by Nalini Singh
Amber laughed. “Probably. Baby Wembley has a future as a football player. Fitting really, given the family name.”
“Don’t tell Jet,” Ria teased, biting into her cake. The familiar taste was as welcome as a hug, soft and comforting. “He’s hoping for a golf buddy.”
“What about you, Ria?” Breaking off a piece of her own slice, Amber brought it to her mouth. “You thinking of popping out any golf buddies sometime soon?”
“Amber!” Ria fell back, laughing. “Where do you think I’m going to get the other half of the equation now that the Great Match is done for?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Amber’s eyes turned sly. “But I know a cat who looks at you like he wants to eat you up, then come back for seconds.”
Ria was still gasping at the scandalous comment from her—usually—shy sister-in-law, when Miaoling began laughing. Slapping her thigh, she laughed so hard that Ria could do nothing but join in. “You heard”—she sobbed between bursts that left her stomach aching—“what Jet said. They don’t get serious with humans.”
“Who says?” Amber’s eyes were shiny with humor. “Just because we don’t know about any.”
That cut off Ria’s laughter. She sat back. Thought about it. Shook her head. “We’d have heard. I’d have heard at the college.”
“Not necessarily,” Amber argued. “They don’t exactly advertise things. I’d say I’d never met a more closemouthed lot, but . . .” She waved a hand.
Ria blew out a breath. “I can’t ask him. You know that.”
“Why?” Miaoling asked.
“Because then he’d think I was hinting at something!”
Her grandmother gave her a gimlet-eyed glance. “If you don’t hint, how’s he going to know?”
Ria’s mind flooded with the memories of her pressed up against that gym door, his hand stroking over her, his tongue in her mouth. “He knows.”
“Yes,” Amber said. “Changelings have a better sense of smell than humans. He can probably scent your you-know-what.”
Ria stared. “Amber, what’s come over you?”
Her sister-in-law picked up another piece of cake. “I’m going to blame it on the pregnancy.” A slow grin.
SEVEN
Emmett’s blood was at fever point. Returning to the restaurant, he caught the scent of the shooter and began tracking. Dorian and Clay had both picked up the trail while he escorted Ria home, but this was his hunt.
His fingers remembered the soft feel of Ria’s skin, the delicate roughness of the scratch that shouldn’t have been on her face. The leopard paced inside his skull, wanting out, wanting to do damage, but Emmett held on to his humanity. For now.
Minutes later, he found both Dorian and Clay standing frustrated at a busy intersection. “Fuck,” Emmett said, sensing what they had. The shooter’s scent simply disappeared.
“Probably someone waiting to pick him up,” Dorian muttered, looking around. “No CCTV cameras in this area. We need to fix that.”
Emmett narrowed his eyes, making a slow circuit of all four points of the intersection. It was clogged with people. “Can’t have been a pickup. It’d be too hard to make a quick getaway,” he muttered almost to himself . . . and looked up.
The old-fashioned fire escape ladder hung a few feet off the ground, just far enough up to confuse the scent trail with this many people around. Landing on the ladder with a single powerful jump, he began to follow the fading trail with the fluid grace of the leopard he was. No human could ever hope to match a predatory changeling moving at full speed.
Making it to the top of the building in seconds, he pursued the scent to the other side. Another ladder, this one looking down into a small parklike area thronged with elders playing what looked like a combination of mahjong and chess. Ignoring the ladder, he jumped straight to the ground, making several people scream. His cat ensured he landed on his feet, his body perfectly balanced.
Again, the scent was muddied by the number of people in the park. But worse, a few meters later it was overwhelmed totally by the strong disinfectant used to sanitize the nearby automated public toilets. Swearing under his breath, he did a circle of the park and came up with nothing. Frustration clawed at him. He was certain this was where the shooter had been picked up—on one of these narrow streets.
Thrusting a hand through his hair, he was striding back the way he’d come when an old man waved him over. “Here—he left his motorcycle parked on the footpath. Very rude.” A piece of paper was put into his hand.
