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  His fangs lengthened. The need for violence hit him like a blow. Emotions were difficult to control when they hit all at once. Overwhelming. Centuries of discipline saved the man called Daniel. Tariq was able to take a deep breath and force himself under control.

  In the blinding lights of the bar, he had to keep his eyes narrowed to slits while he worked at toning down the color so he could see properly. His woman's scent was fading even as he dropped fast to the ground floor and began to streak his way through the dense crowd to try to reach her.

  "Damn straight I want to fuck her. Don't you? She's gorgeous," Daniel said.

  Tariq could tell by the way this voice blended with the music and other conversations that he was on the move. Heading toward the exit.

  "Like you don't want the same thing, Bruce," Daniel continued, laughter in his voice. "You were touching her at every opportunity. Just so you know, you aren't going to get her."

  "We always share," Bruce muttered, clearly annoyed.

  "Yeah, well, not her. She's special, and I'm going to recruit her. Get her to join us. You want a woman, share her friend with Vince," Daniel declared.

  "No way," Vince snapped. "I told both of you the moment we laid eyes on them in Paris that Genevieve was mine and mine alone. I haven't changed my mind."

  Tariq felt the edge of his teeth against his tongue. The blood ran hot in his veins, yet the predator was as cold as ice. They were talking about his woman with no respect in their voices.

  Tariq was almost on them now. He had passed the table where three men and two women had been sitting together in the bar of the West Coast Swing room. Tariq paused, his heart beginning to pound in time with the rhythm of the music. His mouth went dry. He inhaled deeply. She'd been there. Orange blossom and vanilla. He followed the unique fragrance, weaving his way through the tables, putting on speed and yanking open the door to follow the three men into the night. He came up behind them. Her scent wasn't on any of the three men and that saved their lives.

  She'd been in his club, probably all evening. With them. Only a short distance away from him. Dancing with them. Drinking with them. The fire in his blood increased until he could hear the roar in his ears and feel it thundering in his veins. These men had laid their hands on her. He took a step toward them, coming up behind them in utter silence. A wind. No more. A dark swirl in the air that could suck the life out of them without their even knowing before they dropped to the ground dead.

  Tariq. Maksim again used the telepathic link between them. He was already on the lower floor, but away from Tariq, down toward the doors leading outside. I feel a blank space. A foul stench is drifting in from outside each time the doors open. The undead is close. He's hunting.

  Tariq raised his head alertly. He'd been so locked onto his prey he hadn't scanned before stepping outside. Mistakes like that could cost his life. Not only his, but those of humans and Carpathians he had vowed to protect. Feelings were not an asset to a hunter. His lifemate was out in the open parking lot with a vampire close and three men stalking her. Of course she would draw a vampire to her. She had to be psychically gifted in order to be his lifemate. No vampire could resist that lure.

  You stay and protect those inside. I will go after the undead. I am already outside.

  Tariq whispered a command to the three men he'd been stalking, coming up behind them so closely he could have driven his teeth into their jugulars. Instead, he ordered them to go to their homes immediately. He would deal with them later if he ran across them, but he had to ensure his lifemate and her friend Genevieve were safe.

  He took to the air, streaking above the large parking lot toward the parking garage. It was four stories high. His lifemate and her friend had traveled in that direction. Orange blossom and vanilla left a faint trail and he followed it. Even as he did so, he was aware of the three men getting into their car, obeying his command.

  Then he was inside and moving fast toward the second story. He got his first glimpse of the two women. The shorter one caught the arm of the taller one and stepped close to her. "Wait," she hissed softly.

  His entire world changed in the blink of an eye. In that one instant. It was so fast, so dramatic, he barely could comprehend, let alone adjust. The ground shifted beneath his feet. The air around him vibrated and quaked, nearly throwing him out into the open. Colors blinded him. Shook him. Made his stomach lurch and his eyes burn. He'd never believed colors could be so vivid.

