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  Oliver paid attention to each minute detail of Anaïs’s account. First, he took note of the delicate spiral flow of her penmanship. It was clear she’d taken great care in order to be thorough. Then he noticed the subtle smear of blood in the bottom right-hand corner of the page. At one point, she must have been crying as she wrote.

  Oliver’s heart wrenched as he read about Anaïs’s last few encounters with Pierre. The man had most certainly developed an unhealthy romantic fixation with her. He knew that the two of them had once been involved in a relationship, the extent of which was still unclear; Anaïs had yet to divulge that information. Oliver understood why. He himself wrestled with the idea of working side by side with the enemy, let alone trusting one another with details from their shadowy pasts. Like Oliver, it seemed the female vampire had a few skeletons in her closet that she wasn’t quite ready to reveal. It was up to him to break down those barriers. Otherwise, they’d have a very slim chance of finding the killer before he struck again.

  “How have things gotten fucked up so quickly?” Oliver said aloud with a beleaguered sigh.

  Working his way up the ranks with the BPA, Oliver had spent the better part of the last twenty five years feeding his hatred for bloodsuckers. Recruited in Germany while studying Forensic Science at the University of Stuttgart, he’d been taught that supernatural beings were an abomination of nature. For centuries, they had swept across the European continent and held humans hostage with the threat of violence and death. Oliver had seen enough suffering in his time. Members of his own family had fallen victim to the brutal cruelty of Adolf Hitler, a madman whose senseless acts nearly obliterated an entire race of people. Imagine if supernatural beings decided to wipe humans off the face of the earth. Who would be able to stop them?

  Without question, their kind had to be abolished from existence. Oliver felt it was his duty to take up the staff. He was no warrior, but nonetheless, he possessed other useful talents. Astute and resourceful, he had a knack for enlisting agents with the skill and speed needed to decimate their opponents. He trained his men to kill first, and ask questions later. Of all the powerful fiends he’d encountered, vampires, more often than not, were considered guilty until proven innocent.

  Although in the last few months, Oliver’s moral judgment had been tested over and over again, initially when Eva had been kidnapped, her life threatened by Natasha, the Kristopolous family’s jealous female head of security. Yet Andreas had been the one to save her. Then again, once Eva had revealed the depth of her feelings for the man who’d rescued her, and the impending birth of their half-breed offspring. Those events perpetuated a war within Oliver’s conscience. He began to question his view on vampires and life in general.

  Eva was still his number one assassin. That wouldn’t change anytime soon. Even though she’d shacked up with a vampire, she’d stay faithful to her duties as the huntress, vanquishing monsters from the streets. But the lines of good and evil were now blurred, and she often worked with Andreas to bring down the bad guys. Eva’s marriage to the leader of the New York City coven meant that Oliver, too, would have to cooperate with the undead. However, that didn’t mean he had to like them.

  Anaïs had certainly thrown a wrench in that plan. He liked her. Too much, in fact. Sure, he wanted to despise her, but he couldn’t. She was smart, beautiful, and sassy – all he’d ever wanted in a lover. He even enjoyed feeding her his blood. It turned out to be one hell of a turn on. Truth be told, he couldn’t wait to explore the intense sexual chemistry they both seemed to share. Oliver had a feeling that was the only way he’d get her to open up and tell him more about her past. While he could pick up on her cursory thoughts, she kept the important stuff locked away inside her subconscious. She’d been the one with the power to fuck with his mind. Oliver hoped that once he’d slept with her, he be able to stop thinking about her day and night.

  Not likely, but it’s worth a try.

  ****

  Anaïs needed to think. It’d been damn near a week since she’d arrived in New York City, and that scumbag Pierre still hadn’t shown his face. Instead, the passive aggressive motherfucker had taken out his anger and jealousy on two innocent women, both of which had been found bloody and beaten earlier that morning. Even while she slept, Oliver had sent her text messages throughout the day to keep her abreast of any new developments.