Opening it, he found a license plate number. Hot damn. “Thanks.” His cell phone was in his hand an instant later. The elderly man waved away his thanks and went back to his game even as Emmett fed the tip through to the DarkRiver techs. Changelings had made it their business to be up-to-date on all technology known to man—because if the coldly powerful Psy had a weakness, it was that they relied too much on their machines.
But that technical knowledge also came in handy when DarkRiver needed to hack into Enforcement databases. Emmett had an address to go with the license plate five minutes later. Assembling a team took only a further three minutes—Lucas, Vaughn, and Clay, with Dorian holding a surveillance position. The young soldier was turning into one hell of a sharpshooter.
“How’re we doing this?” Lucas asked as they got out of their vehicle a short distance from the shooter’s home, his eyes cold.
“I want the bastard alive,” Emmett said through gritted teeth. “We need to get Vincent’s location.” He glanced at Lucas. “We’re skating way past the edge of the law here.” Changelings had jurisdiction over crimes that involved their kind, but this shooter was most likely human. “It’s daylight—we’ll be seen.”
His alpha shrugged. “Let me handle that.”
Trusting his word, Emmett gave the signal and they fanned out, coming in at the suspect’s dirty trailer from all sides. The bike sat near the back—and it was sticky with the scent Emmett had detected at the restaurant.
Even that close, no one shot out at them, and a couple of seconds later, Emmett’s leopard picked up a new scent. Blood. Fresh and thick. “Goddammit,” he muttered under his breath, knowing what they’d find. He was right.
The shooter lay slumped over a rickety table, the back of his head blown off execution style. “Vincent knew we’d picked up his scent,” Lucas said, taking in the scene from the doorway beside Emmett. “I bet that blood is still warm.”
They both stepped back out, Emmett’s frustration making him want to kick something. “Think there might be intel in there that could lead us to Vincent?”
Lucas nodded at the neighbors in the surrounding trailers, a few of whom were openly staring. “We can’t risk going in and giving the cops a reason to hassle us. As it is, these folks saw us open the door, stand in the doorway. No harm, no foul.”
“I wouldn’t let it bother you,” Clay said, breaking his customary silence. “This guy, he was expendable. They’d have told him squat.”
Emmett tried to believe that as he circled the trailer.
A hint of movement in his peripheral vision, prey breaking into a run.
He didn’t even think about it, shifting into hard pursuit between one second and the next. The skinny guy in front of him didn’t look back as he snaked through the trailer park. Not until he passed a group of children kicking around a dusty soccer ball. Emmett’s gut chilled as the man’s hand came up. “Get down!” he yelled, thrusting himself into an incredible burst of speed. Slamming into the shooter’s arm, he pushed it up just as the man fired. The shot was silent, the bullet lost in the sky.
The shooter was already moving, using his body with the fluid grace of an experienced street fighter. His fist hit Emmett’s cheek with enough force to jerk it back, but Emmett didn’t let go of the man’s wrist, holding the gun pointed up, even as he used his free elbow to hit the assassin’s jaw. The bastard didn’t go down.
Fuck it. Emmett squeezed the man’s wrist, crushing his fragile human bones.
With a s
cream, the shooter dropped to his knees, the gun falling out of his hand. “Keep an eye on it,” Emmett ordered Vaughn.
The jaguar nodded and made sure any kids who hadn’t already scattered got the hell out. Emmett kept his hand around the shooter’s wrist as the whimpering male knelt in the dust. This one, Emmett thought, would know something about Vincent. Dropping into a crouch, he met the man’s shiny-wet eyes. “Tell me what I want to know,” he said very quietly, “or I’ll crush your wrist so badly, they’ll never be able to put it back together.”
The man spat at him. “I’ll get a cloned replacement.”
Emmett heard the faint sound of Enforcement sirens and knew he had a couple of minutes at most. Leaning close, he deliberately let his eyes go cat, his claws shooting out. Then he smiled. “You know, they’re not very good at cloning eyes.” He touched a claw to the very edge of the man’s right eye. “Funny how a claw can accidentally blind a man during fighting.”
