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"Whores don't need undergarments,” the old man muttered, his sullen words at odds with the strange flame of anger in his pale eyes.
"And you do?” Michael retorted. “Wait until I tell the miners about your little fetish. I'm sure they'll appreciate it."
The old man hawked and spat. Michael dodged the glob and squeezed his hand a little tighter. It made no more difference than before.
"The whore's probably not going to live out the night, so it won't matter if I take them for others to use." Michael's grip tightened even further. Any other man would have died right then and there, their neck snapped. Yet there was no bone under his fingertips. Impossible, surely...
"What do you mean?” he asked, voice harsh.
"Listen to the wind, vampire. It howls for blood."
As if the old man's words were a trigger, the howls of wolves suddenly sang on the night breeze. It was a sound that spoke of hunting and the need for blood. A sound that stirred the darkness in him, despite the fact he'd fed only a few minutes ago.
He frowned, his gaze searching the darkening hills. The blonde was in trouble. The desire—no, the need —to go to her aid pounded through his blood and itched at his feet. Yet she was nothing to him, just a luscious stranger he wouldn't have minded spending some time with had the moment been right.
So why did his heart freeze at the thought of not helping her?
He shook the old man, hard. “I don't care if the wind or the wolves howl for blood. I have other business to attend to. What's your name?"
"Kinnard.” The old man regarded him for a second, then added, “And this is something I didn't expect."
"What? Being caught?"
Amusement flitted through the old man's eyes. “Oh, there's more than one of us caught right now, but only one of us realizes it."
"Enough with the riddles, Kinnard. What do you know of a man named Dunleavy?"
"I know he lives in this town."
" Where in this town?"
The old man gave him a strange smile. “Everywhere and nowhere." Michael shook him again. “No riddles, remember."
A strange sound that might have been a laugh, or might have been a gasp for air, rumbled up Kinnard's throat. “I cannot help you in your quest, vampire, because I do not know. But, I can tell you that what you seek is right under your nose."
And he laughed, a high, cackling sound that edged insanity. Michael tossed him away in disgust. “Do not let me find you raiding this house again,” he warned flatly.
The old man picked himself up, dusted off his clothes and sniffed. His expression was an odd mix of disdain and madness. “There are many forces at work in this small town, vampire. Until you are aware of the value of all the players, I suggest you do not waste lives needlessly."
"Then I suggest you take my advice and stay away from this house." Kinnard snorted softly and walked away. Michael watched until he'd disappeared around the corner of the whorehouse, then he picked up the undergarments and tossed them back through the window. The wind that stirred his hair and caressed his face was full of the scent of wolves. He frowned and glanced toward the hills. As much as he wanted to continue his search for Dunleavy, he simply couldn't leave the blonde in trouble. Especially if she was the prey the wolves hunted. He sighed and ran toward the distant howling.
He wasn't all that surprised to find both the wolves and the blonde at the mill. What did surprise him was the fact that she was standing quite calmly in the middle of the snarling pack. He stopped ten feet away from the tableau and crossed his arms. The wolf closest to him looked over his shoulder and gave him an almost human once over. Shapeshifter, he thought, and glanced at the other four. Three were normal wolves, while the fourth was another shifter. Interesting. Shifters didn't often mix with their animal counterparts.
His gaze went back to the blonde. “And here I thought you might need assistance." There was no sign of fear in the amazing green-brown depths of her eyes, though there were hints of amusement and frustration. The woman was definitely odd.
"They haven't been sent here to hurt me.” Her voice was a low caress that stirred memories he couldn't quite catch. “Just to harass me. Dunleavy doesn't want me to find those two men I mentioned." He swept his gaze across the nearby buildings. “There's no life in any of these buildings."
"I figured there wouldn't be."
"Then why come here?"
"Because I had to check, regardless. Dunleavy might have hidden the prisoners here for the very reason that it was an obvious hiding spot."
Only a woman would think like that. “Do you want assistance?" She gave him a deadpan look. “Hell, no. I'm enjoying myself standing here." He held back his smile. “Two of these wolves are shifters, and as they'll understand every word we're saying, it might be best—"
"They won't understand,” she countered. “Because they're under Dunleavy's spell and following his orders."
"And you know this because...?"