  Her gut reaction had been to leave town. Then the killings would cease. After all, fading away into obscurity was what she did best. She’d run away too many times to count: first after being disgraced in the French court and later, when Pierre had turned out to be more cruel and savage than her own self-serving sire. The last straw had come after her best friend’s senseless murder and she’d locked herself away from the world almost entirely. Other than the handful of aspiring ballerinas that she chose to train in the storefront below her Parisian flat, Anaïs had little contact with people.

  But Anaïs had too much pride to let Pierre scare her into seclusion again. It was bad enough she’d been holed up in a stinking hotel room for the past five days. Being stuck in her suite had started to drive her bonkers. Somehow, she had to sneak out.

  The idea of stealing away made Anaïs feel like a thief in the night. Luckily, she’d packed the perfect outfit for such a task. She slipped on a slinky black leather miniskirt and a matching halter top, then strapped on her spike-heeled boots and swept her red hair up into a messy ponytail. She had to admit, she looked sexy as sin and ready to do damage.

  Before she could go in search of Pierre, she had to take out the muscle stationed by the door of her suite. No matter how much her instincts screamed at her to kill him, she’d never be able to muster up enough nerve to follow through with it. After all, Adam had done his best to ensure her safety during her stay at the Four Seasons. As long as he didn’t put up too much of a fight, she’d let him live. Anaïs stepped out into the hall and stuck out her cleavage, eager to distract the guard with a display of her ample assets. But instead of the babysitter she was used to, another man stood in his place.

  Who’s this bozo? Where’s Adam?

  Shaking off the strange sensation that crept up her spine, Anaïs cocked her hip to the side and leaned in, moistening her lower lip with her tongue. Her gaze zeroed in on her prey. With her pupils fully dilated, she stared up into the man’s piercing blue gaze. She watched his hulking six foot four frame fall victim to her irresistible powers of suggestion.

  Anaïs approached him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders as if to initiate a kiss. But once he was close enough, she pivoted on her heels and turned him in her arms, gripping the back of his neck in a tight bear hug. Then she squeezed gently until his face became bright red, a consequence of the blood that had been drawn away from the area. She’d cut off the oxygen to the agent’s brain and watched his limber body collapse onto the floor. However, she hadn’t killed him, just knocked him out for a short time.

  As soon as she was sure the bodyguard was down for the count, she took off her boots and ran for the stairs in order to avoid any more of Oliver’s goons. Anaïs knew that in addition to him, there was at least one BPA agent posted next to the service elevator that she’d need to elude.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t expected the guy in the stairwell. The pair tussled for a time as each one got in a decisive blow or two. However, the scuffle ended once Anaïs stabbed the spike of her shoe into his neck. The man stopped short, staring down at her with an odd expression. Then he pulled the spike out of his throat, and shoved her forcefully against the wall.

  “What the hell is your problem?” he asked, swiping his shaggy blond locks out of his face to reveal a pair of blood-red eyes and sharp, protruding fangs.

  “Oops! Sorry.” Anaïs replied, biting down on the inside of her cheek. “I thought you were a BPA agent. Who are you anyway?”

  “The name’s Bobby DuBois. I work for Andreas. What are you doing out here?” His long, drawn out southern twang came out a tad annoyed.


  “No time to explain. I knocked out one of Oliver’s men and if my estimates are correct, he’ll be waking up any time now. Can you get me out of here?”

  Bobby nodded, then grabbed her wrist and flew down the stairs, skipping steps along the way. When they finally made it to the underground parking garage, he pushed the button on his car alarm until the lights of a silver Porsche flashed on and off.

  The moment they hopped into the car, Anaïs saw the doors of the service elevator open. The bodyguard she’d put to sleep stepped out, eyeing the sports car as it sped off. He looked none too happy and she knew Oliver would be far, far angrier when he found out about her escape.

  “Where’re we headed?” she asked as the car merged into traffic.

  “Andreas’s nightclub, The Crypt,” Bobby said with a shrug of his shoulders. “With a bunch of humans babysitting you for the last few days, I figured you’d want to mingle with your own kind.”

  A man after my own heart, Anaïs chuckled under her breath. No doubt, Pierre would be there.

