What the hell? His fingers drummed the back of his headrest, then the steering wheel, and he inspected his watch again. Technically, they weren’t really late. The half-hour timeframe was merely an approximation.
Fifteen minutes later, he texted Jackson. Be there soon, was the reply. After goose bumps prickled his arms and he shivered, he realized he was sensing her chills.
He couldn’t bear to sit inside any longer. When he climbed out of the car, the peppery smell of wet pavement and the sound of spring frogs hidden in the dark reminded him he was among the calm energies of the Seattle area, not the volatile ones he was used to in the South.
He paced the sidewalk for what seemed like a millennium, memorizing every crack, every stray weed, and the license plate numbers of every car on her block. Picking up snippets of her neighbors’ lives, he heard a blaring television, an argument with kids about bath-time, and one neighbor was fucking someone who wasn’t his wife. Christ.
When he didn’t think he could take it a moment longer, a single headlight flashed in the distance and he heard the low rumble of her motorcycle. He leaned on the hood of the car and his head slumped with relief. Finally, he could breathe again. Although he sensed how cold she was, she was here. She was fine. She pulled into her garage and disappeared into the house.
Minutes later, two headlights appeared and a jacked-up black 4x4 pulled in behind the Porsche. He had Foss by the neck before he could put the vehicle in Park. Dom leaned in close, his fangs extended.
“What the hell did you do to her?”
“Jesus, Dom, what’s wrong with you? Get off me.”
“Did you touch her?” His thumb and fingers tightened around his friend’s larynx as he took a deep whiff, sniffing for any sign of her. Nothing.
“No. What the hell’s your problem?” Jackson choked.
Relieved on one level, but still pissed off, Dom loosened his grip and Jackson shoved him away.
“What took you so long? You should have had her back thirty minutes ago.”
“It’s not like I’m some weakass Darkblood wanting to suck anything with two legs and a pulse,” Jackson said as he rubbed his neck, “even if she is a sweetblood. She got pulled over by the cops. No helmet. Talked her way out of a ticket though. Since when did you become so protective?”
“Why didn’t you call or text me?”
“I had a few more detours to set up. You should’ve seen her. Every time she’d come to one, she’d kick at it. God, it was hilarious. This one time—”
“You were only supposed to do three. She’s freezing, for God’s sake. Did that ever cross your mind?”
“Sorry, man, you’re right. But if you could have seen her…” Foss looked up with a dreamy smile, and Dom wanted to wipe it from his face.
Rage boiled just below the surface, threatening to overflow, and his fangs ached. He never should’ve let Foss get so close to her.
Jackson cocked an eyebrow. “What is wrong with you? I swear I didn’t touch her. She’s a hottie, but she’s yours. I get that.”
“She’s not mine.” Dom wrenched open the door of the Porsche.
“Could’ve fuckin’ fooled me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE BAND AT Big Daddy’s was getting ready to play their final set and most of the patrons were on their third or fourth pitcher of Friday night refreshment. People crowded the pool tables and lines formed at every dartboard.
“Can I get you anything else, sugar?” The waitress leaned over Dom’s table to adjust the location of the salt shaker and her large breasts dangled in his face.
He pushed himself back slightly and saw her tongue dart from the corner of her over-glossed lips. She was offering him more than just beer, but he was definitely not interested.
“Two Hefeweizens.”
“Two? How ’bout a pitcher. It’s a better deal.” She put her hand on his shoulder. The rose tattoo on her right breast hovered at eye level, the name Lenny entwined in the stem. “Expecting company?”
“Yes, and here she is. Two beers. And a straw.”
“Alrighty, then.” She pulled one from her apron pocket and turned around as a lanky woman approached the table with a swagger that belonged on a Fashion Week runway. “Day-um,” the waitress muttered under her breath and walked away.
The blonde’s painted-on low-rise jeans barely covered her ass and her red heels screamed “come fuck me.” One guy fell over in his chair, gaping, as she sauntered past him, her belly-button chain swinging