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Don’t stop.
He hadn’t stopped. He’d touched her, played her, his skin smooth against hers, his lips soft, his words and body nothing but need and passion, lust and longing, and all of it focused on her as he moved in and out, taking and giving, flesh against flesh. He was poised above her, his strong arms supporting his weight as he looked at her with pure, sensual hunger.
A hunger she understood, for it burned within her, too.
Take me. Luke, please, please!
He smiled then, and for an instant, her heart skipped from pure joy. Then the smile widened to reveal the bloody tips of his fangs. And when he drew his head down toward her neck, she screamed.
“Ms. Constantine! Sara!”
She opened her eyes to find Roland shaking her shoulder, and she sat up, damp with sweat and completely mortified. “Sorry. Sorry. I fell asleep. I’m okay. Sorry.”
He smiled good-naturedly. “It’s normal.”
“Sleep?”
“The nightmares. I do this for all the humans on staff. Gives me special insight, you know?” He grinned, yellow eyes flashing. “Consider it a breaking-in period.”
“Right.” She rubbed her hands over her face, then started when he shoved her phone in her face. “When you didn’t wake up, I answered it. Says she’s Petra. Says it’s important.”
She fumbled for the phone, clicked it over from mute to talk, and had barely managed a hello when Petra laid into her.
“Who the hell was that?”
“Security,” she said. “Division 6 takes security very seriously.” She ran her fingers through her hair and stood up, hoping that the movement would shake the image of Luke from her mind. She no longer had to worry about falling asleep. The nightmare had at least taken care of that.
“Wow,” said Petra. “Guess Homeland Security really does begin at home. Manny told me about your reassignment. I’m so proud of you. Insanely jealous, but also proud. And I miss you already.”
“Listen, Pet, I would say I miss you, too, but I saw you this morning. If you want me to give you a rundown of my first day, we could meet for a quick lunch tomorrow. Right now I’m totally wiped, and—”
“No, no,” Petra said. “I mean, lunch is fine, I’d love to. But I’m not calling to congratulate you or gossip. I have news from a source in the LAPD.”
“News?” Maybe her brain was still sloshy, but Petra wasn’t making sense. “What’s going on?”
She heard Petra suck in a breath, felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. “Petra,” she prodded.
“He escaped,” Petra said, her voice flat. Dull.
“What?” Sara asked, her mind automatically flashing to Luke. “What are you—”
“Stemmons,” Petra said.
Sara’s knees went weak and she sank back onto the bed. “Don’t be absurd. They transferred him this evening. He’s in solitary by now, and good riddance to him.”
“You’re not listening,” Petra said. “He got out.”
“That’s not possible.”
“He had help, apparently. His transfer guards are dead.”
Sara closed her eyes, imagining those poor guards riddled with bullets. “There was nothing in his profile to suggest he worked with anyone,” Sara said. “Did he have a shiv? Hire a gunman?”
“No gun,” Petra said. “Their throats were ripped out.”
Sara’s head swam. “Wait. Their throats?”
“Massive blood loss,” Petra said. “Only get this—”
