly in the gloom. A hand closed around her naked upper arm, hot fingers like steel bands driving in. Whoever had Sophie’s arm yanked her back as another shape—slim, male, with a blotch of blackness down its white shirt—looked up from its crouch, eyes running with crimson hellfire and darkness smeared across its lips.
Sophie screamed as the hand on her arm pulled her farther back. Another slice of golden light opened up, and slim graceful bodies piled through, crouching and leaping. They swarmed the thing with the red-gleaming eyes, and Sophie’s legs turned to noodles. She sagged, the hand on her arm the only thing keeping her upright, and when the iron fingers loosened she actually fell, the shock of her knees meeting filthy concrete jarring up through her hips and shoulders.
The pale, weakly moving shape on the ground wore Lucy’s face, and it was gasping, rattling breaths drawn in. Its throat bubbled and gaped, and as Sophie stared, it stopped moving—and the thing in the white shirt, snarling, turned away from the back of the alley and lunged for her.
Chapter 4
It shouldn’t have happened.
They’d hunted upir before, of course, while the old alpha was alive. But the farm had burned, their sleeping shaman and alpha dead in the flames, and now they were on their own, scrabbling to survive. They had cut both Tribe and upir a wide berth since.
And Zach shouldn’t have followed her, but she smelled too good to be true. Brunette, yes. Human, which was all right but not exactly appetizing. But young, female, warm—and with an edge of moonlight and snow, something cold and crystalline. Zach hadn’t smelled that in forever, and certainly not with the tantalizing musk of something that belonged to him overlaying it.
He’d leaned close and gotten a good lungful, and she was probably what he thought she was, which made it incredibly lucky, and incredibly—
But she’d flinched away as if she knew what he was, and searched the inside of the nightclub as if she’d lost her purse. She hadn’t; he’d kept his fingers well away from it, despite fleecing at least four people at the bar while he watched her. Pale skin and pale eyes. Nice hips, a glory of curling sandalwood hair, a pair of cute little steel-rimmed librarian glasses, and that ridiculous purse she kept clutching. She’d walked right out the front door while he was still cutting across the dance floor, harvesting another few wallets and emptying them by touch. It was almost too easy when you had the training and quicker-than-human reflexes. The rest of them had been working the crowd, Julia concentrating on businessmen and Brun sliding through knots of college boys with fat rolls to spend on killing their livers. Those fat rolls would keep the Family fed and moving.
But here, in the alley behind the nightclub, the smell of blood drenched the air, plucking at the beast in his bones. Zach yanked her back as the upir snarled, and the emergency door flew open, smacking against the brickwork so hard dust puffed out. Kyle was first through, his head up and nostrils flared, the Change rippling under his skin, and he leaped for the upir without pausing.
Oh, holy shit, no! Kyle shouldn’t be doing that, even if he was the alpha; he could get not just hurt but unzipped.
Kyle just hesitated too much.
The woman fell as he let go of her. He promptly shelved her as a problem to solve later and leaped, a fraction of a second slower than Kyle—who met the upir with a bone-shattering crunch, driving it sideways and down as it twisted and snarled. It had a white, loose shirt on, and was probably rabid if the just-spilled blood painting its front was any indication.
Not that the bloodsuckers needed much inducement to get really savage. But if an upir was hunting here, going after all the healthy young ones under bright lights and in the middle of crowds, it was either a baby, which was all right—or too burnsick for them to handle.
Snapping, growling, making a hell of a lot of noise, Kyle feinted and Zach’s bones made crackling sounds as the Change touched him, too, running through his body like fire. The animal in him snarled, lifted its head, and clawed at the blind-root thing in front of it, the enemy who twisted like a snake and spat, slashing with hands turned to shovel-shaped claws. If he could just hold it long enough, it would make a mistake and he would get it safely put down before it hurt any of the others. And before it made any more noise to attract witnesses.
But Julia was suddenly there, too, crowding her brothers aside as she let out a chilling glass-throated howl. The fight tipped and shifted, the upir kicked and slashed again. Kyle backhanded his sister, throwing her out of the way—and catching the claws meant for her, full across his unprotected belly.
Blood burst again. The smell of it, loaded with the terrible reek of a gutshot, smacked Zach across the face. He descended into the red welter of combat, the animal in him roaring, and didn’t care that there would be witnesses.
The upir died, shredded and shrieking, the rot of its last exhale throttling the alleyway. Zach landed, foul liquid staining his fingers, and his bones crackled again as he looked for more to kill.
They pressed against him, those of his kind, and a thread of scent tried to cut through the reek of death and decay. It was a reminder, something he had to attend to, some problem his human side had to solve.
