LITMIR.BIZ

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soon, was the reply. After goose bumps prickled his arms and he shivered, he realized he was sensing her chills.

      He couldn’t bear to sit inside any longer. When he climbed out of the car, the peppery smell of wet pavement and the sound of spring frogs hidden in the dark reminded him he was among the calm energies of the Seattle area, not the volatile ones he was used to in the South.

      He paced the sidewalk for what seemed like a millennium, memorizing every crack, every stray weed, and the license plate numbers of every car on her block. Picking up snippets of her neighbors’ lives, he heard a blaring television, an argument with kids about bath-time, and one neighbor was fucking someone who wasn’t his wife. Christ.

      When he didn’t think he could take it a moment longer, a single headlight flashed in the distance and he heard the low rumble of her motorcycle. He leaned on the hood of the car and his head slumped with relief. Finally, he could breathe again. Although he sensed how cold she was, she was here. She was fine. She pulled into her garage and disappeared into the house.

      Minutes later, two headlights appeared and a jacked-up black 4x4 pulled in behind the Porsche. He had Foss by the neck before he could put the vehicle in Park. Dom leaned in close, his fangs extended.

      “What the hell did you do to her?”

      “Jesus, Dom, what’s wrong with you? Get off me.”

      “Did you touch her?” His thumb and fingers tightened around his friend’s larynx as he took a deep whiff, sniffing for any sign of her. Nothing.

      “No. What the hell’s your problem?” Jackson choked.

      Relieved on one level, but still pissed off, Dom loosened his grip and Jackson shoved him away.

      “What took you so long? You should have had her back thirty minutes ago.”

      “It’s not like I’m some weakass Darkblood wanting to suck anything with two legs and a pulse,” Jackson said as he rubbed his neck, “even if she is a sweetblood. She got pulled over by the cops. No helmet. Talked her way out of a ticket though. Since when did you become so protective?”

      “Why didn’t you call or text me?”

      “I had a few more detours to set up. You should’ve seen her. Every time she’d come to one, she’d kick at it. God, it was hilarious. This one time—”

      “You were only supposed to do three. She’s freezing, for God’s sake. Did that ever cross your mind?”

      “Sorry, man, you’re right. But if you could have seen her …” Foss looked up with a dreamy smile, and Dom wanted to wipe it from his face.

      Rage boiled just below the surface, threatening to overflow, and his fangs ached. He never should’ve let Foss get so close to her.

      Jackson cocked an eyebrow. “What is wrong with you? I swear I didn’t touch her. She’s a hottie, but she’s yours. I get that.”

      “She’s not mine.” Dom wrenched open the door of the Porsche.

      “Could’ve fuckin’ fooled me.”

       CHAPTER FOUR

      THE BAND AT Big Daddy’s was getting ready to play their final set and most of the patrons were on their third or fourth pitcher of Friday night refreshment. People crowded the pool tables and lines formed at every dartboard.

      “Can I get you anything else, sugar?” The waitress leaned over Dom’s table to adjust the location of the salt shaker and her large breasts dangled in his face.

      He pushed himself back slightly and saw her tongue dart from the corner of her over-glossed lips. She was offering him more than just beer, but he was definitely not interested.

      “Two Hefeweizens.”

      “Two? How ‘bout a pitcher. It’s a better deal.” She put her hand on his shoulder. The rose tattoo on her right breast hovered at eye level, the name Lenny entwined in the stem. “Expecting company?”

      “Yes, and here she is. Two beers. And a straw.”

      “Alrighty, then.” She pulled one from her apron pocket and turned around as a lanky woman approached the table with a swagger that belonged on a Fashion Week runway. “Day-um,” the waitress muttered under her breath and walked away.

      The blonde’s painted-on low-rise jeans barely covered her ass and her red heels screamed “come fuck me.” One guy fell over in his chair, gaping, as she sauntered past him, her belly-button chain swinging with each step. Dom rolled his eyes and smiled when he saw it was a diamond-encrusted arrow pointing down. Shock and awe had always been her motto. Some things never changed.

      “Lily.” Dom stood and hugged her. She air-kissed him on both cheeks and rested her hands, with red-tipped fingernails, lightly on his biceps. Holding her at arm’s length, his eyes raked her up and down. She loved the admiration and, as a good friend he needed a favor from, he wanted to feed her ego. “Stunning as usual. I think there’s a collective heart attack going on in here.”

      “Thanks, love.” Her breathy just-out-of-bed voice always caught him off guard. She ran a hand down her stick-straight, shoulder-length hair, flicking the ends through her fingers. Leaning in close, she inhaled with half-closed eyes. He stiffened his shoulders and got ready for what he knew was coming.

      “Mmm. You smell positively mouthwatering.” She slid a hand down to his ass and, with a grunt, yanked his hips close then let go.

      “Thanks.” He laughed and pulled out her chair.

      She hung her purse on the seat back and sat down just as the waitress returned with their drinks.

      “May I? That’s a beautiful tattoo.” Lily stretched her palms out and took the woman’s hand. She ignored the colorful Lenny tattoo and pretended to be engrossed in the plain barbed wire one on the woman’s arm, but Dom knew better. “Nice. Very nice.” Lily’s eyes fluttered and the corners of her mouth turned up.

      “Uh, thanks.” The waitress lifted her free hand to her mouth and yawned.

      Lily loosened her grip and the woman pulled away, blinked a few times and walked slowly back to the bar.

      “Shit, Lily. You couldn’t wait?”

      “Sorry. Been with the fam all week up in Whistler and I was low on energy. I was slogging.” She reached her arms overhead and her shoulders cracked. “Ahhh, much better. So what’s the job, love? Your text was cryptic.” She unwrapped the straw, put it in her beer and took a long sip.

      “I need your help to close an assignment.”

      The driving beat of a bass drum filled the air, followed by a screeching guitar. The lead singer straddled the microphone stand and began to sing. Not bad. Dom hadn’t heard a cover of this song before. With the loud background noise, no one would be able to hear their conversation.

      “Three days ago, my team uncovered a Darkblood den. I had just uploaded some data from their computer when they surprised us. We managed to take a couple of them out, but Stryker and I were shot. With silvies.”

      “You obviously had on your gear, eh?”

      Dom took a drink and shook his head. “No. Didn’t see the need. Our intel hasn’t confirmed the usage of silver-tipped bullets by any Northwest cells yet. These boys are pretty unsophisticated up here. Didn’t know they had them.”

      “Yet? Are you all pigheaded idiots? It was just a matter of time. All the DBs in the South are using them—you know that. Didn’t you get the Agency directive instructing all agents to wear protection when out on patrol?”

      “Yes. And your point is …?”

      “My point is that you could’ve been killed, or worse. Some body parts don’t regenerate as completely as others. Didn’t you hear about Eddie Bale in Costa Rica? Almost got his head

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