Page 45 of Dark Victory

“I am really sorry to bother you at this hour, but before I call it a night, I have one or two more questions about what happened at the school today.” Sam continued to smile smoothly as she lied.

She had a powerful sixth sense for evil, which had saved her ass a lot, and she wanted to hone in on Kristin now. She had decided she wasn’t demonic, merely the lowest form of evil that there was, a human filled with the basest emotions and ambitions—greed, jealousy and envy, the desire to see others fail and fall, the ability to gloat over it. But Nick was certain she wasn’t one-hundred-percent human. He’d explained to her that humans with a low percentage of demonic DNA could take on demonic traits but escape detection as demons. Sam was intrigued. She’d only been at HCU for three months, and hadn’t realized a hierarchy of sub-humans could exist. Her world had been divided into demons, possessed humans or subs, and humans. Adding a mixed breed of partially demonic humans would explain a lot, like people with more power than they should have. So now she would carefully check Kristin out. Tailing Kristin was starting then and there.

“It’s late, and I’m usually asleep by now, but the truth is, after what happened today, I am dreading bad dreams.” Kristin smiled grimly. “Come in. Let’s go into the kitchen. My roommate’s asleep.”

Sam followed her inside. Kristin still felt both entirely human and entirely evil. Her smile hid a multitude of hatred and sins. Now Sam was excited. What if Kristin had a drop or two of demonic DNA? If she had set Tabby up, she was going to wind up dead.

Kristin offered her water, which Sam refused. “Would you tell me one more time exactly how you became aware of the fire?” She smiled, as if friendly by nature—which she was not.

As Kristin answered, Sam stared, not really listening. At first glance, one saw Kristin’s platinum hair, her pale skin and blue eyes, her even features, and the assumption was that she was an attractive woman in her late twenties or early thirties. Now, as Sam really looked at her, she decided she wasn’t attractive, or even pretty. She was oddly bland—almost a generic version of a blond, blue-eyed woman. But what better way to hide her evil nature than under such an understated façade?

As she spoke, she gestured and Sam noticed the fine blue veins in her hands. Young women did not have visible veins, not even when as fair as Kristin.

She looked at her neck.

There were creases there.

She did not have the hands or the neck of a woman in her twenties or thirties. But plenty of women went under the knife. Maybe she’d had her face done. Sam studied her again and noticed some fine lines around her eyes and mouth, wrinkles no average person would really ever see. Kristin Lafarge had an oddly timeless quality to her appearance, neither the look of a mature woman who’d had a bit nipped here and tucked there nor the youthful and beautiful appearance of a demon.

Demons lived for centuries, but their DNA came from Satan. Under a microscope, the difference between human and demonic DNA was obvious.

“Is that it, Agent Rose?”

Did this woman have entirely human DNA? Sam had thought so, but as much as she hated admitting it, Nick was usually right. Something was off, and she was good enough at what she did to leave no stone unturned. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m really sorry to bother you, but I always follow my gut.”

“That’s all right.” Kristin stood. Her smile was polite, almost friendly. There was no sign of relief in her eyes, as if she didn’t care that the brief interview was over.

If she was hiding something, she was damned good.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Sam asked, thinking about the fact that the apartment was a one-bedroom flat. The sofa was already pulled out, which meant Kristin slept on the sleeper. It was an old building, the only full bathroom would be attached to her roomie’s bedroom. Kristin probably used the powder room more than she did the other bathroom.

A moment later she was inside the powder room and she knew she was right. Because there she found Kristin’s makeup, hairbrush and toothbrush.

Perfect, Sam thought.

TABBY STOOD IN THE steaming hot shower, the water pouring over her, trying not to think about Macleod. The shower was long overdue, but her body had a mind of its own and was not quite enjoying the shower as she intended. The drops seemed to agitate her breasts and nipples, and her belly was tight and quivering with tension.

She closed her eyes, trying to keep a grip on the desire she seemed incapable of escaping, desire for a man she hardly knew—a man terribly inappropriate for her—a man she’d already had sex with.

Images danced, of Macleod walking into the bathroom and taking off that plaid, his smile slow and suggestive.

She swallowed and thought she heard the door, but when she looked at it, it remained closed.

She needed to finish showering; she needed to think about something else.

She pushed her heavy hair back, closed her eyes and let the water pour on her face, determined to ignore the weight of her body. It was almost impossible, because she could feel him inside her, filling up every inch of her, the pressure immediate, inescapable and shattering.

Whatever was haunting her—or them—from An Tùir-Tara, she didn’t want to think about it now. She wanted to think about him, about his courage, his strength and how protective he was of her. Just then, she did not want to acknowledge his savagery, his barbarism or his chauvinism. If she kept this up, she’d leave the shower, open the bathroom door and call him to her.

Come to me, Highlander.

It would be so easy.

In fact, if she spent the night with him and was as unbridled and as passionate as she’d been for those few minutes in the bathroom earlier, she might actually believe herself to be a new and different woman. She opened her eyes, dismayed. The truth was, a part of her was afraid that she’d never experience that passion again.

That she was still the old, conservative, uptight Tabby.

But she hadn’t been uptight or conservative earlier. They’d had rough, hot, animal sex—the kind of sex only two crazed strangers could have.