Page 2 of John’s Yearning

“Different dangers though.” Then Gabriel suddenly straightened and pointed to the folder. “Let Samson and me know tomorrow night whether we need to take this on.”

John gave a quick nod. “Sure. I’ll keep you posted.” He turned and opened the door to his office, closing it behind him a moment later. He slipped out of his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair.

The file folder was thick, and according to the table of contents taped to the inside flap, contained over a dozen police reports, including photos of the missing children and anything else the police deemed relevant. John glanced at the clock on the wall. This would take a while.

He took out the first police report about a girl who’d been missing for just over six weeks, and began reading. He’d finished the second police report and was just beginning the third, when his desk phone rang. He looked at the display and picked it up.

“John Grant.”

“It’s Louise from reception. I’ve got a visitor for you. Her name’s Savannah Rice.”

“Don’t know her. What does she want?”

“She was referred by Detective Donnelly from SFPD.”

“Hmm.” If Donnelly had sent her, it had to be important. “Fine. Have her escorted up to my office.”

“Will do.” The receptionist disconnected the call.

John closed the folder and checked his office for any suspicious signs. But everything was clean. The bin was empty, the small fridge beneath his desk where he kept an emergency supply of human blood was locked. Scanguards provided bottled human blood for free, trying to minimize their employees’ need to hunt for blood among the human population of San Francisco. Of course they couldn’t prevent anybody from taking blood directly from a human’s vein if they wished to do so, but the fact that they provided easy access to the nourishment they all needed—and more often than not, craved—made resisting the urge to bite a human easier.

John had fed upon rising, and felt perfectly satisfied with the blood he’d consumed. It would sustain him until the next sunset.

Another look around his comfortable office confirmed that nothing was out of place. Good. Since the person who wanted to see him had been referred by Donnelly, chances were that she was probably human, though he couldn’t be sure. There was always the possibility that a vampire had contacted Donnelly, aware that he had a direct line to Scanguards.

A knock at the door announced John’s visitor.

“Enter.”

The door opened and the aroma of a human wafted into his office, though the sight of her was blocked by the bulky vampire guard who’d escorted her.

“John, a Savannah Rice to see you.” He stepped aside and let the woman enter, then pulled the door shut behind her.

John should have heard the guard’s footfalls as he walked away, but the blood rushing through his veins drowned out any sound. Any sound but the heartbeat of the human woman who stood in his office, hesitating.

Damn you, Donnelly, damn you for sending her to me!

She was a stranger, a woman he’d never seen before, yet when he looked at her, his heart leapt with recognition, with hope, with lust. She was everything he’d wanted to forget for four long years. Nicolette, the woman he’d loved and lost. He saw her in this woman, though he knew it wasn’t possible. He saw the similarities, but he also saw the differences.

Like Nicolette, Savannah Rice was a beautiful woman, sensual and graceful. She was tall, but not skinny. She had curves in all the places that mattered, all the places a man wanted to feel warm, yielding flesh beneath his fingers. She didn’t show much skin—few women in San Francisco did, the nights being too cold even in the summer. But what he saw heated his blood. Smooth and rich, and a little darker than milk chocolate, her skin stretched over her elegant fingers, her strong cheekbones, her flawless neck. A neck where a vein pulsed in concert with her heartbeat. He imagined his white skin against hers, his hands clasping her shoulders, as he latched onto that vein to drink from her, to drink from his blood-bonded mate.

But she wasn’t Nicolette. He was lucid enough to realize that. Her face looked nothing like Nicolette’s. Her eyes weren’t the dark brown Nicolette’s had been, but a vibrant blue that hinted at a white parent or grandparent. Her black hair was long and wavy, so different from Nicolette, who’d kept her hair shorter and much curlier, the way nature had intended. There was a mysteriousness that surrounded this woman, this stranger, something that seemed to be hidden behind the blue color of her eyes.

When she inhaled, his eyes were drawn to her top, a V-neck sweater that fit her like a glove. It hugged her most precious curves, two round globes more perfect than he could have ever imagined. And one other thing was evident too. He’d glimpsed it immediately when she’d entered his office: she wore no bra. Firm breasts without any help. Without support. He felt his fangs itch at the thought of how it would feel to sink them into her flesh and feel her moan beneath him. With difficulty, he pushed back the need that was suddenly trying to control him. The need to have this woman. To take her. To ride her. To bite her.

But he knew it was wrong. She wasn’t Nicolette. And just because she and his dead mate shared physical similarities, didn’t mean that this woman could fill the hole Nicolette had left. Chase away the emptiness he’d lived with for the last four years. Just because his body responded to her the same way he’d responded to Nicolette, didn’t mean his heart would too. It was best to forget about it.

“Mr. Grant?”

Her voice, a soft trickle akin to a mountain spring, jolted him into action. He jumped up from behind his desk and approached her, extending his hand.

“Mrs. Rice, how may I help you?”

She quickly shook his hand, then let go of it just as quickly. “It’s Ms.—there is no Mr. Rice. I’m a single mother. Buffy has no father.”

Somewhat confused, John searched his memory. Was he supposed to know who Buffy was? The only Buffy he’d ever heard of was a fictional vampire slayer from a 90s TV series. “Buffy?”

“Yes, my daughter. She disappeared three days ago. Didn’t Detective Donnelly fill you in? He said—”