One
Blowing out a breath, Christian Hart watched it fog
before him. He stood against the black SUV’s hood. He had parked beneath the
streetlight posted behind the Lizard Lounge, Paris’s resident faery nightclub.
Or at least, the club was the closest most would get to faeries without actually
stepping into FaeryTown, where the real danger lurked.
It was unseasonably cold for October, but regardless, he didn’t
wear a coat over the black T-shirt he’d tucked into black cargo pants. A leather
holster was strapped across his chest and back, but the pistol tucked under his
arm didn’t sport normal bullets: they were wooden, designed for stopping
vampires. Wood wouldn’t kill them, but it would give the nasty longtooths pause
long enough for Hart to take them out. If necessary.
It had been some time since vampires had bothered his pack. He
missed the action.
Easing back his shoulders, he winced—he was feeling it now in
his triceps. Shouldn’t have spent all morning with the
punching bag . He smirked at his wimpy thoughts.
He’d foregone interior duty tonight, letting Tony take that
detail, which included protecting their pack leader at close range. The
principal, Remy Caufield, had a penchant for shagging faeries, and he would
remain inside the nightclub that catered to the fey bits of dust and menace
until it closed hours from now.
Fine with Hart. Some time alone to let his thoughts
wander—hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to be inside, mainlining the thumping
beat into his blood, eyeing up the sexy young pretties. He wasn’t particular
about faeries; he could take ‘em or leave ‘em. As long as a wolf didn’t fall in
love with one of the sidhe and attempt to make her his mate—they were ace for
one-night stands.
Tony’s voice spoke in the two-way curled over Hart’s right ear.
“Something’s going on in here, Hart. Be on the lookout for a tall figure in
black.”
“What the hell?”
“I didn’t have time to assess. I think he planted something on
Caufield. Tried to take a swing at him, too. Harm was intended. It’s dark in the
back rooms. I didn’t see his escape. Can you catch him?”
Hart’s senses piqued as the club’s back door slammed open and
out dashed a figure in black, pushing through the crowd of hopefuls who would
never be allowed access inside, and hairpinning it to race down the alleyway. He
couldn’t catch a scent, but he wouldn’t lose him visually.
“Got the bloke.”
Sliding behind the wheel of the SUV and revving the engine, he
rolled onto the street. The assailant achieved good speed, forcing Hart to push
twenty kilometers an hour, and navigate a tight Parisian alleyway, to keep
up.
It was high time he saw some action. Hart couldn’t satisfy his
need for adrenaline at the pack compound so he lived apart from the wolves he
called family and spent a lot of time in his personal gym. What he needed was a
place out in the country to let his wolf run free more often. His very nature
demanded it. Yet Caufield was too citified, as was the entire Levallois pack.
Though, they did have their darker pursuits.
Hart tried to distance himself from those matters.
Navigating a sharp corner, he saw the person he pursued look
back. “Yes, I’m on you, idiot. What are you? Wolf? You should be able to run
faster. I’d get out and chase you on foot, but this is more fun, eh? Watching
you like a deer in my headlights.”
He chuckled to himself, but swore when the next turn found him
driving right into three concrete bollards jutting waist-high and designed to
keep vehicles off sidewalks. The SUV’s chrome bumper just kissed one of the
columns. Swearing, he backed up and took the opposite turn.
Heading toward the Seine, he cruised slowly, eyeing up and down
the streets. Couldn’t have lost him. He should get out and track him on foot,
only he hadn’t picked up the culprit’s scent at the club due to the ridiculous
thrill of finally seeing some action.
Suddenly the passenger
Blowing out a breath, Christian Hart watched it fog
before him. He stood against the black SUV’s hood. He had parked beneath the
streetlight posted behind the Lizard Lounge, Paris’s resident faery nightclub.
Or at least, the club was the closest most would get to faeries without actually
stepping into FaeryTown, where the real danger lurked.
It was unseasonably cold for October, but regardless, he didn’t
wear a coat over the black T-shirt he’d tucked into black cargo pants. A leather
holster was strapped across his chest and back, but the pistol tucked under his
arm didn’t sport normal bullets: they were wooden, designed for stopping
vampires. Wood wouldn’t kill them, but it would give the nasty longtooths pause
long enough for Hart to take them out. If necessary.
It had been some time since vampires had bothered his pack. He
missed the action.
Easing back his shoulders, he winced—he was feeling it now in
his triceps. Shouldn’t have spent all morning with the
punching bag . He smirked at his wimpy thoughts.
He’d foregone interior duty tonight, letting Tony take that
detail, which included protecting their pack leader at close range. The
principal, Remy Caufield, had a penchant for shagging faeries, and he would
remain inside the nightclub that catered to the fey bits of dust and menace
until it closed hours from now.
Fine with Hart. Some time alone to let his thoughts
wander—hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to be inside, mainlining the thumping
beat into his blood, eyeing up the sexy young pretties. He wasn’t particular
about faeries; he could take ‘em or leave ‘em. As long as a wolf didn’t fall in
love with one of the sidhe and attempt to make her his mate—they were ace for
one-night stands.
Tony’s voice spoke in the two-way curled over Hart’s right ear.
“Something’s going on in here, Hart. Be on the lookout for a tall figure in
black.”
“What the hell?”
“I didn’t have time to assess. I think he planted something on
Caufield. Tried to take a swing at him, too. Harm was intended. It’s dark in the
back rooms. I didn’t see his escape. Can you catch him?”
Hart’s senses piqued as the club’s back door slammed open and
out dashed a figure in black, pushing through the crowd of hopefuls who would
never be allowed access inside, and hairpinning it to race down the alleyway. He
couldn’t catch a scent, but he wouldn’t lose him visually.
“Got the bloke.”
Sliding behind the wheel of the SUV and revving the engine, he
rolled onto the street. The assailant achieved good speed, forcing Hart to push
twenty kilometers an hour, and navigate a tight Parisian alleyway, to keep
up.
It was high time he saw some action. Hart couldn’t satisfy his
need for adrenaline at the pack compound so he lived apart from the wolves he
called family and spent a lot of time in his personal gym. What he needed was a
place out in the country to let his wolf run free more often. His very nature
demanded it. Yet Caufield was too citified, as was the entire Levallois pack.
Though, they did have their darker pursuits.
Hart tried to distance himself from those matters.
Navigating a sharp corner, he saw the person he pursued look
back. “Yes, I’m on you, idiot. What are you? Wolf? You should be able to run
faster. I’d get out and chase you on foot, but this is more fun, eh? Watching
you like a deer in my headlights.”
He chuckled to himself, but swore when the next turn found him
driving right into three concrete bollards jutting waist-high and designed to
keep vehicles off sidewalks. The SUV’s chrome bumper just kissed one of the
columns. Swearing, he backed up and took the opposite turn.
Heading toward the Seine, he cruised slowly, eyeing up and down
the streets. Couldn’t have lost him. He should get out and track him on foot,
only he hadn’t picked up the culprit’s scent at the club due to the ridiculous
thrill of finally seeing some action.
Suddenly the passenger
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