• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

He had been walking the darkened streets for two hours, and still his blood was drumming hard in his temples, rage and hunger still ruling all but a sliver of his mind. He was a danger to all in this condition, but his restless body would not be still.

He stalked the city like a wraith, moving without conscious thought even though his feet—his every sense—led him on a purposeful path toward Gabrielle.

She hadn’t gone home. Lucan wasn’t sure where she had run, until the unseen thread that connected him to her by scent and senses brought him in front of an apartment building in the city’s North End. A friend of hers, no doubt.

A light was on in an upstairs window, that bit of glass and brick was all that separated him from her.

But he wasn’t going to try to see her, and not merely because of the red Mustang parked outside with the police light propped on the dash. Lucan didn’t have to see his reflection in the windshield to know that his pupils were still narrow in the center of his huge irises, his fangs still protruding behind the rigid set of his mouth.

He looked every bit the monster he was.

The monster Gabrielle had seen firsthand tonight.

Lucan growled, forced to remember her horrified expression again and again since he’d slain the Minion.

He could still see her take a faltering step backward, her eyes wide with terror and revulsion. She had seen him for what he truly was—had even flung the word at him in accusation the instant before she’d fled.

He hadn’t tried to stop her, not with words or by force.

All he’d known in that moment was the pure rush of fury as he drained his prey dry. Then he’d dropped the body like the rubbish it was, feeling a further surge of rage when he considered what might have happened to Gabrielle had she fallen into Rogue hands. Lucan had wanted to tear the human apart—nearly had, he acknowledged, vividly recalling the savagery he had wrought.

He, the cool one, so fierce in his control.

What a fucking joke.

His carefully held mask had been slipping from the moment he had first met Gabrielle Maxwell. She made him weak, exposed his flaws.

Made him want things he could never have.

He stared up at that second-floor window, chest heaving as he battled a fierce urge to leap up there, smash his way in, and take Gabrielle someplace where he could keep her all to himself.

Let her fear him. Let her despise him for what he was, so long as he could press her warm body down beneath him, easing his pain as only she could do.

Yes, the beast within him snarled, knowing only want and need.

Before the impulse to have her could win out, Lucan fisted his hand and brought it down hard on the hood of the off-duty police officer’s car. The vehicle alarm howled, and as curtains parted in every nearby window at the disturbance, Lucan leaped off the curb and jogged into the shadows of the waning night.

“Everything’s okay,” Megan’s boyfriend said, coming back into her apartment after he’d gone out to investigate the sudden trip of his car alarm. “Damn thing’s always had a hair trigger. Sorry ’bout that. Not like we needed any added tension tonight, eh?”

“Probably just kids causing trouble,” Megan added from beside Gabrielle on the sofa.

Gabrielle nodded in vague agreement at her friend’s attempt to soothe her, but she didn’t believe it for a second.

It was Lucan.

She had felt him outside with an inner sense she couldn’t begin to describe. It wasn’t fear or dread, just a marrow-deep awareness that he was close by.

That he needed her.

Wanted her.

God help her, but she had actually been hoping he’d come to the door, haul her out of there, and help her make sense of the horror she had witnessed a short while ago.

He was gone now, however. She felt his absence as strongly as she’d known he had followed her to Megan’s.

“Are you warm enough, Gabby? Would you like more tea?”

“No, thanks.”

Gabrielle held on to the tepid cup of chamomile with two hands, feeling a chill inside of her that no amount of blankets or hot water could chase away. Her