tasted living blood, their eyes took on a metallic cast. It was an easy way to pick them out of a crowd.
Lore held that gaze. Hellhounds were safe from the Undead’s hypnotic powers, and he felt compelled to prove it. Maybe to her, maybe to himself. He wasn’t sure. He was too aware of her, and needed to control the situation. “You know Latin, don’t you?”
“Yes. Why?”
“There was a Latin word written on the wall. A symbol was painted over it in blood.”
She looked startled. “Huh?”
“Someone wrote on the wall in Latin.”
“What for?” Bewilderment filled her features.
“Could it have had anything to do with Michelle?”
“No. Latin wasn’t her thing. I’m the geek.” Pinkish tears filled her eyes. She swallowed convulsively. “I can’t talk about her right now. Not if you want me to make sense.”
She swallowed again. “What did the words say?”
Lore’s hands twitched at his sides. He wanted to comfort her, but holding her against him would shut down his thought processes once and for all. The questioning would end, and the reign of the little brain would begin. That would be giving in—to her? To himself? All he knew was that if he started something, it would be hell to stop.
“There was just one word. Vincire.”
She shook her head. “Why that?”
“What do you think it means?”
“It’s in the imperative tense. It means ‘be bound.’ ”
“Why would someone write that?”
“I have no idea. It sounds creepy.” She seemed to be telling the truth.
It might fit with his necromancy theory, but he wanted to talk to Perry before he said anything. Lore moved on. “What were you doing before you came home tonight?”
“Shopping. What does it matter? Do you need an alibi? I have receipts.”
A tear escaped, leaving a faintly pink track down her cheek. Before he could stop himself, he reached over and erased it with his thumb. Her skin was satin-soft, almost white against the deep tan of his skin. She looked up at him, eyes wide. She looked as vulnerable as one of those wild daisies that grew in the sidewalk cracks. There only by chance, and by chance as easily destroyed.
He withdrew his hand, heart stumbling. No, don’t do this. Vampires seduced as easily as they breathed. His half-demon blood was good armor, but it wasn’t bulletproof. Pretty women didn’t necessarily need magic.
He took a step back from her, hating that he did. “Why is your sire after you?”
“Because I ran away. Isn’t that obvious?” He saw her gaze flicker away. A half-truth.
“Where did you come from?”
“A long way away.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, as if she were suddenly tired.
“If you’re in the registry of rogues, it’s easy enough for me to find out who your sire is.”
“If you ask the cops, they’ll want to know why. You’ll have to give me up.” She shot him a glance. “Are you really ready to do that?”
Lore clenched his teeth. “Why did you come to Fairview? Why not go someplace else?”
“Michelle was here. Plus, you have a big supernatural population.”
“That makes it easier to hide.”
“Yeah.”
That much made sense. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
Her mouth tightened. “Why do you care?”
The need to touch her again itched through him. It made him impatient. “Think about it. If somebody wants to kill you, it would help to know why.”
She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t know! I’m just a schoolteacher. And you’re about as subtle an interrogator as a troll!”
“Why did you run away from your sire?”
The repeated question got a reaction this time. She jumped to her feet, her eyes flashing with a sudden bolt of fury that made Lore want to fall back—but this time he stood his ground.
“My sire was pushy.” Talia’s words were quiet, almost inaudible. “Take a hint. It brings out the worst in people.”
Lore gripped the bedpost, longing to press his lips against that flower-stem throat. Or maybe strangle her. He wasn’t supposed to want her, but she was driving him crazy. “Who turns a schoolteacher into a vampire?”
Her mouth quivered. “Another vampire. There was nothing special about it.”
That was a lie. He could smell it. “We’re not getting anywhere unless you’re honest.”
She gave him an impassive stare with her golden hawk’s eyes. He had to hand it to her, she was as cool as the snow blanketing the world outside. She had lied to him and defied him and escaped from his custody. He was Alpha. No one had ever flouted his authority this way.
The woman is pure chaos. A growl ripped out of Lore’s throat, filling the room. He felt her tense, and his hunting instinct went on alert. Fear. Prey. Her eyes flared wide, obviously aware of the danger he represented.
He stalked closer to her, stopping when they were only inches apart. She didn’t back away as he expected she would. As she should have, a female yielding to a dominant male.
This was bad. Nearness made him far too aware of her. He couldn’t risk getting any closer. The slightest movement, and their faces would have touched.
One of them had to retreat.
Instead, he touched his hands to her hips ever so lightly, barely brushing the fabric of her jeans. His palms tingled with the contact. She smelled so delicious. Her skin was inches away, petal-soft and pale as a lily. This close, he could see the faint spatter of freckles across her cheekbones, the texture of her lips. She was utterly still, too focused on his next move to take a breath. It was like looking at a statue. A beautiful statue.
I’m on a slippery slope.
They were at an impasse, both too stubborn to give way. I can force her. He meant that in a hundred ways: to yield, to answer his questions, to lie beneath him as he had his way. He was stronger. In the end, brute power would win, but it would never be a victory he would relish.
He needed her to tell the whole truth.
He had to surprise Talia into giving something away.
Slippery slope!
But how? She wasn’t responding to him like a normal female. Maybe vampires weren’t attracted to hellhounds. He knew he wasn’t supposed to want her. Never mind that every two seconds he had to remind himself of the fact.
He had to grab control of the situation.
Or not.
Or maybe just grab her. Lore kissed Talia.
A slight gasp of surprise escaped her, but otherwise she didn’t move a muscle. Only a slight trembling in her limbs told him she was even aware of his presence.
Her hair slid along his cheek, sleek and soft. Her lips were cool, tasting of the cosmetics she wore. Beneath, he felt the press of teeth and the sharpness of fangs. Beware of those. Venom couldn’t addict a half demon, but a bite would send him into a narcotic haze.
This was about as hazardous as kissing could get. That was a turn-on, too.
He nipped one lip, then the other, the plump softness of her mouth everything he’d fantasized. Her hesitant response said how completely he’d taken her by surprise.
Then he felt her hands sliding up his arms, so lightly they felt like the brush of a bird’s wing. Oh, she was sweet. The kiss was filled with discovery and recognition, as if somehow he’d known how good it would be.
He didn’t press further, but stood his ground, releasing her only when he was finished with his moment of possession.
As their lips parted, she took in a sharp breath, color flaring in her cheeks. “I thought you didn’t do dead
