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Authors: Touch of Seduction
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Swedish, he
had no way of knowing if the vamp had just said hello or called him a
jackass…and he didn’t particularly care.
“Granger,” he grunted in reply. Pulling in a deep
breath, he searched for a trace of any other nearby Deschanel, but could find
no others. Not that it meant anything. If they chose, a Deschanel could mask
their unusually distinctive scent, making them impossible to track, even for a
Lycanthrope.
“How does that saying go?” Gideon murmured from the
corner of his mouth as he came closer, his pocketed hands mirroring Kierland’s,
though his trousers were black silk, rather than well-worn denim. Despite his
size, he moved with the smooth, effortless ease of his race, as if he were
merely gliding over the street like a phantom, the moonlight glinting blue off
the rich sable strands of his hair. “You know, that one about how if looks
could kill?”
Kierland arched his right brow. “Aren’t you already
dead?” he offered in a bored drawl.
Gideon’s sharp smile flashed with his low rumble of
laughter, his fangs just visible beneath the curve of his upper lip. “Aw, you
know very well that I’m not dead, Lycan. But then, Hollywood rarely gets those
types of things right, do they? I mean, look what they did with that movie
about the Watchmen.”
Hardly in the mood for jokes, Kierland cut to the
chase. “What the hell do you want from me, Gideon?”
The Deschanel moved closer, leaning against one of the
historic street signs that lined the sweeping road. Though his pose remained
casual, the rigid set of his muscled shoulders hinted at an inner fury, as did
the tightness around his eyes. While a Kraven’s irises bled to crimson when
they released their fangs, a pure-blooded vampire’s were actually a pale, pure
gray that would glow silver for several hours after they’d fed.
Instead of answering the question, the vamp simply
said, “It wasn’t one of ours who made the kill.”
Granger didn’t elaborate, but Kierland knew exactly
what the man was referring to. Two days ago a Watchman had been found murdered
in Russia, his mutilated corpse left in the center of a small town seventy
miles south of Moscow. The fact that his body had been drained of every last
drop of blood had started rumors flying among the clans that the kill had been
made by a rogue Deschanel, but Kierland wasn’t entirely convinced. Something
about the killing made him…uneasy. The Watchman hadn’t been hunting a rogue
vamp, and yet for some reason Kierland had the oddest feeling that the kill had
been deliberate, as if the Watchman had been targeted on purpose.
Then again, maybe he was just being paranoid, allowing
his imagination to get the better of him, and the guy had simply been in the
wrong place at the wrong time. God only knew he was maxed out to his stress
limit these days, which was why he’d kept his suspicions to himself for the
time being, instead of sharing them with the others back at home. Between the
Casus and the search for the Markers, they had enough to deal with right now,
without adding this to the rest of it. Plus, with the Casus on the loose, every
Watchmen unit around the world knew to be guarding their backs.
And yet, despite the fact that Kierland obviously had
doubts about the kill being a rogue vamp, it didn’t mean he had to admit as
much to the cocky-assed vampire standing before him.
“Come on, Granger. How can you be certain it wasn’t a
Deschanel kill? You know how easy it is for those of your kind to lose
their…perspective.”
The vampire snorted. “That’s pretty rich coming from
you, Scott. Considering rogue wolves gnaw their victims to the bone.”
“And your kind drains them dry,” he countered, his
voice going softer as his temper sparked like kindling. “In either case, a life
is lost.”
“And we could keep going round and round with this
bullshit, but I’m not looking to waste what little’s left of my night on
arguments. My first purpose in
had no way of knowing if the vamp had just said hello or called him a
jackass…and he didn’t particularly care.
“Granger,” he grunted in reply. Pulling in a deep
breath, he searched for a trace of any other nearby Deschanel, but could find
no others. Not that it meant anything. If they chose, a Deschanel could mask
their unusually distinctive scent, making them impossible to track, even for a
Lycanthrope.
“How does that saying go?” Gideon murmured from the
corner of his mouth as he came closer, his pocketed hands mirroring Kierland’s,
though his trousers were black silk, rather than well-worn denim. Despite his
size, he moved with the smooth, effortless ease of his race, as if he were
merely gliding over the street like a phantom, the moonlight glinting blue off
the rich sable strands of his hair. “You know, that one about how if looks
could kill?”
Kierland arched his right brow. “Aren’t you already
dead?” he offered in a bored drawl.
Gideon’s sharp smile flashed with his low rumble of
laughter, his fangs just visible beneath the curve of his upper lip. “Aw, you
know very well that I’m not dead, Lycan. But then, Hollywood rarely gets those
types of things right, do they? I mean, look what they did with that movie
about the Watchmen.”
Hardly in the mood for jokes, Kierland cut to the
chase. “What the hell do you want from me, Gideon?”
The Deschanel moved closer, leaning against one of the
historic street signs that lined the sweeping road. Though his pose remained
casual, the rigid set of his muscled shoulders hinted at an inner fury, as did
the tightness around his eyes. While a Kraven’s irises bled to crimson when
they released their fangs, a pure-blooded vampire’s were actually a pale, pure
gray that would glow silver for several hours after they’d fed.
Instead of answering the question, the vamp simply
said, “It wasn’t one of ours who made the kill.”
Granger didn’t elaborate, but Kierland knew exactly
what the man was referring to. Two days ago a Watchman had been found murdered
in Russia, his mutilated corpse left in the center of a small town seventy
miles south of Moscow. The fact that his body had been drained of every last
drop of blood had started rumors flying among the clans that the kill had been
made by a rogue Deschanel, but Kierland wasn’t entirely convinced. Something
about the killing made him…uneasy. The Watchman hadn’t been hunting a rogue
vamp, and yet for some reason Kierland had the oddest feeling that the kill had
been deliberate, as if the Watchman had been targeted on purpose.
Then again, maybe he was just being paranoid, allowing
his imagination to get the better of him, and the guy had simply been in the
wrong place at the wrong time. God only knew he was maxed out to his stress
limit these days, which was why he’d kept his suspicions to himself for the
time being, instead of sharing them with the others back at home. Between the
Casus and the search for the Markers, they had enough to deal with right now,
without adding this to the rest of it. Plus, with the Casus on the loose, every
Watchmen unit around the world knew to be guarding their backs.
And yet, despite the fact that Kierland obviously had
doubts about the kill being a rogue vamp, it didn’t mean he had to admit as
much to the cocky-assed vampire standing before him.
“Come on, Granger. How can you be certain it wasn’t a
Deschanel kill? You know how easy it is for those of your kind to lose
their…perspective.”
The vampire snorted. “That’s pretty rich coming from
you, Scott. Considering rogue wolves gnaw their victims to the bone.”
“And your kind drains them dry,” he countered, his
voice going softer as his temper sparked like kindling. “In either case, a life
is lost.”
“And we could keep going round and round with this
bullshit, but I’m not looking to waste what little’s left of my night on
arguments. My first purpose in
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