by Adrian, Lara
Was he serious? She stared at him, realizing he had no idea what she was. To anyone who looked at her now, she wasn’t identifiable as Breed. At a glance, she was merely a tall, athletically built, green-eyed brunette.
Her fangs only appeared when she was emotionally provoked in some way, be it hunger, anger, or desire. That was when her other Breed characteristics manifested too, from the fiery amber glow of her irises and the vertical narrowing of her pupils, to the awakening of her dermaglyphs—color-changing skin markings that every member of the Breed had on their bodies to varying degrees.
Right now, she felt nothing but the pleasant buzz of the alcohol seeping into her bloodstream. Well, that, and the lingering sting of useless, self-directed anger. What she wanted was to feel less sting and more buzz, thank you very much.
“I’d like another shot, please.”
“Jamie,” the bartender said, still holding on to the bottle. “And you are?”
Brynne smiled. “Thirsty.”
He chuckled as he leaned in close and poured more liquor into her glass. “All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Not that I’d mind carrying a pretty lady like you home. In fact, I’d consider it my chivalrous duty.”
Flirting. God, he was flirting with her. Or trying to, at any rate.
She had no skill in that area, had never imagined she’d have a use for it until this very moment. She licked her lips, casting about for a witty comeback or better yet, something to show him that she was ready, willing, and able to take him up on whatever he had in mind.
Except she couldn’t.
She wasn’t—interested in him, that is.
And that was a shame, because none of the other men leering at her in the club stirred anything more than shades of boredom in her.
Lamely, she thanked Jamie for the further shot, then breathed a sigh of relief when he was summoned down to the other end of the bar to wait on other patrons. The place was crowded, practically elbow-to-elbow with people jockeying for spots at the bar or at the twenty-odd pub tables in the area at Brynne’s back. Out on the dance floor, bodies bounced and gyrated and swayed to the relentless thump of the music.
With the bartender swamped by customers placing drink orders, Brynne sipped her shot and tried to convince herself she was there to have a good time. She may not have much experience with flirting or seduction—and okay, maybe that was putting it mildly—but she could do this. She wanted to do this.
God knew, she needed some kind of outlet tonight or she was going to lose her mind.
Still nursing her drink, she pivoted around in her seat to watch the crowd. Not long afterward, a waitress carrying a long-stemmed martini glass approached her from the other side of the club. The bright blue cocktail glowed like neon and had some kind of lacy sugar stick of candy resting in it.
Brynne frowned when the server stopped right in front of her.
“This is from the gentleman across the room.”
The waitress gestured to a group of young men—some of them with visible glyphs on their arms. The Breed youths were civilians from the area Darkhavens, no doubt on the prowl for human blood Hosts before the nightly feeding curfew went into effect.
While most of the little pack were chatting up human women, one of them stared directly at Brynne. Dark-haired, serious, the Breed male nodded in acknowledgment as the waitress started to hand her the frou-frou cocktail.
Brynne shook her head. “Please tell the gentleman thanks, but no thanks. I prefer whisky, and I prefer to drink it alone.”
The waitress shrugged. “Whatever.”
Just brilliant, Kirkland. That’s two for two on failed attempts to engage.
No wonder she sucked at sex.
Growing more frustrated with herself by the moment, she swung back around in her seat and slammed the shot—her fourth tonight, but who was counting?—then set the glass down on the bar.
That’s it. No more dragging her feet about this.
She’d come here to self-medicate and forget the empty mess she was making of her life, and that meant she wasn’t leaving this club alone.
Time to check her excuses and her conscience into her panties for the night.
As the Glenmorangie burned a soothing trail of fire down her throat, Brynne made a promise to herself.
She was going to scratch her itch on the first viable man to approach her.
It didn’t take long. No sooner had she made her ridiculous vow than a wave of heat moved in beside her at the bar. Awareness prickled along her nerve endings like electricity, lifting the fine hairs on her arms and at her nape, making her nipples tighten in immediate response.
“This seat taken?”
The low, aggravatingly confident voice was familiar to her.
As was the pair of unearthly cerulean blue eyes that arrested her gaze and didn’t let go as she turned her head to look at the man who’d just arrived.
No, not a man.
An immortal male.
Atlantean.
Golden-haired. Handsome. Arrogant beyond compare.
Easily the last person she wanted to see, especially tonight.
He grinned at her, that broad, sensual mouth of his sending a spike of outrage—and something far more troubling—through her veins.
“Hello, Brynne.”
“Zael,” she all but growled. “What the hell are you doing here?”
CHAPTER 2
Ekizael had walked this earth for thousands of years, every last one of them lived with the full awareness of what his sculpted, ageless face and sun-kissed, chiseled body did to the sensibilities of the fairer sex. His flawless Atlantean looks and preternatural sensuality had always been part of his charm.
Or so he’d thought.
Until he met Brynne Kirkland.
As she had several days ago in D.C. when they’d first laid eyes on each other, the gorgeous, but pitifully uptight, Breed female seemed utterly unimpressed.
