Read Online Into The Sunset: An Erotic Romance Anthology by Vivian Wood - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Vivian Wood
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Heat bloomed in his chest, the soaring teak-paneled walls
of his office seemed to encroach, confine. Lucas had but to look at
the calendar to understand his malady.
Heedlessly stripping off the jacket and tie
from his Kiton suit, he tossed them onto his desk and braced his
arms over his head and leaned against the window. Lights flickered
to life across the city, and in the growing darkness he could see
both the changing night-scape outside and a faint, blurred
reflection of himself in the window.
His 6’3, tightly muscled frame was
unsurprising. He was, after all, the paradigmatic specimen of a
werewolf. Big without being bulky, long-limbed without sacrificing
speed. His kind were Vikings, Spartans, Highlanders.
Swallowing, Lucas reached down and clawed the
first few buttons of his shirt open, giving himself more room to
breathe. He could feel the walls pressing in on him. Or perhaps
instead his Berserker ancestors, watching and silently judging from
their places of honor in Valhalla. They’d launched fleets of ships,
waged war, conquered foes. Lucas’s life couldn’t be more different;
his wars were in board rooms, his fleets were complex computer
software systems, his foes were Japanese innovators that he admired
and occasionally befriended. His ancestors would probably be
disgusted by his soft, cultured lifestyle.
Blinking, Lucas focused on himself once more.
Wavy blond hair, cut stylishly. A bit longer in the front where it
curled, a prominent gray streak in his forelock that women seemed
to admire. Rather than age him, it brought the frozen steel of his
gray eyes to a stormy sheen. Tan skin, from head to toe, no matter
the season. Teeth so perfectly straight and white, no one would
ever guess that they grew into gruesome fangs under the full moon’s
pearly spell.
A growl ripped from his chest, startling him.
His visage, the source of so much pleasure from so many eager
bedmates over the years, was not his friend tonight. Staring at
himself wasn’t going to fill the massive void of want that had
opened within him.
Pushing away from the window, he returned to
his desk and sat on the edge. Sweeping his coat and tie to the
floor, he revealed the pale blue file folder once again. Sighing,
he reached out and slid a finger under the cover, slowly baring the
file’s contents to his hungry gaze.
Aurelia Gilson, he read. His eyes dropped down the page,
following the now-familiar path of statistics and facts that made
up the woman who’d become his obsession.
Date of Birth: 1982. Age: 31.
Birthplace: Austin, Texas. Family: Brother, Edgar Gilson, Resides
Peacefully In San Francisco, CA. Education: Massachusetts Institute
of Technology, First and Second Degrees in Computer Science and
Computational Linguistics. Wanted By: Interpol, CIA, FBI, and
Police in Dubai, U.A.E., New Zealand, France, Norway, Namibia, Cote
D’Ivoire, Italy, United Kingdom, and Greece. Bounty: € 1.5 Million. Current
Residence: Unknown. Last Seen: Nuit Du Hack Hacker’s Convention, 25
June 2012.
Flipping the first sheet over, Lucas skimmed
down the list of Aurelia’s offenses, what his private investigator
had referred to as her “mile-long rap sheet”. She’d phreaked,
sniffed, spoofed, socially engineered, phished, pharmed, and whaled
her way into the elite community of top-level hackers at a mere
fifteen years of age. Just that many years later, she’d been caught
and exposed for the white-gloved criminal she was, her identity
leaked to a number of national security agencies. It had only been
a matter of time before his poor girl had been banished from every
technophile locale in the civilized world.
Flipping another page, he came to a map. A map
of Sri Lanka, to be precise, with a fat red circle drawn around the
commercial capital of Colombo. Aurelia’s current location,
according to the detective.
Unable to contain his eagerness now, he
flipped the page again. A fat, glossy sheaf of photographs awaited
him.
Older photos first.
of his office seemed to encroach, confine. Lucas had but to look at
the calendar to understand his malady.
Heedlessly stripping off the jacket and tie
from his Kiton suit, he tossed them onto his desk and braced his
arms over his head and leaned against the window. Lights flickered
to life across the city, and in the growing darkness he could see
both the changing night-scape outside and a faint, blurred
reflection of himself in the window.
His 6’3, tightly muscled frame was
unsurprising. He was, after all, the paradigmatic specimen of a
werewolf. Big without being bulky, long-limbed without sacrificing
speed. His kind were Vikings, Spartans, Highlanders.
Swallowing, Lucas reached down and clawed the
first few buttons of his shirt open, giving himself more room to
breathe. He could feel the walls pressing in on him. Or perhaps
instead his Berserker ancestors, watching and silently judging from
their places of honor in Valhalla. They’d launched fleets of ships,
waged war, conquered foes. Lucas’s life couldn’t be more different;
his wars were in board rooms, his fleets were complex computer
software systems, his foes were Japanese innovators that he admired
and occasionally befriended. His ancestors would probably be
disgusted by his soft, cultured lifestyle.
Blinking, Lucas focused on himself once more.
Wavy blond hair, cut stylishly. A bit longer in the front where it
curled, a prominent gray streak in his forelock that women seemed
to admire. Rather than age him, it brought the frozen steel of his
gray eyes to a stormy sheen. Tan skin, from head to toe, no matter
the season. Teeth so perfectly straight and white, no one would
ever guess that they grew into gruesome fangs under the full moon’s
pearly spell.
A growl ripped from his chest, startling him.
His visage, the source of so much pleasure from so many eager
bedmates over the years, was not his friend tonight. Staring at
himself wasn’t going to fill the massive void of want that had
opened within him.
Pushing away from the window, he returned to
his desk and sat on the edge. Sweeping his coat and tie to the
floor, he revealed the pale blue file folder once again. Sighing,
he reached out and slid a finger under the cover, slowly baring the
file’s contents to his hungry gaze.
Aurelia Gilson, he read. His eyes dropped down the page,
following the now-familiar path of statistics and facts that made
up the woman who’d become his obsession.
Date of Birth: 1982. Age: 31.
Birthplace: Austin, Texas. Family: Brother, Edgar Gilson, Resides
Peacefully In San Francisco, CA. Education: Massachusetts Institute
of Technology, First and Second Degrees in Computer Science and
Computational Linguistics. Wanted By: Interpol, CIA, FBI, and
Police in Dubai, U.A.E., New Zealand, France, Norway, Namibia, Cote
D’Ivoire, Italy, United Kingdom, and Greece. Bounty: € 1.5 Million. Current
Residence: Unknown. Last Seen: Nuit Du Hack Hacker’s Convention, 25
June 2012.
Flipping the first sheet over, Lucas skimmed
down the list of Aurelia’s offenses, what his private investigator
had referred to as her “mile-long rap sheet”. She’d phreaked,
sniffed, spoofed, socially engineered, phished, pharmed, and whaled
her way into the elite community of top-level hackers at a mere
fifteen years of age. Just that many years later, she’d been caught
and exposed for the white-gloved criminal she was, her identity
leaked to a number of national security agencies. It had only been
a matter of time before his poor girl had been banished from every
technophile locale in the civilized world.
Flipping another page, he came to a map. A map
of Sri Lanka, to be precise, with a fat red circle drawn around the
commercial capital of Colombo. Aurelia’s current location,
according to the detective.
Unable to contain his eagerness now, he
flipped the page again. A fat, glossy sheaf of photographs awaited
him.
Older photos first.
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