Buy us time or consume our time? he queried. These need frequent feeding. Where is their mother?
Hit by a car. And, yes, they need feeding. Every two hours, I think, which will be a pain in the ass. But . . . listen.
The kittens began to mew as they vied for position in the pile. Beneath those sounds . . .
Heartbeats, David said as understanding dawned.
Until you decide what to tell the others about Ami’s pregnancy, this will help conceal it from them. With these little guys roaming the house, anyone who hears the baby’s heartbeat will assume it’s a kitten’s. Hell, who here has spent enough time around a pregnant woman since transforming to tell the difference?
True. David set the kitten down next to its brothers and sisters, then picked up a black and white one. Smart thinking. He smiled when the kitten clumsily walked up his arm and sank its claws into one of his long dreadlocks. He caught it before it became too entangled and held it up before his face. He’s cute, isn’t he?
Bastien smiled. Yeah. I dropped by the pet store and bought cat milk, bottles, and everything else we’ll need. It’s in my car.
Get it and meet me in the living room.
Bastien went to the car and retrieved a large bag of essentials, some of which he was pretty sure weren’t essentials, but the saleslady had been nice and hadn’t shied away from him the way so many humans did. When he returned to the house, David was just entering the living room with all six kittens cradled in his large hands.
The television shut off.
“Hey!” several protested and turned toward him.
“What the hell is that?” Sheldon asked, staring at the kittens.
“Your new assignments.”
Krysta’s nerves jangled as she strolled through the quiet college campus, adding a stagger here and there for show.
She had hunted every night for the past two weeks with nothing to show for it. No vampire attacks. No vampire deaths. No glimpses of the mysterious . . . other. The vampire who had saved her ass.
Why was his aura so different? He clearly was a vampire. Same fangs. Same glowing eyes. Same incredible speed and strength. Just no orange aura.
An owl hooted.
Why had he helped her?
What was his agenda?
And why hadn’t she seen him again?
A nice breeze blew her hair back from her face.
She was beginning to suspect he had been following her each night as she hunted.
Not just following her. Protecting her.
The notion was insane. As insane as the vampires she loathed so much. And yet, there had been moments when she would have sworn she had drawn out some vampires, just as she had the night she had met Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hot.
He isn’t hot.
Yes, he is.
Damn it, he is.
Some nights, she had heard faint footsteps behind her and caught glimpses of shadows stalking her. Shadows with flowing orange auras. She had continued her helpless, drunken student act until she was sure, then had turned down this street, into that alley, and . . .
Found herself alone. Safe. Unassailed.
It made no sense.
Last night, she had heard a muffled thump, followed by a metallic clatter as she drew her weapons and spun around to face the vampires she had thought were pursuing her. Once more faced with an empty alleyway, she had hurried forward, rounded the corner, and found a flashy bowie knife—typical vamp weaponry—lying on the sidewalk.
She hadn’t mentioned it to her brother. If Sean thought the new vampire was stalking her or playing some weird game with her, he would argue like hell to get her to stop hunting.
And it did seem like a game. She just couldn’t figure out the rules or the why’s of it.
Her favorite frat house again boomed music. Shadows danced on the curtains.
Sighing, Krysta headed down the hill toward it.
She really didn’t feel like being around people right now. Especially drunk, gropey people. But she had a job to do.
As she approached the sidewalk that led to the porch steps, the shadows on this side of the house shifted minutely. A dark figure with an orange aura slipped around the corner. Another joined it.
Perfect. She had no interest in making small talk. And being around drunk people was a lot more fun when she was drunk, too.
Krysta continued past, faking a stumble, and dropped her purse. Mumbling to herself, she scooped it up and staggered to one side. A shake of her head at herself and she headed farther down the hill, where she paused at an intersection.
Pretending to look both ways allowed her to catch a glimpse of wisps of bright orange behind her.
Score!
Finally. A fight. She needed one to clear the cobwebs. To get rid of this frustrated, pent-up energy. To feed her need for vengeance.
Adrenaline flooded her veins as she crossed the street and turned down a dark, narrow side street. She couldn’t see well in the dark like vampires could, but the vamps’ glowing auras tended to light the field of battle for her.
A scuffing sound behind her halted her footsteps. Swinging around, she drew her swords with a triumphant smile, and...
“Damn it!”
