the street. The scents of more Lycan—different scents and some of the same from the cemetery—lingered there. He paced back and forth in front of the building for a few moments and finally caught a single scent leading up to the melee—hers.
She’d either walked into a trap set for her—poor darling—or inadvertently stumbled into the midst of a turf war between the two groups of Lycan he’d detected. He followed her delightful scent to the corner and rounded it, discovering that the vamp had been trailing her. Frowning, he made his way to the next corner and stood for a few moments studying the Club Rouge—Constantine’s lair.
50
He would sleeping now, Caleb thought, lifting his head to study the sun. The question was, did he know? Or care? It certainly wasn’t Constantine who’d followed her, but that didn’t rule out the possibility that the vamp who had had been under orders to keep an eye on her.
On the hunt again after a few moments, he picked up her scent once more and followed it until he found himself standing in front of a run down apartment building. He followed her scent from there—much fainter—to a ‘greasy spoon’ and then back again.
She lived here. She worked there.
She went for a walk, picked up a vampire along the way and then landed in the middle of a turf war. Alternatively, she’d already caught the interest of the vamp, or his master, and possibly the Lycans, as well.
He considered and finally decided to wait to explore her apartment. He’d had his fun with the city’s finest. He didn’t want them pawing her things.
“Where are you, my little papillion ?” he murmured musingly once he’d gotten in his car again. Butterfly, he mused and then felt a touch of amusement. “How appropriate. Chaos. Is that your true role in this, I wonder? To spread chaos where ever you roam, my butterfly? I suppose we shall see.”
Ignoring the speed limit signs, he headed for his estate once more. He was mildly annoyed that Duncan had proven to be so inexcusably useless when he’d shown such promise to begin with by finding the woman, but then it occurred to him that Duncan hadn’t been completely incompetent. He’d had the grace to die nearby. If not for that he wouldn’t even have her scent—wouldn’t have anything more than the admittedly lovely view of her bottom in a pair of snug jeans, the color of her beautiful hair, and the sight of the mark on her arm to tease him.
He was less pleased that someone had snatched her, but he had her scent now.
One way or another, he would find her.
* * * *
“We oughta arrest the bastard!” Brown growled as the two detectives watched Westmoreland fly past them for the second time that day. The bastard even had the audacity to wave at them as he went by— ten miles above the speed limit and climbing! “For what?” Reilly grunted.
Brown sent him a wide-eyed look of disbelief. “You kidding me? We just talked to the guy about the murder. Here he’s claiming he don’t have a clue and heads right to the crime scene!”
Reilly rolled his eyes. “He had today’s newspaper right there on his desk— with directions to the crime scene. Anybody could’ve put that together.”
“Yeah? But he ain’t just anybody. He’s the guy the dead guy worked for.”
“Maybe so, but we ain’t got nothin’ to touch him. That ain’t what bothers me about this whole thing anyway.”
“Well, it pisses me off! What part bothers you?”
Reilly sent him a wry look. “I got the feelin’ that, by the time he’d walked the crime scene and took that stroll down the block, he knew exactly what happened here last night. And we don’t know dick, yet. That’s the part that really pisses me off!”
* * * *
“I don’t know, Pater. It looked like the mark to me, but don’t it seem weird to you that the promised one would be a white woman?”
51
Luke grunted absently. “There’s nothing in the prophesy that says she’ll hail from any of the
She’d either walked into a trap set for her—poor darling—or inadvertently stumbled into the midst of a turf war between the two groups of Lycan he’d detected. He followed her delightful scent to the corner and rounded it, discovering that the vamp had been trailing her. Frowning, he made his way to the next corner and stood for a few moments studying the Club Rouge—Constantine’s lair.
50
He would sleeping now, Caleb thought, lifting his head to study the sun. The question was, did he know? Or care? It certainly wasn’t Constantine who’d followed her, but that didn’t rule out the possibility that the vamp who had had been under orders to keep an eye on her.
On the hunt again after a few moments, he picked up her scent once more and followed it until he found himself standing in front of a run down apartment building. He followed her scent from there—much fainter—to a ‘greasy spoon’ and then back again.
She lived here. She worked there.
She went for a walk, picked up a vampire along the way and then landed in the middle of a turf war. Alternatively, she’d already caught the interest of the vamp, or his master, and possibly the Lycans, as well.
He considered and finally decided to wait to explore her apartment. He’d had his fun with the city’s finest. He didn’t want them pawing her things.
“Where are you, my little papillion ?” he murmured musingly once he’d gotten in his car again. Butterfly, he mused and then felt a touch of amusement. “How appropriate. Chaos. Is that your true role in this, I wonder? To spread chaos where ever you roam, my butterfly? I suppose we shall see.”
Ignoring the speed limit signs, he headed for his estate once more. He was mildly annoyed that Duncan had proven to be so inexcusably useless when he’d shown such promise to begin with by finding the woman, but then it occurred to him that Duncan hadn’t been completely incompetent. He’d had the grace to die nearby. If not for that he wouldn’t even have her scent—wouldn’t have anything more than the admittedly lovely view of her bottom in a pair of snug jeans, the color of her beautiful hair, and the sight of the mark on her arm to tease him.
He was less pleased that someone had snatched her, but he had her scent now.
One way or another, he would find her.
* * * *
“We oughta arrest the bastard!” Brown growled as the two detectives watched Westmoreland fly past them for the second time that day. The bastard even had the audacity to wave at them as he went by— ten miles above the speed limit and climbing! “For what?” Reilly grunted.
Brown sent him a wide-eyed look of disbelief. “You kidding me? We just talked to the guy about the murder. Here he’s claiming he don’t have a clue and heads right to the crime scene!”
Reilly rolled his eyes. “He had today’s newspaper right there on his desk— with directions to the crime scene. Anybody could’ve put that together.”
“Yeah? But he ain’t just anybody. He’s the guy the dead guy worked for.”
“Maybe so, but we ain’t got nothin’ to touch him. That ain’t what bothers me about this whole thing anyway.”
“Well, it pisses me off! What part bothers you?”
Reilly sent him a wry look. “I got the feelin’ that, by the time he’d walked the crime scene and took that stroll down the block, he knew exactly what happened here last night. And we don’t know dick, yet. That’s the part that really pisses me off!”
* * * *
“I don’t know, Pater. It looked like the mark to me, but don’t it seem weird to you that the promised one would be a white woman?”
51
Luke grunted absently. “There’s nothing in the prophesy that says she’ll hail from any of the
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