She glowered at him as he slid onto the barstool beside her. A seat he’d ensured would be vacated when he mentally sent its previous occupant away a moment ago.
“What are you drinking, beautiful?”
She didn’t answer, and he knew the casual endearment annoyed her as much as his presence. Her forest green eyes narrowed on him pointedly as he picked up her empty glass. He sniffed the smoky, peat-laced fragrance of the top shelf whisky she’d been hammering back one after the other like shots of cheap tequila.
“You know, the real pleasure of a single malt is in its nuances. Like a lot of other pleasurable pursuits, if you rush through it, you miss the best part.” He smiled. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”
Frowning, she took the glass away from him and set it down on the mirrored bar in front of her. “I prefer to do my own thing.”
Zael chuckled. “Yeah, so I’m gathering. Is that why you’re sitting here all by your lonesome tonight, pounding down shots and driving every red-blooded male in the place crazy?”
He should know; he was one of them. It had taken every ounce of his restraint to keep from stalking over to stake his claim until now. Not that he had a claim to stake where she was concerned. Brynne could have her pick of any man she set her sights on, though whether she understood that or not, he wasn’t sure. She’d made a point of letting him know back in D.C. that he would never be in the running.
And damned if that didn’t make Zael even more determined to find out why.
She let out an indignant snort as she swiveled on her stool to face him. “I’m not lonesome. I was trying to have a good time. Until you showed up, that is. How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to see you have a couple of close calls with some poor decision-making.”
She snorted. “Spying on me, you mean?”
Zael grinned. “How is that any different from when you crept out onto the terrace at the Order’s headquarters to lurk in the bushes and check me out while I did my sunrise workout?”
She gave him an ou
traged look. “I did not creep out there, and I most certainly didn’t lurk.”
“But you do admit you were checking me out?”
“Only in your deluded dreams, Atlantean.”
Her tone was defensive, though whether out of habit or the alcohol buzz she must be feeling, he wasn’t sure. She crossed her arms over her breasts, drawing his attention to her hardened nipples beneath the satiny fabric of her prim white button-down shirt. Her scowl and closed body language might be telling him she wasn’t interested, but the pretty flush of her cheeks—and the blood he could hear racing through her veins—were saying something far different.
As were the tiny amber sparks that kindled in her stormy irises.
The no-nonsense law enforcement agent may want to pretend the attraction between them wasn’t real, the way she had when they met for the first time last week, but he hadn’t been fooled then and he wasn’t fooled now. Whether Brynne wanted to admit it or not, the truth was right in front of him.
She cleared her throat and hiked up her chin. “You haven’t answered my question, Zael. What the hell are you doing in London? For that matter, what the hell are you doing in this club?”
“Looking for you.”
Well, that certainly got her attention. She went silent, her lips slack. The frown that seemed permanently creased into her forehead now faltered, though only for a moment.
“Looking for me.” She sounded surprised, her words guarded. “Whatever for?”
He knew he could play it smooth with her right now, use his charm and her physical, if slightly inebriated, reaction to him to his ultimate advantage. He had to admit, it was tempting.
Despite the fact that she was still dressed for a day in the office, from her sensible heels to the careful updo that corralled her thick mane of sable waves, Brynne had obviously come to this strobe-lit meat market in Cheapside tonight for a reason. Until he saw her shoot down every male who approached her, Zael had wondered if she was there with the intent that she wouldn’t be going home alone.
And why that idea should bother him so much, he didn’t want to examine.
Personally, he’d be up for the challenge himself, but seducing the prickly daywalker wasn’t the reason he was in London. All right, not the sole reason, anyway. He’d actually come out of concern.
He kept his voice low, even though the din in the club assured no one else would overhear. “I heard what happened last night here in London, Brynne.”
“Good news certainly travels fast,” she said dryly. She gave him a mistrusting look. “I wasn’t aware the Order had cleared you for that kind of information, Atlantean.”
“What good is an alliance if it’s crippled by secrets?” At Brynne’s grim nod of acknowledgment, Zael said, “I don’t imagine your colleagues at JUSTIS were pleased to find out you were working in secret with the Order.”
She groaned. “Your intuitive skills astound.”
When she raised her empty glass in plea to the bartender to come back and refill it, Zael gently caught her wrist and brought her hand back down. She looked too shocked to protest the physical contact, even as he covered her fingers with his on the bar. It took her a moment before she withdrew from his loose grasp.
“I know what you’re sacrificing by allying yourself with the Order in this. I also know what it is to be torn between the people you belong to and the ones you know are doing the right thing.”
He’d been toeing that same line since Lucan Thorne had summoned him to Washington, D.C., last week with a request to join forces. In truth, it had been something more than a request. A demand. Hell, it had been nothing short of a plea—no doubt, a first for a man like Lucan.
Zael held Brynne’s skeptical look. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Well, I’m fine.” She broke his stare on a quiet scoff. “If you came here for a front row seat to watch my career implode, you’re too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was relieved from duty this afternoon.” Quiet words, heavy with restraint. For all of this female’s cool control and confidence, it was plain enough that the loss of her job had cut her deeply.