  There in the garage, in the dead of night with only dim lighting, he could see the tall woman had long, glossy dark hair the color of rich chestnuts. Her hair fell like a waterfall down her back. She wore dark blue jeans, a shirt with colors bleeding into one another and dark blue sandals with four-inch heels. The other woman--his woman--was small and curvy, with dark auburn hair that curled every which way, wild and thick; it looked silky soft and all he could think about was burying his hands in it. That was his woman. His lifemate. The miracle he'd searched long centuries for.

  She wore soft blue jeans, so faded they were nearly white, and a shimmering coral top that clung to her generous curves. He stepped closer to her to inhale that elusive scent of orange blossoms and vanilla, taking the fragrance deep into his lungs. His world tilted for a moment as emotion poured in. Strong. Shaking him. His first instinct was to grab her and take to the sky to get her out of harm's way. She was in danger. Very real, mortal danger.

  A man stood lounging against the hood of a car. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing jeans and a white collared shirt with a sports jacket. His ankles were crossed, and he watched the women approaching the car, not taking his eyes from them. His hair was combed back and short, spiked, with the latest GQ look. His attention was on the women and he failed to notice the small brush of wind disturbing debris on the floor.

  "Ladies." The voice was cultured. The man smiled, revealing white teeth, the merest hint of sharp points, just a little like fangs, flashing. He beckoned to the women with a curl of his fingers.

  Tariq's heart jerked hard in his chest before he took a deep calming breath and forced all feeling away so that only ice ran in his veins. He emerged from the shadows just as the dark-haired woman stepped toward the car.

  The shorter woman, Charlie--his Charlie--caught her friend's arm. "Wait, Genevieve," she ordered softly and took a step to put herself in front of the other woman. It was subtle. It was protective, but there was no doubt what she was doing, and in spite of the fact that he couldn't afford any emotion, he felt pride in her. He could feel her fear, but she still put herself in front of someone she obviously cared about.

  "That's our car," she said, halting a short distance from the man.

  She thought she was safe. Out of reach. Tariq knew better. He knew the monster she faced. The man looked just that, a man, but he wasn't human. He was one of the most evasive vampires Tariq had chased through the centuries. He was cunning and fast and he ran with the Malinov brothers, twisted, highly intelligent siblings who very early on decided to give up their souls, turn vampire and seek to destroy the prince and all Carpathian hunters.

  Tariq was surprised to see his old childhood friend, now an elusive foe. He had taken the name Fridrick Astor, although Tariq had no way of knowing if he was still using the name. Names meant little to the Carpathian people or those who had chosen to give up their souls for the rush killing while feeding gave them--becoming the undead. Fridrick had to know Tariq and Maksim resided there, and it was highly unusual to have a vampire hunt when Carpathian males were so openly living in the area.

  The vampire straightened casually and widened his smile. "Ladies. So sorry." His German accent was perfect, although he'd been born and raised in the Carpathian Mountains. He raised an eyebrow. "You're looking beautiful tonight."

  His voice held a compulsion. It rang compelling and soft. Persuasive. He was wholly focused on the two women. Tariq knew Fridrick had utter confidence in his ability to destroy any human who might come to the rescue of the two women. In the distance, Tariq c
ould hear the sound of various voices as people left the dance club and returned to their cars to go home. He knew Fridrick had to hear them as well, although the vampire didn't take his gaze from the women.

  Charlie stepped backward, forcing Genevieve to step back as well. She kept her body firmly placed between her friend and the stranger. "I've seen you before." She made it a statement. "In Paris. You were in Paris."

  Tariq could hear her heart accelerating. He moved slowly, not wanting to draw Fridrick's attention. The air was still in the garage and it wasn't easy to allow himself to drift between Charlie and the vampire. For the first time in his entire existence that he could remember he tasted fear. Actually tasted it. It was on his tongue. Crawling down his throat to settle in tight knots in his belly. Fear permeated his skin, sank deep into his pores and into his bones. He knew he would always remember this moment. The way the parking garage smelled of oil and gas, and the scent of orange blossoms and vanilla mixing with the odor of his fear for his lifemate.