No vampires faced her with leering, evil intent. No vampires faced her at all.
She was alone. Again.
More rustling sounded.
Racing back to the street, she flew around the corner and skidded to a halt.
Nothing. Just an empty road glowing green from the streetlight at the corner.
The unmistakable shick, ting, and clang of metal striking metal split the air several blocks away.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she growled and took off running. She didn’t care that she raced down a sharply sloped hill that would make it damned near impossible to stop once she got going. She didn’t care that she ran with an unsheathed sword in each hand. (Her mother and father’s frequent admonitions not to run with scissors chose that moment to dance through her head.) She didn’t even care that anyone who saw her would likely call the police and report a madwoman fleeing through Chapel Hill, waving deadly weapons, and get her arrested.
She had only one goal in mind: Get to those damned vampires before Mystery Man did whatever the hell he’d been doing for the past two weeks and disappeared.
Her heart pounding in her chest, she honed in on the battle’s location and managed to put on the brakes enough to zip around the corner at a speed that would keep her from rolling ass over elbows downhill.
She jerked to a halt and stared.
The darkened alley was deserted except for a Dumpster about twenty-five yards away and—she released a growl of fury—a pair of jeans, a bloody blue sweatshirt, and a pair of bright red Chucks spread out on the pavement as if they had been laid out by some kid’s mother.
Krysta sheathed one of her swords, stomped over the place a vampire had clearly fallen, and grabbed the sweatshirt. “Oh, come on!” she shouted, her voice echoing on the somnolent night. She shook the sticky clothing at the sky. “Where are you?” she demanded. Turning in a circle, she examined every nook and cranny at street level, then peered up at the rooftops.
She could see no sign of Mystery Man’s unique purple and white aura. Had he already left?
Krysta tossed the shirt down in disgust. “This is bullshit.”
A low chuckle wafted on the night.
Eyes widening, she drew her second sword and turned in a slow circle. “Damn it! Show yourself!”
“Well, since you asked so nicely,” a deep voice laced with a French accent purred behind her.
Gasping, she spun around and swung a shoto.
Once more, he caught her wrist. “Careful.” The warning was gentle, carrying neither malice nor anger.
Krysta stared.
His touch sent electricity tickling its way up her arm. His flesh was warm, his long fingers free of calluses.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as butterflies erupted in her stomach.
She should be furious. Frightened. Instead, she felt as excited as she would on a first date.
Crap.
Stepping back, she withdrew her arm from his grasp.
Dropping his hand, he tilted his head and studied her with those entrancing amber eyes.
Yeah, he was hot all right.
Short, midnight hair glinted in the moonlight. Faint stubble shadowed a strong jaw. Straight nose. Broad shoulders. What was clearly a well-developed, muscular build beneath a black T-shirt that clung to him courtesy of the vampire blood that saturated its front. Slim waist. Slim hips. All revealed by the gap in the long, black coat he wore.
She didn’t let her gaze stray farther. The last thing she wanted to do while facing him was blush like a schoolgirl if he had a nice package.
His tempting lips stretched in a slow smile.
Usually, the minds of mortals were revoltingly easy for Etienne to read. Krysta’s thoughts, for some reason, were proving rather elusive, although he had caught something about his package.
He grinned.
Her pretty brown eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
He performed a gallant bow and offered his hand. “Etienne d’Alençon.”
She raised one eyebrow. “If you think I’m going to put away my weapons, think again.”
He had expected no less from this bewitching warrior. “As you wish.”
She motioned to the clothes of the vampire he hadn’t had time to discard. “What happened here?”
“Exactly what you think happened.” He had taken out the vampires who had fallen for her ruse, damn her and her insistence on putting herself in danger.
“You killed a vampire?”
“Three actually.”
“Where are the other two?”
“Deteriorating on the roof.”
Her gaze darted to the building beside them, up to the edge of the roof, then returned to him. “You fought them up there?”
“No. Down here.”
“And you—what—carried them up there?”
“Threw them. Two of them, anyway. I didn’t have time to toss the last one before you arrived.” Again, he smiled. “You’re very fast for a mortal.”
As she stared up at him, he tried again to read her thoughts and couldn’t. Was she a gifted one like her brother? If so, what was her gift? Neither had referenced it the night he had followed them home. And he hadn’t seen her demonstrate one.