Prey (Supernaturals of Las Vegas Book 2)

by Carina Cook

  In what felt like slow motion, the troll toppled over. Its head missed the portal, and Citrine’s breath caught in dismay. But the worry was unfounded. The creature’s shoulder hit the shimmering rent in the air, and it disappeared in a flash of light and—for some reason Citrine didn’t understand—the smell of almonds.

  CHAPTER 2

  Derek Ranier returned to consciousness on the grimy concrete of a narrow side street with his face pillowed on a broken Styrofoam cup. A piece of the cup stuck to his face as he pushed himself up to hands and knees. He brushed the sticky Styrofoam away and tried to force his eyes to focus. Thanks to his werewolf metabolism, the rock-like thing hadn’t broken any bones when it batted him into the wall, but quick healing always did a number on his head. Injuries that would kill a normal person just sent him into unconsciousness, and then he’d wake up disoriented, with a killer head rush and gnawing hunger in his belly.

  That wasn’t such a big deal when the rest of the pack was around to finish off whatever had knocked you out in the first place, but Derek no longer had a pack. It was just him, so he pushed himself to his woozy feet despite the fact that he didn’t really feel ready for that. He wouldn’t be able to shift for another minute or two, but the rock thing had been slow and he was confident in his ability to dodge its swings, even in his human form. He’d only gotten hit because he’d been distracted by that woman.

  She didn’t smell like a shifter, but she wasn’t human either. He’d never smelled anything like her before. She was fierce for such a tiny little thing, with an assurance only gained from battle experience. He’d seen it sometimes, in the cubs who came to introduce themselves to his alpha.

  Back when he’d had an alpha.

  Many of them were full of bluster, impressed by their own size and abilities. Invariably, they’d been disappointments. But the quiet and unassuming ones let their worth prove itself. It showed in their restraint and their thoughtful approach to battle. Werewolf stories always portrayed his kind as wild, thoughtless beasts, but that wasn’t the case at all. Mark Logan, Derek’s former alpha, had always approached battle carefully. It was his responsibility to make sure the pack got home, to take on the riskiest positions, to insure their survival. He’d taken the responsibility seriously, but some things can’t be planned for.

  Now Derek was alone, except for this strange girl who seemed to understand basic pack tactics, but who wasn’t a shifter. The girl who knew how to fight better than most shifters he’d known. The girl who stood just a few feet away in a gauzy dress, ripped and tattered. The fabric matched the violet of her eyes as she stared at him, her face a pale, perfect oval in the dim light.

  He looked around quickly, but the rock-like thing was nowhere in sight. Just the girl, who seemed perplexed. She’d seen him shift—or at least she’d seen the aftermath—but she wasn’t running away or screaming or trying to convince herself that she’d hallucinated the whole thing like normal humans did. Instead, she just stood there, her body language communicating caution.

  Oh, and he was naked.

  His clothes didn’t shift with him, and that was something you got used to with other shifters. It wasn’t a sexual thing. But here and now, standing in front of the pixie-like girl with the frankly appraising stare, he was suddenly aware of the other things that happened when he got naked with a woman, and how long it had been since he’d enjoyed those things. He began to stiffen as she watched, and a slow smile appeared on her lips. She seemed to relax then, seeing him less as a potential combatant and more as a potential plaything. He wasn’t usually much for empty sex, but he found himself strangely ready.

  He pushed away a vision of shoving her up against the wall of the alley and pushing past the tattered fabric to the warm core of her and marshalled his thoughts. Safety came first. Mark had taught him that.

  “Where is the…thing? The rock thing?” he asked.

  Her frank gaze drew in, becoming something like shame. “I sent it back to where it came from. I’m sorry it hurt you. It’s my fault it was here in the first place.”

  Mark’s words came readily to his lips, like he’d just heard them yesterday despite the fact that it had been months. “Everyone makes mistakes. What counts is that you owned up and fixed them instead of trying to hide from them.”

  She brightened at that. “That’s a good way to look at it.”