The animal didn’t care. It smelled food, and blood, and suffering, and it wanted revenge and hot meat, bones cracking between its teeth.
“Zach—” someone said, a word that had no meaning.
He thumped back into himself as the Change receded. Julia was sobbing, as openly and messily as a child, and sirens pierced the night with diamond stitchery. There was other noise, too—people, crowding around.
The instinct of hiding among prey all his life prodded him. The upir was dead, and he had to get his Family out of here before they were seen, or, God forbid, caught. A Carcajou couldn’t be held for long, but if other Tribes caught wind of their presence after this, it could get ugly.
You mean uglier than this? The Change trembled inside his bones, spikes of pain.
“Zach,” Brun whispered again. It was the sound of a child in a nightmare.
The upir’s body was already just a stinking sludge inside a sodden white shirt and the ragged remains of a pair of leather pants, a pair of boots full of nasty black liquid falling over, skooshing out in a tide of corruption over Kyle’s half-Changed body. Fur receded into his little brother’s skin, his entrails a mass of grayish-blue tangled in a spill, the jet of blood from the abdominal aorta’s cutting black as the upir’s leaking.
His corpse would be fully human—what parts of it the upir’s caustic sludge didn’t eat away.
Another alpha, dead. Zach’s stomach cramped. He hadn’t eaten yet tonight, and the smell was enough to make him glad. My fault again, I should have—
“Come on.” Eric pulled at his arm. “We have to go.”
Where is she? He glanced around, but the woman he’d followed here was gone. A crowd of people had magically appeared—prey, his animal side whispered, casting around for that thread of light brunette scent that he somehow knew.
She was nowhere in sight. He had to find her.
What the hell is going—
“Come on!” Eric yelled, and dragged at his arm. Julia let out a keening sound, and it was like a jolt of fresh bloodscent, jarring him into alertness. He showed his teeth, still searching for the woman, and he and his Family leaped, Julia catching a high-hung fire-escape ladder and bolting, Brun right behind her, Eric using the full measure of his strength and speed to hop onto a Dumpster’s top and land behind the knot of people who had somehow clustered in the bottleneck of the alley. Their surprise echoed off the brick walls.
“Did you see—”
“Holy shit!”
“Jesus!”
Zach’s throat ached, denied another growl and the hunting cry. We are Carcajou, and you are our prey. But not right now. Not when there’s likely another predator around.
He moved among them like a cold wind, quick fingers plucking, and grabbed a few more wallets as he did. They would see only a blur, and the instinct to grab what he could was very close to the surface. Along with other instincts—like the urge to rip through flesh instead of clothing, to spill blood instead of cash.
A few feet clear of the alley he paused, because he smelled her again, very close.
The animal in him snarled. Two drives, possession and revenge, were forcing it to run in circles—and thankfully, giving him enough room to reassert control. Kyle. Goddammit, why? You should have waited, we could have baited and trapped it, and we could have killed it together. And kept Julia out of it. The howling hit, Julia’s voice lifted in a paroxysm of grief, and he had to go. She was likely to hurt herself or someone else, and he was the only one who could control her when she got like this.
But he had to find that woman. She smelled like ice and moonlight, like salvation.
She smelled like a shaman potential.
The scent drifted across his sensitive nose again. He glanced down the alley again—more people were crowding, spilling out of the emergency exits and pressing into the confined space, most with cell phones out.
Stupid herd animals. He could probably scare them, scatter them like the bleating sheep they were.
But the scent of her, close and sweating, filled his nose. He drew in a deep lungful and took off at a lope.
Christ, Kyle, why didn’t you wait? But he knew why. His little brother had taken on the responsibility of an alpha—first into battle to defend his own.
And it was Zach’s fault.
Chapter 5
Her heels hit the cracked pavement with a clattering tattoo, and she didn’t know she was screaming until she had to whoop in enough breath to keep running. Lucy’s little jeweled purse bumped against her side, something in her back tore and ran with pain, and the cold whipped through her throat as she dragged in another breath, suddenly very sure she was going to scream again.
Her legs flew out in front of her as the rest of her was wrenched violently back, a hard hand clapped over her mouth, and she was too stunned and breathless to do more than start kicking and let out a choked cry—a muffled sound, not worth much with the wind rattling the empty branches of a tree overhead.
A motor started. “Get us out of here,” the man said, and tossed her into the van as if she weighed nothing. She landed on something soft, her elbow sinking in, and there was a yelping as if she’d kicked a puppy.
“What the hell is this?” A girl’s voice, young, and there was a sudden sound like a sheet popped smooth before being laid over a bed, resolving into a low rumbling growl much different than an engine.
“Keep your mouth shut, Julia, until I tell you to open it.” He sounded furious. The voice was familiar. Sophie struggled to sit up as the van—it was definitely a van—pulled away from the curb.
