called an army of supernatural superspies. Kings and presidents called when their own experts failed. Solving kidnappings, thefts, smugglings and every other kind of nefarious plot was the bread-and-butter work of Company agents. Dr. Mark Winspear preferred healing people, but he had other skills that came in handy more often than he cared to admit.
In a single smooth move he was perched on the window frame, and then sprang to a nearby tree. The wet, rough bark scraped his palms as he moved from one tree to another, positioning himself for a view of the intruder. Where the limbs were too soft to bear his weight, he used his vampire abilities to fly silently from trunk to trunk. Branches snagged his hair and shoulders, dripping rivulets of rain down his neck. Mark ignored the discomfort and focused on the ground below.
Territorial instincts triggered a wave of hot anger. These were his hunting grounds. Whoever dared to enter would feel his wrath. He leaped, silent and agile as a cat, barely a branch crackling as he moved.
A rare smile played on Mark’s lips as he caught a whiff of warm blood. Warm female blood. It made his mouth water. Clever, to send a female assassin. No doubt she was a seductress, meant to disarm him. He knew better. Women killed just as easily, sometimes better, than their brothers.
Nice try. After a steady diet of black-tailed deer—well, he was ready for dessert.
Then he saw her, stumbling through the trees. She’d found the deer track that passed for a path and was making good progress, but she didn’t move like someone accustomed to the woods. He leaned a little farther, balancing in the perfect spot to peer between the branches. The hood of her coat was pulled up, so he could tell little outside the fact that she was tall for a woman, around five-nine. No flashlight. Obviously, she was trying to sneak up to the house.
Mark shifted his weight, poised to drop on top of the woman as she passed beneath his tree. Then shock rippled through him as he saw she was leading a small child by the hand. In his surprise, his foot nearly slipped. Who took a kid through the woods on a night like this?
A cougar stole through the brush a dozen yards behind. Adrenaline tightened his muscles. No! One rush and a spring, and the cat would have the child.
Mark dropped between the woman and the cat. His boots landed with a hollow thud on the needle-strewn path. The woman stumbled, letting out a yell of surprise. Mark rose, turning to see both her and the cougar. The cat padded backward a few steps, ears flattening.
A need to protect his domain flashed through Mark. He gave a warning growl, hoping the cat would turn and run. Compact and muscular, this male was nine feet from nose to tail-tip and as heavy as a grown man. Mark suspected it was also every bit as smart.
Except tonight. Instead of running, the cougar bared its fangs in a rattling hiss.
It was too much for the woman. She bolted, dragging the child with her, tripping and crashing as she went. The cat lunged forward, but Mark was there in an instant, crouched in its path. The cougar swiped a huge paw. Mark caught it before the massive claws touched his flesh. The cat strained against his grip, rearing up. Mark grabbed both front legs, struggling against the steel of its muscles and tendons. If he had been human, the cougar would have flayed him in a heartbeat.
With a roar, Mark thrust the cat away, the force of it making the creature slide and skitter into the brush.
“Not tonight,” he said evenly, using a touch of vampire compulsion. “This prey is mine.”
The cougar gave a long, slow blink, ears flat against its head. Mark waited. The moment stretched, the cat lashing the ground with its tail, its emerald eyes sizing Mark up, choosing whether or not to obey. Mark raised the knife, letting the cougar see it. The cougar hissed again, a nightmare of long, ivory fangs.
Go. I don’t want to kill you. The moment stretched, Mark still and silent, every muscle poised to strike.
At last the tension broke. With a disgusted swish of its tail, the cougar wheeled and stalked away, shoulders hunched with displeasure. Mark watched it go, relieved to avoid the fight. Good hunting, brother.
He retreated a step, then two, making sure the cat did not change its mind. At last, Mark turned and sprinted after the woman, dodging roots and low branches. She hadn’t gone far. Mark caught another wafting cloud of warm, human blood-scent, now spiced with extra fear.
She ran, too much like a doe fleeing through the woods. Mark’s instincts to chase and devour sparked and flared, roused by her slender, panicked form.
Chapter 2
Mark grabbed the woman’s shoulder. She gasped, making the sound of someone too scared to scream. He spun her around, her feet slipping on the wet ground. His grip tightened as she started to fall, but she sprang back with another noise of pure terror, pushing the child behind her.
“Stop!” he commanded, putting a snap into the word.
She obeyed, hunched against the rain, face hidden by the hood except for a pale, pointed chin. Her feet were planted wide, as if to launch herself at him if he so much as twitched in the direction of her child. The cougar had nothing on a mother protecting her young.
“Please,” she demanded, voice shaking. She didn’t say what she pleaded for. There was no need. They both knew he could be a threat—he knew exactly how much.
Mark didn’t answer at once, but took the time to study her. She was wearing a tan trench coat with half the forest stuck to its sodden hem. Her boots were sturdy tan leather, scuffed and splotched with mud. The only other feature he could make out was her hands, long fingers ending in short, unpainted nails. Capable hands. They were half curled, ready to lash out.
“Where’s the cat?” Her voice was nearly lost beneath the sound of the rain.
“I scared it off. What are you doing here?” he asked in turn, his voice deceptively soft. She smelled so good, his stomach tightened with desire and hunger.
“What does it matter to you?” she snapped back. “I mean, do you live here? Where’s the road to the nearest town?”
She was trying to sound brave, but he could hear her pulse racing with terror. To a predator, fear meant food. He barely resisted the urge to lick his lips. “You’re trespassing.”
“My bad. It’s kind of dark out.”
“A person doesn’t just take a wrong turn out here. The next house is miles away.”
“We walked up from the beach.”
That puzzled him. “You came by boat?”
“Yes.”
He hadn’t heard a motor, but the pounding rain might have drowned it out. Still, something was very off. She was extremely wet, the skirts of her coat soaked through and stinking of saltwater, as if she’d waded to shore.
The child peered around her legs, his small, white face pinched with cold. Mark felt a stab of anger. “You took your boy for a sail on a night like this?”
The woman’s chin lifted to a stubborn angle. “I made a mistake.”
“I’d say so.”
Mark was growing impatient, rain trickling down his collar. He’d been expecting assassins.
