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“Seattle, Washington.”
I have traveled extensively throughout the world. “You’re far from home.”
“London is my home now.”
“Well, this is your home for the time being.”
She jumped up, and her chair toppled backward, clattering to the floor. Running to the door, she tried to open it. “You can’t keep me here.”
“I can, and I will,” I said, leaning against the wooden counter.
“Help,” she screamed, pounding on the door in a futile attempt to escape.
I grabbed her and turned her around, gathering her wrists in one hand and holding them above her head. “You should never have come here,” I said, bringing my face within inches of hers until I could feel her breath on my skin and the slight smell of hops hit my nostrils. “You’re in over your head.” A frisson of excitement snaked down my back as her energy poured into me, and my cock grew hard with desire. Touching her was like touching ice. It was soothing to my over-heated soul. I let her essence mix with mine, cold and uncaring. It was as if she was made of stone. Something had made her this way, and I suddenly wanted to be the person to watch her thaw.
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“Don’t hurt you? I’m going to break you. And until I figure out who you are and what your motive is for being here, you’ll stay put.”
Her blue eyes flashed with anger.
Vortigern rose up.
I leaned in and kissed her, taking her mouth in mine. She pushed back, but I continued my assault, parting her lips with my tongue so I could taste her.
She fought against the restraint of my hand, but I was stronger than her, and she knew it. Her mouth softened, and I increased the pressure of my kiss, staking my claim and gaining the advantage.
She returned the gesture by biting my lip. “Enough,” I said, letting go of her wrists.
She stepped to the side, backing away from me. Her eyes were wide with shock. “Let me go,” she said.
I shouldn’t have done that.
Bloody fucking dragon.
“No, not until you tell me the truth.” I felt my swollen bottom lip, but there was no blood.
“I’ve told you the truth.”
“Not everything.”
“Fucking creep.” I took her arm and led her out of the kitchen and up a flight of stairs, opening the door to a bedroom. She stumbled as I pushed her inside. “This is against the law,” she spat. “Is this what you did to those girls.”
“I never touched those girls. You’re meddling in business that doesn’t concern you.” I shut the door and locked it, heading down the stairs two at a time and out the kitchen door. We had been careless talking at the funeral.
Stupid.
An investigation into the Circle could only prove detrimental. On the outside, we looked like nothing more than a group of billionaires vying for power, but we were much more than that. Our power not only came from money. It was made up of much more. A secret older than time. Steeped in ancient folklore. I usually wouldn’t be concerned, but with the death of Sir Leonard and the Patels before him, I knew we were systematically being targeted. And the force that hunted us wasn’t human.
She left her keys in the car. I got in and started it, driving it to a covered garage behind the house, and parked it inside next to my newly acquired black Aston Martin. I got out, grabbed her purse, and covered the car with a tarp.
As I walked back to the house, a car pulled up, and DCS Davies got out. We had grown up together, attending the same primary school before I was shipped off to Gordonstoun, one of the UK’s top independent schools on the north coast of Scotland, to finish my education. I slipped her purse under my coat.
“Rhys,” he said, approaching me and shaking my hand.
“Superintendent.” The drizzle had stopped and was replaced by dark, low clouds. A brief reprieve that allowed the temperature to drop. It would be sleeting before nightfall. “This must be about the reporter.”
“I assumed she made her way over here,” the detective said, looking around.