What the hell? Someone grabbed her shoulders, shoved her so she half flew across the narrow space and landed hard on something softer than metal but more solid than upholstery.
“Ooof.” A hard huff of expelled breath. “Careful, there,” the man continued. “Be easy with her, dammit!”
“Who is it?” Another male voice.
I’ve been kidnapped. Oh, God. Lucy—”Lucy!” she gasped, and erupted into wild motion. Her elbow whapped something soft, and he oofed again. It might have been funny—if it hadn’t been happening to her. Her wrists were grabbed, and the hand clamped down over her mouth again. He held her still as if she was a little kid.
He was terribly, hurtfully strong, and fresh panic turned everything behind her eyelids red.
“This is our new shaman.” Silence greeted this statement. The sound of growling swallowed the hum of the engine, shook through her before settling down into something like a purr. “You can smell the potential on her. She was back there, near the upir. I think it ate her friend.”
Lucy! She got a good mouthful and bit, as hard as she’d ever bit anything in her life. So hard her jaws ached, and there was a hiss of indrawn breath. Her eyes rolled in her head, and she worried her teeth back and forth. Something warm and coppery filled her mouth. It was too thick and slippery to be spit.
“And she’s blooded me,” he continued, without any discernable change in his tone. “Which takes care of that. So all of you behave yourselves, or I’ll have your hides.”
A sharp intake of breath passed through them all, like wind through wheat. The charged silence reverberated. The van’s tires hummed.
“A shaman?” A very young male’s voice, and it sounded shocked enough for everyone involved. “A real one? A real live one?”
“A potential.” The man’s voice rumbled against her back. “She’ll trigger to us soon enough.”
It was dark inside the rocking van; it took a corner at high speed and she was tipped back against whoever was holding her. Lucy, oh, God. The image of Lucy’s body on the pavement just wouldn’t go away. Sophie made a low, despairing sound in the back of her throat and struggled, getting exactly nowhere. Her skirt was riding up, adding a whole new problem to the situation.
The stuff in her mouth coated the back of her throat. He didn’t move his hand, and she felt his skin quiver against her lips. A weird, slight movement, as if it there were small legs under the skin.
There were glitters of eyes. A reflection of streetlamp light boiled through the interior, outlining a young girl with long dark hair, her hand clapped to her cheek as if it hurt, and a slim young man who looked enough like her to be a twin, with the same narrow nose and winged eyebrows. The young man was actually crouched on a bench seat, easily swaying back and forth with the motion of the vehicle, the pale streak over his left temple reflecting streetlight.
“Slow down, Eric,” the voice behind her rumbled. The growl was coming from his chest, and his hand jammed her glasses uncomfortably against the bridge of her nose.
It was him. The guy who had bumped her at the bar.
The van slowed. “What the hell just happened?” the driver asked.
Think, Sophie! Three men and a woman. They’d just kidnapped her, for God’s sake. And Lucy … Lucy was …
“Kyle took on a rabid upir. Least, I think it was rabid—it acted like it was.” He paused, his hand peeling away from her mouth. “And Julia had to go and get involved.”
“I didn’t—” The girl cowered back as the man holding Sophie made another deep, weird sound.
It was definitely a growl. She froze, her brain struggling, attempting to deal with this new absurdity. It was more distant and dreamlike the more she thought about it.
Lucy’s white face, the horrible gaping below her chin, the blood-drenched thing with the twisting, plum-colored face—it was the Latin Lover who’d been grinding with Lucy on the dance floor, there was no mistaking that white shirt. What had he done to her?
The taste in her mouth, Sophie realized, was blood. She’d bitten him hard enough to break the skin.
Oh, God. What is he going to do to me?
“Kyle’s dead? Really dead?” The very young male voice again. “What will we do?”
The man sagged a little bit. His arms were still iron around her. “I’m working on it. For right now we’re driving, and we’re going to get the hell out of Dodge with our new shaman.” The arms around her loosened fractionally. “Now. What’s your name, honey?”
The blood smeared over her mouth crackled as cooler air hit it. Sophie took a deep breath, filling her lungs, and screamed.
He silenced her almost instantly, his bleeding hand over her mouth again. “All right, we’ll do it the hard way. Head south, Eric. Don’t stop for a while. What’s the take?”
Immediately, the two on the seat began digging in their pockets. The boy wore a denim jacket and the girl reached down into her bra, coming up with an impressive roll of bills. “Good pickings,” the boy said, his eyes glowing in the dimness. Tears glittered on his cheeks.
The girl bit her lip. She was visibly shaking, her hands jittering as the money fanned out. She threw the rest of it down as if it burned her fingers.