  Chapter Eight

  Cozy in the Club

  Oliver gripped the steering wheel of the Ranger Rover tight. His fingers dug into the grooves of the leather, leaving imprints in the shallow seams. Adam usually drove, but this time, Oliver insisted on sitting behind the driver’s seat. Like a hawk, his gaze shifted left to right, soaking in every sight that could be found along the busy Manhattan street. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a familiar blue sedan weaving in and out of the lanes, trying to keep up with his speed. It was the same car that’d been on their tail a few nights before.

  Come on, you bastard. Let’s see what you’re made of.

  This time Oliver pressed his foot on the gas pedal, gunning it all the way to the floor and peeling out as he turned the corner. He expected the car several car lengths behind would speed up, but he hadn’t. The stalker had patience, so it seemed. He couldn’t be sure who it was, but Oliver hoped like hell it turned out to be Pierre Gaucher. As soon as he got his hands on the sick son of a bitch, he’d be dead.

  Oliver pulled up in front of the The Crypt. He looked through the rear view mirror, but the car following them had vanished. Good thing, too, because the blue sedan was the last thing on his mind. Anger and pure, unadulterated lust took control of his thoughts. He had to find Anaïs, and the moment he did, he’d set her straight once and for all. Oliver had every intention of dragging her back to BPA Headquarters with him. Once there, he’d utilize whatever tactic proved necessary to get her to talk, even if it entailed the use of his tongue and cock.

  Oliver handed his keys to the valet and strutted past the velvet ropes with Adam not far behind. Normally, they wouldn’t be allowed within fifty feet of the establishment, but Oliver had been smart enough to call beforehand and give Andreas a heads up. Even if he hadn’t gotten the okay, he’d have gone in armed with a shitload of wooden stakes, regardless of the consequences.

  Once inside, the sounds of techno music and the flash of neon lights momentarily blurred his ability to see. After a few minutes, Oliver’s clouded vision cleared and the layout of the club became visible. The place had an open floor plan, with no interior walls to obstruct his view. The enormous space was separated into three separate levels. Oliver entered on the second, or middle, of the three floors.

  Above him, people danced and mingled over the edge of finely ornate terraces accented by dim torch light. Below him, luxurious VIP suites were filled with champagne flutes and velour lounge chairs. On the level where Oliver stood, there was a huge bar with dozens of patrons crowded around it, trying to order drinks. Just past the bar, there was a deejay booth, which opened up into an immense dance floor, complete with a spinning disco ball and raised platforms where go-go girls flashed their feminine wiles.

  Glancing up, Oliver spied the object of his desire on the floor above him. Anaïs was dancing with a man, a vampire as evidenced by the blood-curdling glow of his eyes. He had her luscious curves pinned against the balcony. Her back arched into the shape of a bow and her hair was draped over the railing’s decorative edge like a victory flag waving in the air. The sight made Oliver’s blood boil. He could hear its thunderous roar in his veins. His hands fisted at his side, fingernails digging into his sweaty palms.

  “Wait here. I’ll be back,” he shouted to Adam, who leaned casually against the bar, eyeing a pretty brunette.

  Then Oliver leapt up the stairs to the third level of the nightclub and pushed his way through the hordes of half-drunk partygoers until he stood staring at the back of the male vampire’s skull.

  Oliver tapped the guy on the shoulder. “Pardon me. Do you mind if I cut in?”

  The bloodsucker barely acknowledged his presence. “Get lost,” he answered, with a slight tilt of his head. However, Oliver wouldn’t be denied. He slid out the stake he kept hidden inside his coat pocket. Then he shoved his opponent back so he could look him square in the face as he placed the pointed edge of the weapon to his heart. The man’s eyebrows shot up in surprise once he saw the tip set against the lapel of his stark white shirt.

  The bastard stepped closer, his red orbs growing darker until they’d been transformed into a dark, glossy haze. Fangs extended, he sneered into Oliver’s ear; the threat came through loud and clear. Then, a splotch of blood spread across his chest. But before Oliver could press the stake all the way through, Anaïs stepped between them and knocked the weapon to the floor.

