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Chapter Two
Hours later, Devlin couldn’t get the woman off his mind. It was irritating. He rarely involved himself with humans but had acted instinctively, dragging her out of the way before she’d ended up beneath the wheels of the speeding car.
Over the centuries he’d lived, he’d seen plenty of beautiful women. Why, then, was she stuck in his head? About average height, she’d come up to his chest. The faded jeans and pale blue shirt she wore were more about comfort than any sense of style. The one bright pop of color had been her sneakers.
For fuck’s sake, now he was a fashion critic.
Her coloring was unique. Maybe that was it. Her hair was black as night, except for a stripe of white in the front. The eyes that had looked up at him with remnants of fear still lingering had been white with the faintest hint of pale blue around the edges. He doubted most people noticed the slight variation. Her scent, a combination of coffee, vanilla, and warm woman, lingered on his shirt where she’d brushed against him. When his dick started to swell, he swore under his breath.
Forget her.
Easier said than done. Rolling his shoulders, he turned down an alley. He’d already tracked his quarry to three bars in the neighborhood. He’d find him eventually. There was nowhere the rogue could hide. But this one was doing a damn good job. He’d been in the city almost a week and was getting tired of playing cat and mouse, his inner radar dragging him from one place to another. He wanted the job done. Being around so many people was aggravating.
Ignoring the people hoping to get into the club, he went to the head of the line. The bouncer took one look at him and stepped aside. Devlin didn’t even bother to acknowledge him. Whether it was his size, or the human sensed the danger emanating from him, he was smart enough to let Devlin pass unchallenged. He didn’t care, as long as it got him inside without a hassle. Not that that was ever a problem; people feared him without understanding why.
Music assailed his ears before he pulled open the door. Damn, he should’ve worn earplugs. Human hearing wasn’t anywhere near as sensitive as his. Bright lights flashed, keeping time to the heavy beat. His sunglasses cut down on the worst of the glare, with the added benefit of shielding his unusual eye color. His size and white hair made him stand out enough as it was. The place stank of sweat and perfume and alcohol, mingled with hints of sex and drugs.
Gritting his teeth against the sensory barrage, he stepped into a dark corner and let his gaze drift over the space. A long bar ran down one side. People were two deep while three bartenders worked swiftly and efficiently to fill orders. On the far end, a small crowd jumped up and down, gyrating in what passed for dancing. Men and women sat around tables, drinking and laughing and yelling to be heard over the din.
The only way to differentiate between human and werewolf—or any other paranormal creature—was the eyes. If the light hit them right, a werewolf’s eyes would reflect, appearing to glow, much like a dog’s. There was no way to pinpoint a scent in such close quarters. Not unless he was standing right next to them.
The back of his neck tingled. His quarry was here.
Keeping to the shadows, he worked his way deeper into the club. Unease rippled through the nearby patrons as he passed. Many looked over their shoulders. Some stopped speaking. Others drank deeper.
Wherever he went, it was always the same. He was a big man, standing six-eight in his bare feet, but it wasn’t merely his size that bothered people. There were bigger in the world. No, it was his wolf they sensed. Human senses weren’t anywhere near as advanced as his, but the urge for survival was strong. They understood on a deep level that he was an apex predator, and they were potential prey.
Ignoring them, he sharpened his focus. Over the music and voices, a woman’s laugh rang out, clear as a bell. His head snapped in that direction, and he’d taken a step toward her before asserting his iron will. Muscles clenched, he stayed put and scanned the club.
One song ended and another began. Couples left the dance floor while others surged forward, swallowing up the space. Too many fucking people. The rogue could be anywhere.
“I won’t be long. Hold our table.” Her voice seeped into every pore of his body, bringing with it a yearning that vibrated in each cell. Homing in on the female voice, he tracked it to a table near the back, catching sight of a woman as she disappeared down a short hallway.
As though being towed by an unseen force, he followed. People jumped out of his way to keep from being plowed over. There was no trace of her when he got there, but there were signs for the bathrooms and no nearby exit.
I should be hunting.
Fuck it. This woman was a mystery to be solved. Something about her voice called to him on a visceral level. He needed to discover who she was and why she had this effect on him.
For all he knew,shewas the rogue. It was a rare thing for a female to turn, but it happened. He’d only faced the situation once before. It was the closest he’d ever come to dying, his hesitation almost costing him his life.
His wolf was uncommonly silent, focused solely on the door of the women’s bathroom. Whoever she was—rogue or not—he couldn’t afford to let down his guard.
Once he’d determined if she was a threat or not, he’d decide what needed to be done—walk away and continue his hunt or deal with her.
Lips compressed in a frown, he crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the wall, and waited.
…
Zoe finished drying her hands and dropped the used paper towel into the trash. Looking at herself in the mirror, she fluffed her hair. The short style suited her. It was wash-and-wear, requiring no fuss. The cost of the haircut was worth what she saved in styling products. Or at least that’s how she justified the expense every couple of months.
Her makeup was minimal—mostly samples she’d scored from upscale department stores and saved for special occasions—but she looked damn good, if she did say so herself. She’d even been asked to dance a couple of times. It didn’t matter that the guys had mostly used it as an excuse to get an introduction to her friend.
Brenda was having a great time. Men loved her dark curls, curvy figure, and sultry eyes but were hooked by her outgoing, cheerful personality. Her friend hadn’t paid for a single drink all night. Zoe, on the other hand, was nursing her second—both of which she’d paid for.
Her phone vibrated. She pulled it out of her tiny cross-body purse, glanced at the screen, and groaned. Brenda was deserting her…again. This happened every other time they went out. It shouldn’t surprise her, yet it always did. The guy she’d been dancing with all night was a friend of a friend. They’d immediately hit it off. Truthfully, she’d felt like a third wheel for the past hour.
She tucked her phone back into her purse. “Great.” Her friend was going out for coffee—or more—with her latest conquest while Zoe was going home alone.