Fear burned off the shooter, acrid and thick. “You can’t do that. There’re witnesses.”
“Really?”
He watched as the man turned . . . to see only closed doors and shuttered windows.
“You threatened their kids,” Emmett whispered. “Who do you think’s going to come forward to save you?” He pressed in the claw until the edge actually touched the delicate surface.
The fear turned into sheer terror. “I’ll answer your questions!”
Emmett asked them hard and fast. By the time Enforcement arrived, the Crew male was so grateful to see them, he confessed to the shooting just to get away from Emmett. The cops looked like they wanted to take Emmett in, too, but all of a sudden, there were twenty witnesses who’d seen everything—and who swore Emmett was a hero.
Faced with that many enthusiastic supporters, the cops gave up. One older female met Emmett’s eyes. “You didn’t have to crush his wrist.” It wasn’t censure, more a question.
Emmett raised an eyebrow.
She smiled and walked off. Right into Dorian.
The blond soldier grinned. “How about you let me buy you dinner?”
The cop laughed. “You’re adorable. But I gave up cradle robbing a few years back.”
Dorian was unabashed. Walking over to Emmett after the woman left, he folded his arms. “Sooooo . . . what happens if I flirt with Ria?”
“I use your ribs to make a wind chime.”
“That’s what I thought.”
* * *
Emmett told the others what the assassin had revealed. “Vincent stays out of sight by living in a mobile home—it’s a hover-truck, black, with constantly changing license plates. But it’s shiny, all tricked out. The bastard likes living in style.”
“That’ll make it easier to spot him,” Lucas said. “We’ll start circulating the description. Someone will talk.”
“He also said Vincent has a stockpile of weapons, so we need to be ready for what he might do when cornered.” The bastard wouldn’t care who he hit. “He’s got connections to one of the big crime families up north—this is a test run. We don’t kick him out, we’re going to have more problems.”
Lucas nodded. “It’s not just the human gangs we need to worry about—we don’t handle this challenge right, other changeling groups are going to start looking at our territory.”
“Then let’s make sure we take care of business.”
Emmett spent the rest of the day ensuring his more shadowy informants knew to look out for the truck. By the time night fell, there was only one thing he wanted to do . . . and only one person he wanted to do it with.
Unfortunately, though his split lip had healed with changeling speed, he still had a fairly impressive black eye. No way in hell would Ria’s family let him in through the front door, especially at this time of night. If it had been his daughter, Emmett thought with a twist in his heart, he’d have done the same. But that didn’t mean he was going to stay away from Ria.
Finding his way to the back of the two-story house that was the Wembley home, he nodded at Nate, on watch that shift, and looked up at the window that he knew faced out from Ria’s bedroom. Nate gave him an interested look. “Wall’s got no handholds.”
“If I can hook myself up to that window,” Emmett said, working out the mechanics, “I can get up.”
The other man judged the gap. “Doable.”
Decision made, Emmett backed up until he had enough distance, kicked himself into gear and jumped. The leopard made sure he caught the ledge he aimed for, and from there, it was a fairly simple climb. Holding himself up with one hand on the lower edge of Ria’s darkened window, while his feet found precarious purchase on the slight ledge of the kitchen window below, he tapped on the glass.
Silence. Then a shush of sound, as if she was wearing something that trailed on the floor. His mind filled with a thousand erotic images, but the window didn’t go up. Instead, he heard Nate’s phone ring. Ria was being very careful. Smiling as he heard the sentinel answer, he waited.
The window went up a few seconds later. “Are you insane?” Ria hissed, sticking out her head. “How are you even staying up?”
“Not easily,” he said with a grin, the stress of the day wiped away by the sight of her all sleep mussed and kissable. “Let me in?”
Pulling back, she waved him in. “Dear God, Emmett,” she said the instant he was inside. “You could’ve fallen and broken your fool neck.”
“I’m a leopard, mink. Climbing’s my thing.”
“I don’t think leopards evolved to climb two-storied—” A gasp and she nudged his face toward the light coming in through the window. “What happened?”
