Read Online Impulse by Dannika Dark - Free Book Online

claimed the empty chair at my table without an invitation. He was tall from my vantage point. Thick shoulders gave him a hard edge—like a boxer—but it was his hair that stood out. It was short, dark, and shaved into a wide Mohawk. I lowered my eyes to the dark stubble on his chin and he snapped his gum and blew a pink bubble, watching me from behind dark sunglasses. He wore all black, and I could tell by his energy that he wasn’t a Mage. Something about the way he smelled bothered me; it was a blend between stale raspberries and vinegar.
    “No thanks,” I said, rising from the table.
    His fingers wrapped around my wrist and he gave me a thin-lipped smile.
    “Sweetie, I’m not asking.” I tugged my wrist but his bruising grip tightened. “My boss doesn’t like snoopers and it seems you’ve been sniffing around Samil’s place.”
    “Why don’t you tell Nero to shove it up his ass, right where your head is? Let me go, because you know the rules in a Breed club.” I twisted my wrist free and he leaned back in his chair with a smug grin.
    “What’s in the box you took from Samil’s house?” he asked in a gravelly voice.
    The bartender was nowhere in sight and the only other person in our section was an older Asian woman with papers scattered across her table. I turned on my heel and briskly headed to the back hallway. Simon’s car was parked in the rear.
    Just as I stepped out of the door, he shoved me so hard that I missed the steps and fell on my stomach.
    “Going somewhere?”
    I winced from the pain but quickly rose to my feet in the dark alley, ready to pull out a small dagger strapped beneath my shirt. Justus made me wear it on the odd occasion, and after the party, he wasn’t leaving me alone unarmed. It was a stunner capable of paralyzing a Mage. But I could tell from his energy that this asshole was no Mage.
    “I hate repeating myself,” he said.
    “Do I look like I have a box?”
    His jaw punched out and his boots stomped down the cement steps.
    “I know you don’t have the fucking box. What I want is for you to tell me where it is.”
    “It’s hard to take a man seriously who wears granny shades,” I dared to say. “Throws off your whole scary-guy image.”
    That was my best effort to get him to remove his glasses. A unique eye color might reveal what Breed he was; then I would know what I was up against and how much of my ass was about to be kicked.
    He threw them on the ground and stalked toward me with the conviction of a Chitah. His amber eyes were a stark contrast against his dark hair and brutal features. Logan said that it was uncommon for Chitahs to have raven locks—most of them had hair color in the shades between light brown and white. Not this guy; his brows were black and angled down, giving him an angered expression.
    Through conversation, Logan taught me how to take down a Chitah.
    “It’s not complicated,” he’d say. “You can’t outrun us, so prevent us from running.”
    He assured me that I had a better shot than a man would, because a male Chitah would hesitate before hurting a woman.
    “Sweetie, you make it too fucking easy,” he growled.
    I pulled out my blade.
    His laugh was rough like the motor of an old pickup truck. “You think your puny little knife is going to faze me? Your mouth may be poisonous but your scent is exquisitely insecure.”
    I saw his moves coming a mile away. After a few dodges, I sharpened my light and prepared to lay it on him. He must have sensed the change in my plan and, quicker than I could think, he pushed me against a wall and took hold of my wrists. The knife tumbled to the ground and he leaned in close, scraping his vile fangs across the soft flesh of my neck.
    I shuddered, reminded that all four of his canines could kill me in a heartbeat while anything less meant I’d be paralyzed and at his disposal.
    His breath stank of sour gum, and his callused hands squeezed the skin painfully around my wrists.
    “How about I