"Now? But it's miserable out there."
"I'm going to see what I can learn about her."
"By watching her sleep? That's not normal."
"My methods have never worried you before." Lincoln needed to know if she was the reason Gillingham hated supernaturals, perhaps enough to kill them. Something Gillingham had said to his wife on the balcony haunted Lincoln—he'd discovered her secret back in the summer. Charlie's existence had come to their attention in the summer. Could the two facts be linked? Could the discovery of Lady Gillingham's "true form" have led to him wanting to rid the world of all supernaturals?
"I've never voiced my opinion before." Seth crossed his arms. "I no longer feel like holding back. Is that a problem for you, sir?"
"Not as long as you don't have a problem with me ignoring you."
Gus gave a grudging laugh but it quickly died when Seth glared at him.
Lincoln pulled on his leather gloves with reinforced knuckles and slipped into his jacket and boots. He slid a knife down each boot and another into the waistband of his pants. He gave his men a nod and moved past them to the door.
"Her bedroom is the third window from the right, third level," Seth said.
Lincoln stopped. "You've been intimate with her?"
Seth shrugged one shoulder. "She's pretty and her husband wasn't paying her any attention. She needed…relief."
Gus scratched his neck. It was still damp from driving through the rain. "Did you notice anything about her? Did she…you know…act like a human woman does when she's…um…?"
"You mean did she cry out my name in ecstasy, bunch the sheets in her fists, and arch her back as her body shuddered?" Seth gave him a smug look. "Yes, she did all of that, and more. She acted as every other normal woman acts when I'm with her."
Gus rolled his eyes. "Want me to drive you, sir?"
"I'll walk," Lincoln said.
"But it'll take an age to get back to Mayfair."
"Not if I take the short route."
"What short route?"
"Over the roofs." His rooftop escape from O'Neill's place had been exhilarating. Tonight would be slipperier, but that would serve to keep Lincoln alert and his mind focused. He needed to focus.
Lincoln slid up the window sash and listened to the even breathing of a slumbering person. She was loud for a young woman, and the dark lump in the bed was larger than he expected. Perhaps this wasn't Lady Gillingham's room after all, but that of her husband.
He removed his boots before climbing down from the sill and stepping silently on the floor. The breathing stopped. The lump moved. As silent as he'd been, she'd heard him—or sensed him.
She sat up. Turned toward him.
Fuck!
He stepped backward, smacking into the wall with a thump, like an amateur. His heartbeat quickened. The light may be low, but there was enough to see that the…thing sitting up in bed didn't have a woman's shape. It was large, thick, and covered with hair or fur.
"Who is it?" said a voice that matched Lady Gillingham's. "Who's there?"
For all his speed and agility, Lincoln wasn't fast enough. The creature—woman—leapt out of bed and wrapped its massive paws around his throat before he could move or utter a sound.
He struggled, kicked out, and batted the wolf-like chest with his fists. He tried to shove off the paws, but they were too tight, the grip too strong. His throat felt like it was being crushed. Blackness rimmed his vision. He felt himself slipping away into oblivion, a pair of yellow inhuman eyes watching as the last breath left his body.
Chapter 6
Eyes. Gouge the eyes.
The thought flittered through Lincoln's mind. He reached up and dug his fingers into the creature's face.
It let him go and stepped back, out of reach. He should have gone after it, but all he could manage was great gasps of air. Every breath burned his raw throat, but the first swallow hurt more. It felt like he was trying to get a football down.
"You!" The voice was Lady Gillingham's feminine one. He glanced up to see her standing rigid before him, hands on hips, her nightgown barely covering womanly curves. She was pretty, young, and the only visible hair was that on her head, tied into a neat braid that drooped over her shoulder. "What are you doing here, Mr. Fitzroy?" She sounded outraged, appalled, and not at all scared. An ordinary woman would be terrified to wake up to a man in her room. "Well? Answer me."
He swallowed again. A little better this time.