The Way You Bite(13)

Lexan didn’t jump to agree. He would do what he needed to finish this. Plans of how to draw her to him amped him up again. The beast within him loved a good hunt.

“Earth bath? You meant grave?” Eric cracked his gotcha-smile.

“Did you get Roman’s number?”

“Here,” Eric handed his phone to him and pulled the car back onto the road.

Lexan pressed to send through the phone number. When Roman picked up he said, “This is Aleksander Dimitrov.”

“Your Majesty. It is an honor to receive your call. How may I be of service?”

“Tell me of your relationship to Velvet Scarpa and of her assisting wolves.”

Roman cleared his throat. “Are we on a secure line?”

“As secure as possible for a cell phone.”

“On occasion she has treated injured wolves, usually young, as a favor to me when they are closer to her than me. You understand, this puts her at great risk.”

“How did you meet her?”

“I was her advisor while she completed her rotations senior year in medical school long ago. Our coexistence in an academic atmosphere was unexpected. We had to come to a necessary truce.”

“Are you and she…involved?” Lexan tensed, vexed to realize how important the answer to this question had become.

“What? No…uh, nothing that isn’t professional.”

Lexan settled back into the seat. “Why does she help us? It doesn’t make sense.”

“She doesn’t like suffering, especially in animals. It doesn’t make sense as a vamp whose mother might’ve been killed by a wolf, but she is the exception. Did you know she’s one of the only vamps to go up against Dominic on multiple occasions?”

“Does she know about the virus?”

“No. Very few here know. It’s here, though. I’ve sent two infected wolves to Europe, to one of the facilities.”

“It is to remain quiet until my people have the cure. We’re not there yet. No need to inspire panic.”

“She might be able to help. You know she’s got an MD and a veterinary degree.”

“We have the best working on it. Thank you, Roman.” Lexan ended the call and handed the phone back to Eric. He’d find out the reason she helped them.

His phone buzzed with an incoming message. It wasn’t the minutia he expected: Two hours. You alone. Location to come.

…

Lexan drummed his fingers against his sweating beer glass. Bodies gyrated on a packed dance floor a few feet away. He didn’t frequent human haunts as a rule. He had no interest in anything offered by the barely dressed girls draped around the periphery of the downtown club or the pierced, leathered guys eyeballing from the bar ready to deal pharmaceuticals.

He punched the Indiglo on his watch. This meeting should’ve been over five minutes ago. Three more minutes. Then, he was out of here.

He tugged at the edges of his sweatshirt’s hood to ensure it still camouflaged his face. He didn’t want to deal with an accidental female enthrallment. He adjusted the loose black coat floating down to his knees, ensuring easy access to the double-edged blade at his side. The sweatshirt-coat combo, although hot, was vital to camouflage his weapons, a bad habit, a leftover from the War. He didn’t miss the old days when werewolves fought to emancipate themselves from vamps. But, back then, no one cared if he carried a big-ass blade. These days, metal detectors and the paranoid security rampant in the human world made concealment a nightmare. Weapons remained a necessity. When the vamps broke the peace, he’d kill before reverting to subservience.

Over the human lust hormones he detected a nonhuman scent.

Finally.

The human techno-grind parted. Those at the edge of the opening halted as a darkly clad form glided through. Blaylock.

He and Blay represented a slim minority of living veterans of the War. Relic warriors of an era long gone. That didn’t mean they shared beers and war stories on the weekends. This particular wolf chose to walk his own path in the shadows, although not alone. He had an army of wolves who worked for him, many who were scientists researching medical problems inherent to wolves.

A curvaceous brunette woman threw herself into Blay’s path. He barely paused. The girl jumped away. He probably used a mental nudge to get rid of her. The nifty ability unnerved many, but not him. Mental coercion didn’t work on him, maybe because he held some serious seniority over this wolf.

Blay slid into the straight-back chair opposite. His head swiveled to glare behind him toward the entrance. Distinct disadvantage to be back-to-the-exit. He shifted around. “I was delayed.”

“Apparently.” Lexan scowled. No one showed up “late” to meet with him. Ever.

Blay dropped his gaze. Marginal submission, but not enough.

Lexan glanced at his watch. “My time until they track me down is limited.”

Blay glanced around as if one of the Elites might slither from the shadows.

He hated giving the boys the slip earlier, but no one was to know this wolf still lived. The Elites were wickedly good at their job. Actually, they were better than good. As ex-cons and criminal masterminds, they were downright terrifying in their ability to track and ferociously protect him. They had to be. Between extremist vamps like those in the States, human hunter zealots, and dissenter wolves, there were more than a few gunning for the king.