  She returned to looking at him, then, and he took an involuntary step toward her. His body ached with need, but he couldn’t just take her in a dirty road off the Strip, could he? It wasn’t how Mark had raised him. It wasn’t what gentlemen did.

  But the girl didn’t seem to care. She stepped forward, once…twice…then launched herself at him. She landed, arms around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist. His hands braced her, feeling the warmth of her skin. She wore no underwear. Her mouth pressed against his.

  The kiss was hungry and hot, the kiss of two people who have faced down death and are hungry for life. Usually, after a forced change, Derek was starving for pancakes and bacon, eggs and toast, breakfast foods that went down easy. But now, he was hungry for her. The warm center of her that she guided him toward, her mouth hungrily devouring his. The sharp edges of her teeth as she nibbled on his lip.

  He lost himself in her. The world fell away as he pushed into her. She moaned, pulling him closer.

  “Yes,” she said. “More.”

  He slammed into her, no holding back, and she matched his speed. Together, they galloped toward the white edge and over into bliss.

  As he pulled back and set her gently on the ground, he felt sheepish. What had gotten into him? He didn’t even know her name, and he hadn’t even considered birth control, and the realities of what they’d done came crashing down on him so fast that they squashed his post-coital high.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I should have thought… I didn’t even use a condom…”

  She tilted her head quizzically.

  “We should exchange numbers. If you’re pregnant, I’ll do the right thing,” he declared.

  “Ah.” She straightened her dress. “Don’t worry. I am not pregnant.”

  Relief washed over him. “You’re on the pill? I’m so glad. I’m not usually that careless, but…I don’t know what came over me.”

  She stared up at him gravely. “Do you regret what we did?”

  “No! I just… I feel bad that I don’t even know your name.”

  “Citrine.”

  “I’m Derek.”

  She smiled at him, and he couldn’t keep from smiling back. Although their tryst was out of character for him, he couldn’t deny that she was something special. So small and delicate, yet so strong and fearless. It was like someone had stepped into his daydreams and pulled her straight from them.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, and then she began to back away.

  “Wait! Where are you going? Can I see you again?” he demanded, taking a step toward her.

  “I am new here,” she said. “I don’t know where I’ll be.”

  “Oh. Well, here, then.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his business card. It read, “Logan and Ranier. Private Investigators. Discreet and affordable.” All of his contact information ran along the bottom. “Take my card and call me when you get settled. I really would like to see you again, Citrine.”

  She looked down at the card with an almost blank expression, like she couldn’t understand why he’d given it to her. Maybe she was used to hooking up with guys in alleyways and this wasn’t special to her at all? But he honestly didn’t think that was the case.

  But then she said, “I will talk to you again, Derek. I am sure of it. But for now, I need to go.”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  He ran his hands through his hair and watched as she left the alley, turning towards the Strip. He stood there, bemused, for a long moment before he realized he hadn’t asked her a single question about the rock thing, how it had gotten there, and how she’d gotten rid of it. Or what
she was. Tracking her on the Strip would be useless, but he tried anyway. Even his keen sense of smell couldn’t extract her unique scent of flowers and steel from the crush of smells on the still crowded Strip.

  Derek returned to his office, puzzling over the night’s events. He’d gone to the Strip on a surveillance job, tracking a businessman whose wife suspected him of having an affair. It looked like the man in question had a gambling problem instead, and he’d dutifully recorded the hours upon hours the man had spent at tables full of chips and cards. It was an easy job, but he never liked delivering that kind of news.

  He’d been on his way home when the commotion with the rock thing had drawn his attention. It had been easy work to circle around the alley, tuck his clothes in a dark corner, shift, and scale the fence to leap on the thing from above. It was the kind of thing he lived for now. When he was fighting, he could almost feel his pack by his side again. The twins, small and ferocious, worrying at the flanks. Shalini, stealthily circling around to attack from behind. And Mark, front and center, presenting the biggest target to whatever threatened his people. He missed them so much it hurt.