  For a moment he was paralyzed, terrified that he might move too fast and give his presence away to the undead. Doubts flooded in. Would he be too slow to stop Fridrick before the vampire could kill her? He'd always had complete confidence in himself as a hunter, a renowned fighter, but this time, it wasn't his life at stake--it was hers. His miracle. The woman born with the other half of his soul. He had no choice but to close himself off to all emotion. He dimmed the vibrancy of the colors around him and allowed himself to find that center without feeling that allowed him to function.

  Fridrick smirked at Charlie. The vampire heard her heart rate rising fast as well. "Paris was beautiful and very . . . productive." He beckoned with his fingers again, his voice dropping another octave. "Come here to me." There was sure power in his voice now, a compulsion not to be denied.

  Genevieve slammed her hands over her ears and shook her head. Charlie regarded the vampire with trepidation, but she didn't move toward him, as he'd commanded; instead she moved another step back, her body colliding with that of her friend, forcing Genevieve to step backward as well.

  Tariq drifted closer, nothing but molecules. The air around them was very still and he didn't dare tip the vampire off to his presence.

  "You were the one trying to get into our home. I saw you for a moment. And then again, right outside the museum where I was working." Charlie's voice was very soft. It trembled just a little bit, but she disregarded the compulsion in Fridrick's voice. More, it was almost as though she was immune to it.

  Genevieve knew the compulsion was there, and she combated it by trying to drown it out. Charlie didn't even blink or shake her head to clear it. Instead, there was a belligerent note added to her accusation.

  "That is true. You proved to be very resistant. Your friend was . . . so easy. Unlike you, he didn't put up much resistance."

  "You killed Ricard Beaudet." She stated it as a fact.

  "Ah yes, your mentor. He was such a little whiner. And that ridiculous little mustache he was so proud of. Weren't you just a little tired of his arrogance? He thought so much of himself."

  Tariq recognized the name, Ricard Beaudet. It should have shocked him to know that he'd written to the man and that at that time his lifemate was working for Beaudet. Ricard Beaudet was considered the foremost master of restoring carousel horses in the world, and Tariq collected them. Somehow he wasn't surprised that Charlotte had already been connected to him. Their souls called to each other's.

  Charlie's face paled as she watched Fridrick closely, drawing in a deep breath. "Did you kill my brother, too?" When he nodded slowly, still smiling, she went very still. "Why? You were in Paris. Why would you come all the way to the States and kill my brother? What did I do to you that you would want to kill everyone I care about?"

  "Not everyone, my dear." Fridrick shook his head. "I left you the child. I knew you would come here to protect the child."

  "You killed my brother so we would come to the States?" Clearly his admission was the last thing she expected.

  Genevieve caught at the loop in Charlie's jeans and pulled her a step back when it looked as if Tariq's woman might launch herself at Fridrick. Just the way she leaned toward Fridrick instead of away from him told Tariq much about his lifemate. She had a temper. She had courage. She would be a fighter, not one to flee.

  "What do you want with us?" Genevieve asked.

  Fridrick straightened from the lazy pose he had, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, his handsome, easygoing demeanor changing subtly.

  Instantly Tariq solidified, as if he'd come out of the shadows, angling his body so that he was between the women, but slightly facing them as well as Fridrick. He flashed a smile at all of them. "Good evening. How is everyone doing tonight?" He kept his voice friendly and open, the owner of the nightclub greeting his patrons. "Ladies." He bowed slightly toward them, an old-world, courtly gesture, before turning his attention on the undead. "Fridrick. How . . . unexpected to see you here." His tone said the vampire wasn't welcome and had made a very big mistake.

  Fridrick smirked, seemingly not in the least bit intimidated. Tariq immediately scanned his surroundings. Fridrick would never, under any circumstances, willingly go into battle with him unless he had no other choice--or the odds were on his side.

  "Mr. Asenguard," Charlotte murmured.

