She offered the glass back to him and he took it, careful to sip from the opposite side of the glass, not wanting to feel the warm residue of her mouth. He drank, glancing up to meet her eyes, seeing her awareness of his arousal in their chocolate depths. Not that she’d need any special powers for that one. His cock was so stiff, he was afraid it would break if he didn’t move soon.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat when his voice came out as scratchy as a thirteen-year-old’s. “Vampires drink? I mean, other than blood.”

“We can,” Sophia agreed. “Some do. I don’t usually, although I do enjoy the taste of a good wine.”

“No wine here, darlin’,” he drawled, relieved to have something to think about besides her effect on his libido. “Just beer and whiskey.”

“The whiskey is fine. Quite nice, actually,” she murmured. She moved closer, until her breasts were brushing against his shoulder, her hand resting high on his thigh, so close to his throbbing cock, he would have sworn he could feel the heat of her fingers caressing its aching stiffness. She ran her other hand up his arm to his shoulder, her fingers playing lightly in his hair. She reached for the whiskey again and he released it, thinking she wanted another drink.

Instead, she set the tumbler on the coffee table, the remaining liquid sloshing slightly against the sides of the glass. Colin watched the gentle amber waves move back and forth, closing his eyes when her fingers closed over his erection. He grabbed her hand.

“Don’t,” he said.

“No?” Sophia purred confidently, pressing her breasts harder against his shoulder.

“No,” Colin confirmed. He stood suddenly, dislodging her so that she fell against the back cushions of the leather couch.

She rose to her feet slowly, anger in every movement, her eyes literally throwing off sparks of bright amber, reminding him illogically of the whiskey they’d been drinking moments before. “How dare you?” she demanded.

“How dare I?” Colin repeated sharply, grateful for the anger that washed away the last vestiges of desire. “Who the fuck are you? This is America, darlin’. The U.S. of A. I’ll dare anything I damn well please, including choosing the women I want to fuck. And you know what, Sophia? That doesn’t include you, because I don’t fuck dead women.”

She gasped, her hand flashing out with incredible speed. He grabbed her wrist. “Ah, ah. No hitting, remember? Besides, I didn’t mean it like that,” he added, grudgingly. “I know you vamps aren’t dead. But you died for me ten years ago, Soph, and you made damn sure I knew it. I see no reason to change that now.”

She looked up at him, all of her anger gone, replaced by a look so lost, so full of sadness . . . Shit. He felt like an ass. And he was pissed that she’d made him feel that way.

But before he could figure out what he wanted to say, her expression changed again, like a mask suddenly covering her face—a mask of pure, cold arrogance. Without looking away from him, she stretched her arm toward her boots where she’d left them beneath the counter. They came whipping across the room, passing so close to his head that he felt the air move, so close that he knew it had been on purpose. He narrowed his eyes at her, and she flashed a look of smug satisfaction in his direction, before tucking the boots under her arm and opening the door.

Before he knew what was happening, she was out of the house and inside the car, which was already gunning for the highway. Colin swore softly. He hadn’t seen her move, hadn’t even seen the damn car door open and close. She zipped by so fast, his front door was still swinging slightly in the breeze.

“Son of bitch,” he muttered. He shook his head and turned to go back inside, wondering why his dick had grown hard all over again.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Raphael waited while the elevator made its smooth descent, his leather coat hanging over one arm. It was late. By the time he’d finished briefing Duncan and the Seattle vampires, his hunt teams had begun arriving back at the compound. Duncan could have handled those reports, but he’d chosen to sit in on them, to show his people that this matter was important to him, that his need for revenge burned as hotly as any of theirs. The truth was his desire for retribution was greater than they could possibly understand. It was his vampires who’d been taken, his children. Blood of his blood.

But vengeance would have to wait a few more hours. The sun was looming just below the horizon. He felt it in his blood and bones. It infuriated him. It wearied him.

The doors opened on a nearly dark room, only a small light near the bed playing across the nearly still form of his beloved Cyn. He secured the vault doors and crossed to the bed, watching her breathe for a few minutes and wishing he had the courage to send her back to Malibu, to brave her anger and her protests and keep her safe. But he couldn’t do that to her. Wouldn’t do that to her. Wouldn’t trap her in a cage of his making, a cage she would never leave because she loved him too much. But a cage that would eventually leave nothing but hate between them.