“Shit. No wonder you’re sitting here trying to drown yourself in whisky and other bad choices.”
Her sidelong glance was as dry as her voice. “Let me guess. You’re available to be one of them?”
Zael cocked a brow at her. “Are you asking?”
“Never.” She gave him an arch look that should have withered him, but instead sent a flare of heat straight to his crotch. “There isn’t enough whisky in the world for that.”
“Madam, you wound me.”
“Ah, now, there’s an idea,” she said, her lips curving in a smile.
Zael chuckled, not the least dissuaded. He got up from his seat at the bar. “Come on, Brynne.”
She stayed put, frowning at his outstretched hand. “Come on where?”
He took her hand, and was surprised that she slid off her stool without a fight. Score one point for the Glenmorangie.
Taking the opportunity, and her, in a firmer grasp, he led Brynne away from the bar and through the busy club.
“You’re wasting your time with me,” she said as they wended between the clusters of human and Breed patrons. “Wouldn’t you rather go find a woman who might appreciate your so-called charms?”
“Not especially. I prefer a challenge.” He paused with her at the edge of the crowded dance floor. Music vibrated the walls and the floor, throbbing with an energetic beat he felt reverberating in his chest. Multi-hued laser lights swirled in all directions, the flashing colors illuminating Brynne’s wary expression.
“What are you doing?”
He gestured to the dance floor. “Helping you have a good time. That is what you said you were trying to do before I showed up, right?”
Her mouth flattened with the beginnings of a protest. “I’m not interested in dancing, Zael.”
“Then what are you interested in?”
She fell silent, her gaze holding his as more bodies pushed and jostled their way past them onto the floor. The heavy bass pounded all around them, punctuating the hammer of Zael’s pulse as he waited for Brynne to push him away, to deny the attraction he felt crackling like lightning between them.
Damn, she was beautiful.
Color rose in her cheeks. As he watched it bloom, the flush spread down her pretty throat and onto the pale smoothness of her chest. The embers in her Breed irises glittered with more fire—banked but burning. And although she was careful when she spoke to him, more than once he’d seen the delicate tips of her fangs gleaming behind the lush pink line of her mouth.
Finally, she huffed out a resigned sigh. “All right, fine. If you insist, then let’s get this over with.”
Zael chuckled. “That’s the first time a woman’s ever said those words to me before.”
Brynne pursed her lips. “I’m glad to know I stand out among the throng.”
Oh, yeah. Understatement of the century right there. “That you do, Ms. Kirkland. That you do.”
He brought her into the center of the floor where he found a small space for them amid the dancing couples, groups, and singles that filled the club. She stood there in front of him, unmoving. The normally cool and confident Breed female suddenly looked as lost and uncertain as a child.
“What’s wrong?”
“You should know that I don’t…” Her words trailed off, and she slowly shook her head. Then she leaned in close to speak over the noise. “I don’t normally do…this.” Her confession skated warmly against his skin, her breath laced with the sweetness of the whisky she’d imbibed. “I’m not very good at it, Zael. Not in front of an audience, anyway. And never with a partner.”
Fuck. Was she talking about dancing? For a second, he wasn’t sure. His mind had blown a circuit while she was explaining, and now all of his blood was rushing south in a hot instant.
He swallowed on a parched throat, wondering if she
had any idea what her whispered words had done to him. He had to force himself to remain still, in control, as she listed a little on her heels, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder to hold herself steady.
Her body brushed against his, inflaming him as powerfully as if he was a teenage boy, not a long-lived immortal warrior whose appetite for beauty and pleasure were practically legend among his kind.
“You doing anything alone is a pity for a hundred different reasons,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire he could not hide.
To his shock, she didn’t resist when he gathered her into his arms to dance. She didn’t stiffen or pull away when he began moving with her to his own rhythm, ignoring the frenetic beat of the music and the jostle of the other writhing bodies crushed in around them.
To his utter amazement, she held on to him too. She swayed with him, her breasts brushing against his chest, her thighs woven lightly between his. Her head came to rest lightly on his chest. She felt so warm in his arms. Softer than he’d imagined. Each breath he took filled his senses with Brynne’s unique scent—vanilla and rain and an elusive sweetness that seemed at odds with the tough facade she seemed so determined to present to the rest of the world.
Or maybe just toward him.
Zael didn’t know. At the moment, he didn’t care.
Time slowed. The song blaring over the sound system was loud and relentless, but the cacophony of the music and the hundreds of other people around them faded into the background as Zael held Brynne in his arms.
He hadn’t come to London expecting any of this.
But then, Brynne Kirkland was nothing if not unexpected.
Unpredictable. Unforgettable.
And now he had to add another superlative to the growing list where she was concerned.
Irresistible.
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to feel her body pressed against him without the barrier of clothing between them. He wanted her so badly, he moaned with the force of his need.
She had to know how she was affecting him. Holy hell, she had to feel it.