  Of course she knew his name; everyone did. He was in magazines and, as owner of the club, was often photographed for charity events, but still--Tariq liked that she knew who he was. She put a hand on his arm. Lightly. He felt her touch burning right through the material of his jacket and shirt. Through skin and sinew straight to his bone. Her fingers curled. Exerted subtle pressure. She urged him away from Fridrick. At first he was unsure what she was trying to do, and then it occurred to him that she was trying to protect him.

  "Not so unexpected seeing you, Tariq," Fridrick responded, confirming Tariq's fears that Fridrick believed he was in a position to win in an actual battle.

  Fridrick had known Tariq was close and it hadn't fazed him a bit. Tariq needed to figure out what he was missing very fast. Making a mistake could be the difference between life and death for his lifemate.

  He used the telepathic path he'd forged with his partner. Something is not right here, Maksim. My lifemate and her friend, another potential lifemate, are being threatened. Send out the call for anyone close to come quickly. I do not want to tip him off I have reinforcements in the area. Fridrick is a master vampire and I am certain he has brought others to aid him. Unlike with the undead, there was never ego with hunters. Destroying the vampire was merely a job, something they did in any way possible.

  Fridrick's smile faltered as his gaze dropped to Charlie's fingers curled around Tariq's forearm. "It will do you no good to cling to Tariq as if he is your savior, Charlotte. Yes, I know your name." His gaze traveled over Genevieve, his stare insolent. "You are for someone else, so touch the soft little playboy all you want, but, Charlotte, you need to let go of him and come here to me."

  "Fridrick, you would not be threatening either of these women, would you?" Tariq kept his tone mild. Even amused. All the while he reached with all his senses to find the true threat. It wasn't Fridrick. In a fair fight, the odds would be somewhat even, a scenario Fridrick would never accept. "Ladies, Fridrick sometimes forgets himself. He likes to think he is capable of far more than he really is."

  Charlie's fingers started to slip from his arm. She looked very alarmed. In that moment he realized she would choose to save him and her friend by obeying Fridrick's command. He turned his hand to catch her wrist, slid his palm down until he could thread his fingers through hers. The need to comfort her was a compulsion he couldn't possibly ignore. He drew her closer to him. Fit her under his shoulder. He needed room to fight, but she needed care first.

  He arched one eyebrow at Fridrick, allowing a slight smile of amusement to curve his lips. It was important to send the right message. Fridrick got what he was silently saying because his
cocky smirk faltered for just a moment and his gaze shifted first right and then left as if to assure himself he wasn't alone. Of course he wasn't alone. Fridrick was a master vampire. He'd been around for centuries and was skilled in battle, but he would never face a hunter of Tariq's skill without aid.

  Tariq caught Charlie's arm and brought it around his waist. To his astonishment, she didn't stiffen or fight him. Her attention was on Fridrick. She didn't seem to notice that she was clinging to Tariq, and he didn't mind in the least. Nothing in his life had ever felt as right as the way her small body tucked so tightly against his did. Her skin burned through his clothes, sank through his pores to scorch her right onto his bones. He'd never felt better in his life or more alive. Perhaps that was the last thing he needed when going into battle with multiple vampires, but he allowed himself that brief moment to feel. To take it in.

  3

  Charlotte's stomach did a slow somersault. She knew Tariq Asenguard by sight. How could she not? He was considered one of the most eligible bachelors in town. His picture was in magazines and there were numerous articles written about him. He was gorgeous. Rugged, all muscle, wide shoulders, elegant even with his long hair tied back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. It curled in a long tube of rich, thick chestnut down his back. He wore black trousers and a matching jacket over a blue shirt. His eyes were a vibrant blue, right now so dark they looked nearly black, and his lashes were long.

  She knew she shouldn't be noticing the owner of the club when danger was right in front of him--she should be warning him. But what was she supposed to say without looking like a lunatic? The man they faced had ripped out throats and drunk blood? That he'd killed Genevieve's grandmother and boyfriend in Paris? That he'd killed her own mentor there as well? Then he'd drawn them to the States by murdering her brother? She couldn't imagine that the suave, sophisticated owner of the nightclub would believe her. He looked far too elegant to have a clue about serial killers.