really had to get your lily-white hands dirty in order to get the job done.
His hands curled around the bars of the motorcycle he’d “borrowed” earlier. He watched the two males climb back inside the van, and when they took off, he was right on their trail.
Getting his hands dirty had never been a big problem for him.
“Get me down from here!” Seline screamed.
Cole slowly picked himself off the floor. He rubbed his jaw. She’d been feeling pissy, so she’d let his pretty-boy face slam into the bathroom door. “No can do, ma’am.”
Oh, great, and Texas flowed beneath his words.
Seline kicked out into the air. She was flailing like a freaking fish.
“Boss’s magic.” Cole gave a shrug. One of those I-don’t-give-a-fuck shrugs. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”
Fabulous. Sam had actually sicced his guard dog on her. “More likely, I’ll hurt you.”
A ghost of a smile lifted his lips. “I’m not the one who left you hanging.” Now his gaze drifted down her legs. “I don’t . . . ah . . . normally leave women like that.”
She stilled. No way was the demon Casanova hitting on her. But . . .
She was still riding high on the energy she’d taken from Sam. She’d never gotten a boost like that in her whole life. As far as she knew, she could be emitting some kind of succubus beacon. Come . . . let’s sex it up.
She lifted her hand. “Get the eyes off my legs or you’ll get another hit.” As if she didn’t have enough to deal with right then. “And get me down !”
He crossed his arms again—must be his favorite pose. Then as she glared at him, Cole slowly lifted his eyes and propped his back against the wall. “Only Sam can free you.”
“Then call him on the phone and tell him to put me down!” So she could go and kick his ass.
Cole shook his head and managed to look exceedingly unconcerned. How many times had he found floating women in his boss’s bedroom? Her jaw clenched so hard that her back teeth ached. Bastard. Was this a normal morning routine?
“I can’t go calling him now. Sorry, ma’am,” he finally drawled. “See . . . Sam doesn’t exactly trust you.”
Good enough for sex, not good enough for trust. Damn him.
Cole’s eyes flashed demon black and his handsome face hardened. “He doesn’t trust you, and neither do I.”
Well, so much for being a succubus beacon. Right then, the guy looked like he could readily kill her.
The humans didn’t lead Sam to Az. They took him to a graveyard instead.
It was still too early for most tourists—he’d noticed they liked to hit the cemeteries in the evening or at night—so the place was deserted. Sam shoved down the kickstand on his motorcycle and waited a beat, then he followed the men past the old, wrought-iron gates.
He’d seen the humans grab a bag before they’d gone inside. He knew he wasn’t the only one hunting this day.
The tourists who came to New Orleans would be freaking terrified if they knew what really waited in those crypts. Then they’d stop leaving their offerings for voodoo queens and stop slipping in for “haunted” tours.
He knew what hid inside the coffins, but didn’t care enough to be terrified.
He watched as the men pried open a door and then slipped in an old vault. One that had been around since the late 1800s. Sam heard the shuffle of footsteps and then the sudden scream that erupted, a scream that seemed to burst from the crypt.
Sam tensed, but then the redhead came flying out of the crypt. His scream. The scream ended abruptly when the guy hit the nearest monument.
Sam guessed the hunters had taken on prey they couldn’t handle.
If that “prey” killed the blonde before Sam got a chance to question him . . . I’ll lose valuable time.
He hated wasting time. Sighing, he rolled his shoulders and stalked forward. He’d just reached the old entrance to the white tomb when the explosion hit him. Fire raced around him—more fucking
His hands curled around the bars of the motorcycle he’d “borrowed” earlier. He watched the two males climb back inside the van, and when they took off, he was right on their trail.
Getting his hands dirty had never been a big problem for him.
“Get me down from here!” Seline screamed.
Cole slowly picked himself off the floor. He rubbed his jaw. She’d been feeling pissy, so she’d let his pretty-boy face slam into the bathroom door. “No can do, ma’am.”
Oh, great, and Texas flowed beneath his words.
Seline kicked out into the air. She was flailing like a freaking fish.
“Boss’s magic.” Cole gave a shrug. One of those I-don’t-give-a-fuck shrugs. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”
Fabulous. Sam had actually sicced his guard dog on her. “More likely, I’ll hurt you.”
A ghost of a smile lifted his lips. “I’m not the one who left you hanging.” Now his gaze drifted down her legs. “I don’t . . . ah . . . normally leave women like that.”
She stilled. No way was the demon Casanova hitting on her. But . . .
She was still riding high on the energy she’d taken from Sam. She’d never gotten a boost like that in her whole life. As far as she knew, she could be emitting some kind of succubus beacon. Come . . . let’s sex it up.
She lifted her hand. “Get the eyes off my legs or you’ll get another hit.” As if she didn’t have enough to deal with right then. “And get me down !”
He crossed his arms again—must be his favorite pose. Then as she glared at him, Cole slowly lifted his eyes and propped his back against the wall. “Only Sam can free you.”
“Then call him on the phone and tell him to put me down!” So she could go and kick his ass.
Cole shook his head and managed to look exceedingly unconcerned. How many times had he found floating women in his boss’s bedroom? Her jaw clenched so hard that her back teeth ached. Bastard. Was this a normal morning routine?
“I can’t go calling him now. Sorry, ma’am,” he finally drawled. “See . . . Sam doesn’t exactly trust you.”
Good enough for sex, not good enough for trust. Damn him.
Cole’s eyes flashed demon black and his handsome face hardened. “He doesn’t trust you, and neither do I.”
Well, so much for being a succubus beacon. Right then, the guy looked like he could readily kill her.
The humans didn’t lead Sam to Az. They took him to a graveyard instead.
It was still too early for most tourists—he’d noticed they liked to hit the cemeteries in the evening or at night—so the place was deserted. Sam shoved down the kickstand on his motorcycle and waited a beat, then he followed the men past the old, wrought-iron gates.
He’d seen the humans grab a bag before they’d gone inside. He knew he wasn’t the only one hunting this day.
The tourists who came to New Orleans would be freaking terrified if they knew what really waited in those crypts. Then they’d stop leaving their offerings for voodoo queens and stop slipping in for “haunted” tours.
He knew what hid inside the coffins, but didn’t care enough to be terrified.
He watched as the men pried open a door and then slipped in an old vault. One that had been around since the late 1800s. Sam heard the shuffle of footsteps and then the sudden scream that erupted, a scream that seemed to burst from the crypt.
Sam tensed, but then the redhead came flying out of the crypt. His scream. The scream ended abruptly when the guy hit the nearest monument.
Sam guessed the hunters had taken on prey they couldn’t handle.
If that “prey” killed the blonde before Sam got a chance to question him . . . I’ll lose valuable time.
He hated wasting time. Sighing, he rolled his shoulders and stalked forward. He’d just reached the old entrance to the white tomb when the explosion hit him. Fire raced around him—more fucking
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