“I didn’t dodge fast enough.” He pushed down the window, knowing Nate wouldn’t be able to hear anything now if they kept their voices low. “My own fault.”
Ria slapped a hand on his chest. “I want a straight answer. Talk.”
He fingered the strap of her ankle-length satin nightgown. The material looked soft and utterly silky. He wanted to gather it up in his hands and bare something even softer and silkier.
“Emmett!” A low whisper, but her eyes were snapping fire.
Sliding his hands down her arms, he tugged her closer. “Who wants to talk?” He dropped his head, nuzzled the scent of her into his lungs.
Feminine heat and a delicate, exotic perfume.
Licking out to taste it was instinct. He wanted to know everything about his mate. The leopard smiled at the easy, absolute realization. Of course she was his mate. Why the hell else would he have climbed up that damn wall? Only for Ria. “I like your perfume.”
She shuddered. “You’re being bad again.”
“Did you buy it for me?” He stroked his hands down her back, pressing her softness against the pounding heat of his cock.
“I-I had it from a gift set.” She tangled her hands in his hair. “It said it’s formulated for changelings.”
“Mmm.” Nibbling his way up from her neck to her lips, he took her mouth in a slow, lazy kiss. “Our sense of smell is so strong, normal perfume is too intense.”
“I can’t even smell this one,” she murmured against his lips. “Guess you’ll have to buy my perfume for me.”
His cat purred, wondering if she realized what she’d just given away. “I’m going to buy you bubble bath, too.”
“Emmett.” A moan.
He kissed it away. “Does your door have a lock?”
“Yes.” She pressed her lips to the pulse in his neck. “But it’s not set.”
Groaning, he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the door. “Do it.”
“Say please.”
He looked down into that teasing face and gave in to the urge to bite, sinking his teeth—very carefully—into the sensitive spot between shoulder and neck. She trembled, and he felt the lock turn. “How quiet?” he asked, licking over the mark as he carried her to the bed.
“My mother has ears like a bat.”
Grinning, he dropped her lightly on the mattr
ess, coming down on top of her as she finished the sentence. She was all soft and curvy under him, the satin of her nightgown delicious torture. He ran his hand down the side. It snagged. “Damn.” His hands were rough, calloused, nothing like her creamy flesh.
“I love your hands, Emmett.” It was an intimate whisper in the night-dark of her room.
He looked down into those intelligent eyes, and knew he was lost. Raising himself off her and to the side, he said, “I don’t want to mess up your pretty nightgown. Pull it up for me.”
She swallowed, but her hands moved to the satin, pulling it up with slow, sensual tugs. “I’m supposed to be mad at you.”
“Hmm.” He cupped her knee as it was revealed, waiting for more, for everything.
“You going to mess up my interviews next time, too?”
The sweet slope of her thigh. “Probably.” He stroked his hand up, knew he’d have to taste.
A soft moan, her leg rising slightly, that knee bending as she rubbed her foot on the sheet. “How do you do this to me?”
Shifting his hand fully between her legs, he cupped her.
EIGHT
Her gasp was almost silent this time, her body rising in a sinuous curve. Tempted beyond measure, he leaned in to steal another kiss. “The same way you do it to me.” She was so damp and hot under his palm that it was all he could do not to tear off her panties and slide his fingers into liquid-soft flesh.
Her hands tugged at his T-shirt. “Off.”
He considered it. “I’ll have to move my hand.” And he didn’t want to.
Ria’s lips parted. “Your eyes have gone leopard.”
“I can smell you, all slick and luscious and ready.” He pressed the heel of his hand against the enticement of her, teasing, playing, caressing.
Her eyes fluttered closed. “Emmett”—a husky order—“if you don’t get that T-shirt off, I’m not going to be responsible for my actions.”
Moving his hand with reluctance, he pulled off the T-shirt, then got rid of the rest of his clothing—he wanted no more interruptions. Ria’s eyes went wide as he came down beside her again, his hand closing over her thigh. “I want to rip off your panties.”
