vengeance.
Up until two weeks ago, Brent and the rest of the Braddocks had blamed Garret for the massacre. They’d been hellbent on finding him and doling out justice. Cody had been the lucky one who’d tracked him to Skull Creek first. Only, it had turned out that Garret had been innocent. He’d arrived after the attack and done all he could to save the brothers who’d been just this side of death. Garret had given them his blood and brought them over in the nick of time, but he’d been too late to save anyone else. Or so they’d thought. But Garret had revealed that he’d also turned a wounded couple he’d found several miles away. The vampire had assumed they were victims of an Indian attack and so he’d done what he could to help—he’d given them his blood the moment they’d taken their last breaths.
A man and a woman.
Rose.
After all this time, she was still alive. Still out there somewhere. A vampire.
While Brent had no idea what had happened that night—if she’d been an innocent victim or a cold, calculated murderess who’d orchestrated the massacre and sacrificed her own son—or who the man was that had been with her, he knew that she knew.
She held all the answers and he wouldn’t stop until he’d found her.
All the more reason to forget the damned ache in his gut, hit the gas and lose the woman trailing him.
Cody was waiting.
Even more, Dillon Cash was waiting. Dillon was the one doing the research on Rose, compiling information and trying to come up with a lead. He needed to get his ass in gear and head over to Dillon’s.
At the same time, he couldn’t shake the curiosity that churned inside him. Particularly since he had no clue who the woman was or what she wanted from him.
Nothing. Nada. Zip.
Which didn’t make a damned bit of sense because he was a friggin’ vampire. When it came to the opposite sex, he read every thought, anticipated every move. There were no surprises.
Until now.
Until her.
Sure, he’d connected with her initially like he did with all humans. He’d seen her initial reaction—the surprise, the lust, the longing. But then her expression had closed like a window slamming shut and he hadn’t been able to pick up anything else.
No name.
No background.
No intentions.
One hundred and fifty years and he’d always been able to read a woman’s thoughts. But damned if this one hadn’t shut him out. A fact that made him almost as hard as the lusty beast that lived and breathed inside of him.
He was intrigued. Aroused. Hungry.
And while the last thing Brent needed to do was waste his time with confrontations, suddenly it was the only thing he wanted to do.
He eased off the gas, pulled onto the side of the road and climbed out of the car.
This was not good.
The warning screamed in Abigail’s head the minute she pulled up behind the Camaro.
Her headlights sliced through the darkness, illuminating the abandoned car. Her gaze shifted to the pastureland that stretched for miles on either side of the road. He was nowhere in sight. No shadowy figure fleeing in the moonlight or trucking down the road. Which meant that while the car appeared abandoned, it wasn’t.
Fear made her heart pump faster and she drew on it. Despite what most people thought, fear could be good. It motivated people, kept their senses heightened and sharp. Most of all, it fed the survival instinct. The key was not to let fear get the upper hand and interfere with brain function. It was all about breathing and thinking. Abigail had learned that during her first special ops mission in Iraq. She’d been cornered by a small group of insurgents who would have captured her had she given in to the gripping terror in the pit of her stomach. The visions of interrogation and torture and death. But instead of the outcome, she’d focused on the moment. On thinking of a way to get to the knife in her boot. Plotting a line of attack. Finding a means of escape.
The fear had turned to power then and she’d made it out alive.
She forced another deep breath and stared at the car in front of her, her gaze searching for some sign that he was still in it. He had to be.
Her gut tightened, her instincts screaming yet again that something wasn’t right. Why would he hide unless he had something to hide? She killed her engine, leaving the headlights blazing, and climbed from behind the wheel.
A few seconds later, she eased up beside the car, every nerve in her body on high alert as she slid along the sleek finish and stalled just shy of the door. Her gaze sliced to the right, through the window and the thick darkness to find …
Nothing.
He wasn’t sprawled on the front seat or hunkered in the miniscule space in the back.
The Camaro was empty.
Impossible.
She whirled, drinking in the surrounding countryside. She’d been all of twenty seconds behind him. No way could he have crossed the wide open pasture in that short amount of time. Not flat out running. Not even hauling it on a four-wheeler.
Her mind raced as her attention shifted back to the muscle car. Her gaze dropped to the foot of space between the bottom of the car and the ground. It wasn’t enough to accommodate a man of his size. At the same time, she’d seen seven men stuff themselves into a crawlspace the size of a single shower stall to escape capture. Desperation was the mother of the impossible.
“You might as well come out.” Abigail summoned her most commanding voice. “I know you’re under there.”
“Actually,” the deep, timbre of his voice slithered into her ear a heartbeat before she felt his presence, “I’m out here.” A hand touched her shoulder. “Right behind you.”
4
SHE WHIRLED AND STARED up at him with blue eyes so clear and vivid that he should have been able to see everything going on in her head. She was startled. That’s all he got before the window slammed shut and he was pushed out.
For the first time, he found himself stuck noticing her features. The sparkle of her eyes. The fullness of her cheeks. The smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose.
Cute.
But Brent didn’t do cute. Even more, he didn’t do locals. So what if she had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen and a pink, pouty mouth that inspired the most wicked thoughts? He wasn’t interested. No sir.
Her lips parted and the faintest intake of breath echoed in his super sensitive ears.
The sound echoed in his head, rumbled down his spine and made a bee-line straight to his cock.
Okay,
