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Where to now? He paused, his focus trying to veil the surrounding emotions of strangers as he sent out a mental probe, seeking any recognizable sign of her.
He burst into dead run, hurtling his body over the median of a busy road and moving too fast for anyone to see. He could smell her damp hair, hear her timid heartbeat. His body throbbed as the distant “thank you” of her voice carried.
The dank waft of smoke and the sound of music then she was gone. Where? Her scent disappeared.
Up ahead he spotted a small strip of stores with an overhang. Shaking off his drenched clothes, he regrouped in front of what was obviously a coffee shop. A glowing green sign hummed two doors down where music played from within the walls.
He could smell the distinct, crisp burst of tobacco smoke. And men. There were several men behind those brick walls. And if he breathed deep enough... Honeysuckle.
The electric green sign read Jimbo’s. Who was Jimbo? Did he have something to do with his mate? Was he a threat?
His heart hammered against the muscle of his chest. Visions assaulted his mind as several dreams from the past week pushed to the forefront of his mind, all vying for his attention at once, blinding him to the present. Laughter. Singing. Making love.
Hunger ripped through him with a ravenous need to feed, but he didn’t want just anything. He wanted her. And she was on the other side of this door.
His ears zeroed in on her pulse, memorizing the soft chug of her blood pumping through her delicate veins. So fragile. So petite. He could easily steal her away.
His. She was his, belonging only to him. The relief of salvation stole his breath and left him dizzy, in a state of drunken euphoria. Tonight, his worry would end, and he could return home by morning.
His grandfather was right. It was so simple. He could feel how well she’d complement his soul without even looking at her. They were part of the same whole. So incredibly perfect, it could only be by God’s design that they found each other. She was his.
His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated with a jolt of excitement. God help him, he wanted her. His palm slapped against the damp brick as he tried to find his bearings. He couldn’t go to her like this. He needed to make a calm entrance, approach her gently, and then whisk her away.
His fangs punched through his gums. His body hardened like granite, every muscle taut and wired from the chase. As his pulse skittered with hungry anticipation his insides seemed to purr.
Cupping a hand over his jaw, he forced his fangs to retract. He rolled his shoulders and stood straight, blinking his eyes until his vision settled. Calm. He needed to be calm.
Once he found his composure, he pushed through the entrance into the stale air of a dimly lit tavern. He scanned the numerous faces, all male, but saw no sign of his female.
Music played from a machine in the corner. Sliding off his hat, his nose twitched. Honeysuckle.
Turning toward the bar, his breath hitched as she disappeared through a doorway. His heart vaulted in his chest, punching him in the back of the throat and he staggered back a step.
She was stunning, slight but curvy. The delicate peaks of her breasts pressed against the damp fabric of her shirt as she twisted to tie an apron around her hips. Her legs...
He frowned. She was barely dressed.
“It’s pouring.” Her voice cut through him and his knees wobbled. It was her.
He staggered to the closest table, every instinct he possessed demanded he claim her now, but her beauty disarmed him like an opiate. He could hardly remember his name, let alone how to walk. He needed to get ahold of himself.
He slid into the booth and stared as she lifted a tray. Did she work here?
His body thrummed with pulsing need as his eyes followed across the bar. The other men didn’t seem to see her. Except the one behind the bar. He watched her and Adam watched him, a feral growl forming in his throat as he fought back the urge to rip the man’s throat open with his teeth.
“What can I getcha?”
His attention jerked from the bartender to her face. Her scent overpowered everything else, stealing into him and rendering him speechless. Heady. Intoxicating.
“You need a minute to decide?”
The decision was made. She belonged to him and here she was. He only needed to reach out and grab her.
“We have dollar drafts ’til midnight. And the kitchen’s open for another hour.”
Enchanting. The way her lips hugged every syllable, the delicate flutter of her pulse against the column of her throat... “I’m ... thirsty.”
A small V formed between her brows. “Is that a yes to the draft? What kind?”
