Hawke had made a few calls earlier that day, and her credentials checked out. Like any coven worth its salt, he and his brethren kept a finger on the pulse of everything that happened in the city they chose to make their home, including the entire area around it. They also had contacts throughout the country, mostly in other covens and even some shifter packs. The supernatural world may fight amongst themselves, but they worked together to stay under the radar and to keep things from turning into another, much bloodier, version of the Salem Witch hunts. For the truth of the matter was, even though vampires and shifters were the superior species, humans far outnumbered them. If the overpopulated race ever decided to band together to take out the creatures roaming the night and threatening their children, the supernatural would lose. Eventually.
It was already beginning with Parasupe, the agency created by the human government here in Texas to control “rogue” vampires and other creatures. Only their version of “rogue” was anyone they ran across who wasn’t human. Whispers of vampires and shifters disappearing under strange circumstances had been coming to his ears for a few years now. Nothing too close to home. Yet. But it was only a matter of time according to the info Kohl’s female had brought them. And she would know. She used to work there, after all. And she was going to be one of the key players in taking Parasupe down.
Checking his appearance one last time, Hawke left his room and made his way through the underground caverns his coven called home. His path lit by subtle lighting the vampires had installed when the technology became available—because even they couldn’t see in such complete and utter darkness; he forced himself not to appear overeager as he walked through the narrow tunnels. Water dripped in shiny rivulets down the smooth limestone, catching the light. Over the years, it would reshape the caverns as it had since the creation of the earth. But for now, it just added much needed moisture to the air.
Passing Kohl’s area, he glanced down the narrow tunnel that would eventually open into a small cave outside his room, more commonly known as the “foyer” between the two of them. Kohl wasn’t there very often these days, as he and Devon preferred the privacy of the rooms beneath their favorite Irish restaurant while they waited for their house to be built. But Hawke would still look for him every time he walked by. They’d been friends and neighbors so long, it was a habit that was hard to break.
Nodding to a few male members of the coven just coming in, he came to the ramp that would take him aboveground. The reinforced door at the top took him straight into The Caves. Hawke breathed a sigh of relief as he left the confinement of the caverns and the door closed and locked behind him. Even after all the years he’d lived there, and even though, logically, he knew it was the safest place for them all in this piece of hell they called Texas, he still experienced a touch of claustrophobia underground.
The heavy beat of the latest dance mix blasted his ears, and through the fog of the smoke machines and the flash of the disco lights, he saw Andrew behind the bar setting things up for the rush of patrons who were no doubt in line just outside the door waiting to get in. Hawke checked his phone. They still had fifteen minutes before the club opened.
He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the rush of people, and froze. His gums burned as his fangs shot through in an instant, and a low growl reverberated deep in his suddenly parched throat.
Everly was already inside. He could smell her.
He spotted her in the middle of the dance floor with Devon and Frank—Devon’s pain in the ass, but nonetheless amusing, ex-neighbor and friend. As he watched, Everly threw her head back and laughed at something Frank said while Devon shouted over the music, “What? What did you say?”
The ability to read lips appeared to be nearly as beneficial as having supernatural hearing.
As if she sensed his presence at that precise moment, her head whipped around in his direction, red curls flying. Tonight, she wore washed out jeans, a purple tank top, and gold Converse sneakers. A long, thin, gold chain hung around her neck, hanging nearly to her navel, and more gold glinted on her fingers. Her hair covered her ears, but Hawke would bet good money he’d find earrings to match if he could see them.
He hadn’t noticed her penchant for shiny things the night before. But then again, he’d been caught unaware by the interesting mix of deceit and honesty in her clear, gray eyes, and by his own struggle not to throw her across the desk and sink his dick into her sweet heat while confessing all of his deepest and darkest secrets, just before he availed himself of her sweet blood. The same urge he was fighting now. The woman…did things to him. Unnatural things. And she did it seemingly without trying.
Hawke was determined to find out why.
Eyes locked on his, she raised her arms above her head and rolled her hips like a belly dancer, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth when he could do nothing but stare.
His upper lip twitched, baring the tip of one fang.
But he was saved from embarrassing himself when Devon finally noticed him standing there, staring like an idiot, and grabbed Everly’s hand, breaking the strange connection. Waving to Frank to follow them, she pulled her over to Hawke. “Did I miss the memo?”
Hawke felt the tension leave his shoulders as he smiled close-mouthed at his best friend’s female. “Hey, beautiful.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Everly straighten at the compliment, a stab of jealousy shooting toward him. It seemed he wasn’t the only affected one. The thought did not make him feel better. “What memo is that?”
“The memo that today we wear purple, of course.” She grinned, specks of gold glinting in her brown eyes, looking between his dress shirt and Everly’s tank top.
She and the reporter appeared to be hitting it off. The way women could bond on a dance floor never ceased to fascinate him. Assuming she didn’t remember him, he allowed a look of mild curiosity to color his features as he asked, “Who’s this?” Only then did he turn to acknowledge Everly.
Small lines appeared between the reporter’s brows, and she looked up at him in confusion before her eyes dropped back to his mouth.
Hawke extended his hand. “My name is Hawke.”
She looked down at his hand but didn’t take it. “I know,” she said. “I remember.”
His heart beat hard within his chest, but only twice, before it settled into its natural rhythm. “You remember?”
“Yes. We met last night.” She recovered quickly from her confusion, smiling at him. “I’m Everly Taylor, from Capital Press? You told me to come back tonight.”
Frank spotted Andrew at the bar and excused himself with a loud, “Be right back, girls.”
The fact that he included Hawke in this statement didn’t elude the vampire, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
Devon caught on, albeit a bit belatedly, and glanced pointedly at the reporter. “Should I not have let her in? I assumed it was okay. Hawke?” she prodded when he didn’t respond right away.
Raising his voice so she would hear him over the music, he said, “No, it’s fine. I just forgot for a minute. We had a busy night last night.”
Devon gave him a strange look, and he willed her not to say anything else. She knew as well as he did that he never forgot anything.
“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “I’ll deal with her.”