He sighed and stripped off his clothes, wondering at such dismal thoughts. He must be more tired than he thought. He lifted the covers carefully and slid into bed next to Cyn. She stirred, turning toward him instinctively, draping a leg and arm across his body without ever waking. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, wishing he could protect her from . . . His heart stuttered in his chest as an alarming foreboding suddenly darkened his thoughts and a final, terrifying question filled his mind before the sun took him. Protect her from what?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Colin stood at the counter between his kitchen and living room the next morning, sipping his first cup of coffee and trying not to think about Sophia or her visit the night before. He scanned the list of e-mails that had come in during the night, studying it as if he expected anything to be there but junk. Holding the cup in one hand, he deleted one after the other until he came to a message from Loren. His fingers paused over the touch pad and he frowned. He didn’t think he’d ever received an e-mail from the vamps before. If asked, he wouldn’t have been certain they had his e-mail address. Not that it was a secret. Pretty much everyone in town had it, and it was printed on his business cards, too.

With a mental shrug, he clicked the file open and began to read the e-mail from Loren, swearing under his breath as he read the first few lines. Lord fucking Raphael had paid a visit to Hugh Pulaski last night. Not that Hugh was a model citizen or even a particularly decent one, but, damn, if even half of what Sophia had told him about Raphael was true, Hugh must have had a rough time of it. Colin was thinking he should probably take a trip out there, to make sure the aging woodsman wannabe had survived the encounter, but then he read the rest of the e-mail and decided Hugh could wait. The bastard had held out on him. Son of a bitch.

He checked his watch. It was just barely nine o’clock, probably too early for Leighton. He called anyway, waiting while the number switched over to voice mail.

“Leighton, Colin Murphy here. Check your e-mail. Your boyfriend apparently got us some new leads last night. I know the bar Hugh described. It’s a fair distance out of town, on a two-lane road that connects to the main highway eventually. We’ll probably find Curtis Jenkins there, too. He’s on disability right now—broken arm or something that hasn’t healed right—spends most of his time there. Anyway, I’m guessing he’s the “Curtis” Hugh talked about. Don’t know anyone who goes by “Junior,” though.

I’m gonna check out the bar later and thought you might want to come join in the fun. Robbie’s welcome, too, even if he is just a pussy Ranger. Can’t hurt to have some extra muscle on hand.

So, call me when you get this. I’m going to make some calls myself, see if I can’t figure out who “Junior” is. Could be an old nickname. Hugh’s been around a lot longer than I have. I’ll try to track it down before we hook up.”

He started to disconnect, then added, “And I meant hook up in a completely nonsexual way, so don’t get all riled up and tell your boyfriend on me. Later.”

He poured himself a second cup of coffee before making the next call. He and Garry McWaters went back a long way. Back to BUD/S when Garry had been an old man with several years seniority and Colin had been a raw recruit. It had been Garry who’d pulled him out of that town in South America, who’d dragged him back to base camp and made sure he made their pickup out of the country the next night.

Cooper’s Rest was Garry’s hometown. He’d been raised here by his grandparents, and they’d been among the first founders of the independent community. His grandmother had died while their SEAL team had been out of country. Garry hadn’t even been able to attend her funeral. His grandfather had lasted longer, dying less than a year after Garry and Colin had shown up in Coop with little more than their duffels and their Navy regulation haircuts.

The old man’s death took something out of Garry. He didn’t want to hang around after that, even though Colin had decided to stay. Garry headed back to California and signed up with a corporation that provided private armies to the U. S. Government. It was lucrative work, especially for someone with SEAL training and experience. He’d tried more than once since then to recruit Colin into it, but the money wasn’t enough to make up for a job that was too much like the one he’d left behind. Besides, Colin had discovered he kind of liked the laid back lifestyle he’d found in Cooper’s Rest.

He pulled up Garry’s number on his contact list and hoped his buddy was in-country. If not, Colin would have to—”

“Yo, Colin!” Garry’s voice boomed loud enough that Colin pulled the phone away from his ear by a few inches. “What’s up, dude? Ready to make some money at last?”

“Sorry, Mac, you’ll have to find some other sap to bail your ass out.”

Garry made a dismissive sound. “Think you got that a little backwards. Must be all the rain up there. Speaking of which, how’s old Coop doing?”