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Damien hadn’t felt this low in a very long time. Not only had he failed his mission tonight, but he’d very likely opened up a new large can of worms.
Or perhaps not?
While he hadn’t been able to question Vincente, Damien had learned something important. The man was part of a bigger movement geared toward eradicating supernatural life from the world, and that fundraiser had been all about raising money for their cause.
But how would the money be deployed? Weapons? Soldiers to hunt immortals? Something else?
I vote for something else. What Damien found entirely fishy about this event was how immortals were being used to foster panic, when in reality there were so few left on the planet. The blast had seen to that. Vincente’s cause seemed phony as hell.
Damien felt a tingle in his gut. This was all connected somehow—the sex trafficking, the Brown brothers’ den of torture, the fundraiser, and the blast.
In the morning, once he had a fresh mind, he would map out his next move.
He parked his Jeep in the garage, noticing his van was out front on the street. Bits of leaves and branches were stuck to the grille this time. More of Sky’s excellent driving.
Why the hell were they back? He’d told them to leave.
He entered the house, passing by the kitchen. Still a freaking mess. He went to the cupboard where he kept some of his scotch stash, finding it empty. “Sonofabitch. Who drank my scotch?”
“Oh. Hi. You must be Damien,” said a soft, sweet voice.
Damien turned around. In the doorway leading to the living room was a slender woman with long black hair and full lips. She had big brown eyes and high cheekbones. She was stunning. She looked just like Sky.
Dear God.What was Sky thinking? Damien felt his chest tighten and his pulse quicken.Not good. Not good. Very…beautiful. Smells nice, too. Alarms were going off in his head.
“I’m Amelia, Sky’s sister. Thank you for inviting us to stay here.” Her eyes sank down to the spots of blood on his white dress shirt. “Are you okay?”
“Cut myself shaving.”
“But that’s a lot of bloo—”
“You are not staying here,” he said sternly. “Pack your bags immediately. This instant. Out!”
Oh, tailor. Must she go? I think I’d like to play with her.
“No. You are not playing with anyone,” Damien snarled at his beast.
“Sorry?” said Amelia. “I-I don’t understand. My sister said—”
“If you haven’t noticed, your sister is dead, because I ran—
“She’s what?” Amelia blinked, her face turning a pallid shade of taupe.
“Yes. Dead. And you will be next if you do not leave this instant. Goodbye.” He pushed past her, not daring to glance at her body with the full high breasts and wide sexy hips.
God, he loved a nice pair of hips. The way they curved beneath the fabric of a straight skirt to create the classic female silhouette.
No. Ugly. Horrible.He rushed past her, beelining for his liquor cabinet in the living room. He grabbed a bottle of scotch and went upstairs. He stripped off his bloody clothes, tossing them on top of the wastepaper basket. They were ruined.
Damien looked down at his boxers, just now noticing the little chew holes. Wonderful. And these can go in the trash, too.
Amelia suddenly appeared in front of him. “You can’t just say something like that and walk away.”
He grabbed his white robe and slid it on. “Why are you still here?”So beautiful. Do. Not. Look.
“What did you mean, my sister’s dead? I just got a text from her in the van on the way here.”
Damien froze. “Hold on. Who picked you up from the airport?”