  But Citrine had eased that hurt for just a few moments, by some magic he didn’t understand. He just knew he wanted more of it.

  He was thinking of her as he unlocked the door to his office, tucked in the corner of a small office building. The door was beige, set in a beige wall, under a beige tiled roof, in a row of identical beige buildings. For a few weeks after he and Mark rented the place, he kept on trying to open the wrong unit, but now he moved on autopilot.

  He was so distracted by thoughts of Citrine that he didn’t realize someone was in the office until he’d gotten inside. It was careless, like getting hit by the rock-thing. Without pack mates to keep him in line, he’d gotten soft. Jenny, Mark’s widow, did her best, but she was werewolf kin, not a full blown shifter. It just wasn’t the same, although they both tried.

  Jenny managed his office for him, but he didn’t smell her familiar flowery hand lotion. This was someone new. Someone he hadn’t smelled before. Almonds and something that crackled with power and smelled like electricity. He dropped into a cautious crouch by the door, surveying the lobby. Jenny’s desk sat empty, the computer dark. Nothing out of place except for a stray coffee cup; she was always leaving them strewn about. The door to his office was closed, and light leaked out around the edges. The intruder was obviously in there, although Derek couldn’t hear any rummaging noises that would suggest a robber or dissatisfied client ransacking the place.

  A direct approach seemed best, so Derek crossed the room in a few quick strides and threw open the door. He was ready for anything. Ready to fight if need be. But the man inside the room didn’t seem eager to attack. He sat behind Derek’s desk as if he belonged there. If that wasn’t odd enough, he was abnormally tall and delicate, with long burgundy hair and eyes to match. They blazed in his pale face.

  Another Las Vegas weirdo. Derek had seen plenty of them on his visits to the Strip, but it was another thing altogether to have one of them break into his office.

  “What are you doing in here?” he demanded.

  “I have a job for you,” said the stranger, completely unperturbed by his display of anger.

  “At 3 in the morning? Make an appointment during the day like everyone else.”

  The stranger shook his head reluctantly. “I am sorry for the inconvenience, but I cannot. I cannot be seen by humans. When I am, bad things happen.”

  That explained it. As werewolves, Mark and Derek had specialized in the kinds of cases that the human authorities—who knew nothing about the supernatural creatures living right in their midst—couldn’t handle. After Mark’s death, Derek had carried on the business. Although he didn’t know what this dude was, he was definitely otherworldly, which might account for the strange behavior. Word about his services got around.

  “Very well,” he said. “I’ll forgive you this once. But break into my office again without an appointment, and it won’t go well for you. Do we understand each other?”

  “Crystal clear,” said the stranger.

  “Good. Now get out of my chair.”

  In moments, they’d rearranged themselves into what Derek thought of as their proper places. Him behind the desk, with a pen and paper at the ready, and the stranger in the cushy chair he reserved for clients. He folded his hands and looked at the stranger intently.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “You may call me Ben.”

  Derek made a note. “Okay, Ben. Why are you here?”

  “I need to find someone who I think is hiding somewhere near here. She has stolen something very valuable and even more dangerous. I’d like you to find her for me.”

  “What did she steal?”

  “It is a wand, about this long.” Ben held his hands out, about a foot apart. “Made of polished wood with an almost metallic sheen to it. The wood is irregular, but smooth to the touch.”

  Derek recorded all of these details in careful block print. His normal handwriting was so poor that Mark had never been able to read it. Even after all this time, he still took care to be legible, like maybe his boss would walk through the door and demand to know whether Derek had passed kindergarten yet, because his writing sure didn’t look it.

  “A magic wand?” he asked gruffly. “What does it do?”

  “Yes, it is magic. But you needn’t know its power.”

  “Bullshit,” said Derek. “If I’m to find this wand and the thief could use it against me, or if I could accidentally activate it and blow myself to smithereens, I’d like to know about it in advance.”

  Ben considered this for a moment. “It’s not dangerous to you. You couldn’t activate it. Wrong species.”