  “Both of you calm down,” she said as she stared back and forth from one man to the other. Then, she turned to the vampire she’d been dancing with earlier. “You’ll have to excuse me. It appears that my dance card’s full for the rest of the night.”

  The sly smirk that developed at the corners of Oliver’s mouth proved priceless, better than if he’d rubbed salt in the vampire’s bloody wound. His rival stuck his proverbial tail between his legs and disappeared into the crowd.

  Oliver snatched up Anaïs’s hand, and swept her into his strong embrace. He grabbed her ass and thrust her against his steel frame, rubbing his partial erection over the bundle of nerves that surrounded her clit. Their bodies glued together, they grooved to the tempo of the fast-paced techno beats. Hip to hip, the sexual tension between them sparked into a raging, lust-laden inferno.

  Oliver grasped both of his partner’s hands. He thrust them behind her back, exerting his dominance and giving her very little room to move. It seemed she could hardly breathe, let alone find a way to escape. With Anaïs at his mercy, Oliver swooped in, his face mere inches from hers.

  “You’ve been a very bad girl, Anaïs Moreau.” His husky voice whispered in her ear. It was laced with hostility and unfulfilled desire. Then he lowered his head and kissed her, slow and sensually while a hand explored every facet of Anaïs’s magnificent flesh through her clothes. Soon, he heard a soft moan slip past her lips and felt her tremble in his arms.

  Oliver couldn’t hesitate; the time to act had come. As he continued to distract her with his mouth, he reached one hand into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a zip tie. It was a simple, yet effective tool he often employed when the need to apprehend a suspect presented itself. As he locked the plastic apparatus into place, Anaïs’s body stiffened. The arch of her spine lengthened, while the serene expression on her face became replaced with an indignant scowl. Lifting her chin, she turned her nose to the wind and refused to meet her lover’s simmering gaze.

  “So this is what it’s come to? For God’s sake, I’m a vampire, not a rabid animal. Must you tie me up like this?”

  “Somebody’s gotta save you from yourself,” Oliver smiled into the side of her cheek, half amused at her snooty show of defiance. Maybe she thought it’d piss him off, but it only served to make him hard and hornier than imaginable. “Besides, have you ever tried playing the role of a submissive? You never know, you might enjoy letting someone else take the lead for once.”

  It had been a while since Oliver had been with a lover, so he’d had lots of time to
prepare. When it came to women, he’d often come across as shy and reserved. Yet with Anaïs, the opposite seemed to be the case. Maybe because she was a bloodthirsty vampire, he couldn’t be sure. Either way, the commander in him had planned her seduction down to every last detail, as if it were a covert mission. The only task that remained? Its flawless execution.

  Oliver picked his lover up and tossed her over his broad shoulder, motioning to Adam below to meet them by the main entrance on the second floor. Oliver carried Anaïs, his hand settled along the curve of his plump derrière. Vampires and humans turned to stare as she kicked and squirmed, trying like the devil to spring herself loose. In fact, he was surprised she hadn’t sunk her fangs into one of the thick veins on his neck.

  “Oliver. Put. Me. Down,” Anaïs screamed at the top of her lungs. Still, very few people could hear her over the loud music in the club.

  The vampire’s flailing protests had an unfortunate effect, at least for her. It caused the skirt she wore to rise significantly and expose her nakedness. Oliver felt her soft, supple rear press into his palm.

  Dear Lord, she not wearing anything underneath the leather skirt.

  Once inside the elevator, he shifted her in his arms, and then glanced up. He couldn’t resist a peek. He eyed the vibrant colors of a purple and gold wildflower tattoo that shimmered on her bare flesh. It was surrounded by a web of intricately-woven vines that slid down the crevice of her ass and pointed straight toward the sweet nectar hidden between her thighs.

  Sexy.

  The elevator doors parted and Oliver jostled his way through the crowd to get to the exit. Outside, Adam was waiting by the car, the back door on the passenger side propped open.

  “Get in. And fasten your seatbelt,” Oliver said as he set Anaïs down on her feet. Then, he slid in next to her and tapped twice on the headrest in front of him to let Adam know it was time to go.