  “What does it do?” asked Derek, with emphasis.

  “It opens portals. Doors to other places. I don’t see how she could hurt you with it, but it’ll make her difficult to track. She can sense me coming, you see, and use the wand to escape me. I’m hoping you can appropriate the wand from her before she realizes you’re working for me.”

  Derek considered this. He knew not to take any client for granted—they all had motives that they either tried to hide or didn’t realize they had. But so far, Ben’s story held together.

  He drew a line on the paper. “Okay, tell me about the thief. No detail is too small. If I’m going to find her, I need to be able to think like her.”

  “Well…” Ben sat back, folding his slim-fingered hands thoughtfully. “Her name is Citrine. Citrine Avonmora.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Citrine smiled as she made her way down the street, still brightly lit at what had to be a late hour. Her nervousness about the humans had evaporated after her interaction with Derek. He’d gained nothing by intervening when she fought the troll. He could have walked on by and left her to it. He could have stood there and watched, or taken bets on how long it would take her to die. She’d had both happen in the past, during her long days of captivity. But he hadn’t done either. He’d risked his life for a stranger instead. It seemed to bode well for her life here. If the rest of the humans were half as brave and selfless as Derek, she’d be okay.

  She dodged around a small group of humans playing instruments that glinted in the flashing lights, thinking about how astonished she’d felt to see that he was still alive. She’d thought the troll had killed him. To see him stand there in his naked glory had shocked her, for a moment at least. But then, she’d become engrossed by the long, lean muscles running under his skin. The fae were all long of limb and slim of build—even the warriors—and Derek’s ridged body fascinated her. The black patterns like drawings running up his arms and over his shoulders, begging to be traced by a questing tongue. The light brown hair that led in a trail down to the ample treasure between his legs. The obvious strength in his arms as he lifted her into the air.

  She hadn’t been able to resist him, and she didn’t regret it for a moment, although his reaction
afterwards made her wonder if humans didn’t have a different reaction to sex. Among the fae—or at least among the prisoners and gladiators she’d associated with—sex was a pleasant pastime to be enjoyed freely, unless one was oathbound to another. But Derek had seemed to think that their encounter meant more. Had he thought of her as a potential oathbound mate? Or were the rules different here? She would need to find out.

  She gripped the card in her hand harder, not wanting to lose it. Perhaps she’d made a mistake by fleeing so quickly, but she’d realized it was stupid for her to remain there. If Ilimitaine had realized she’d escaped, he might be watching for any signs of her current location, and a mysteriously reappearing troll might catch his attention. He probably couldn’t trace her now that the portal was closed, but his magics were strong, and she didn’t want to chance it.

  Still, she was beginning to have second thoughts about leaving Derek like that. She hadn’t asked him about the wolf creature. Perhaps all humans could turn into giant dire wolves, and she hadn’t realized it. Or maybe he was special. Perhaps he could have pointed her toward the warriors she’d been hoping to spot all night. The realization hit her hard, and she wanted to hit herself for being so stupid. The excitement of battle—and of Derek—had made her stupid. Of course she should have asked him about employment. Anyone who could face down a troll and live to tell the tale was a ferocious warrior indeed!

  He was probably gone already. She’d walked a long way down the street, and it would take some time to work her way back to him, but it was worth trying. She whirled around and immediately collided with a human girl with a blocky build and spiky pink hair.

  “Watch it, moron!” exclaimed the girl, shoving her away.

  Citrine tensed, her body instantly ready to defend itself while her mind was still catching up with current events. She assessed the situation with a rapid flick of her eyes. The girl was taller than her, which didn’t take much, and she had a stocky figure, even for a human. Her expression telegraphed danger and bravado, but Citrine didn’t think that was all a put on. Based on the light way she held herself on the balls of her feet and the loose swing of her hands, this girl was an experienced brawler. Although Citrine felt confident in her ability to outmaneuver her, she knew at first glance that it would be a mistake to underestimate her opponent.