"It's my house," the man exclaimed. "I can damn well do what I want." Michael gave him a shake. Though he was holding the felon tight enough to almost choke a normal man, it seemed to have very little effect on this particular man. Maybe the fool was too frightened to realize he was being choked, though it seemed to be anger rather than fear evident in his actions. Reaching telepathically, Michael tried to read the old fool's thoughts, but nothing happened. For some reason, his telepathy skills had deserted him since he'd walked into this place. Either that or this old man had shields stronger than anything he'd ever come across, which meant, perhaps, that he was a whole lot more than he seemed.
Maybe he was connected to Dunleavy in some way. It was logical that Dunleavy would have someone to do his bidding during the daylight hours, when he was restricted to the shadows.
"If this is your house, why were you climbing through the back window?"
"I heard steps. Thought it might have been one of the miners coming after the money he's owed."
"So, you're a cheat as well as a thief?"
"I ain't." But it was sullenly said.
"Then stop waving your hands and empty your pockets." The old man glared. Michael shook him hard enough to rattle the old fool's teeth. With a soft curse, the thief slowly emptied his pockets. Fine silk underclothing fell to the ground. Anger rose thick and fast, and suddenly it was all Michael could do not to kill this creature right then and there.
"A cheat, a thief, and a pervert. Perhaps I would do this town a great favor if I rid it of your presence."
"Whores don't need undergarments," the old man muttered, his sullen words at odds with the strange flame of anger in his pale eyes.
"And you do?" Michael retorted. "Wait until I tell the miners about your little fetish. I'm sure they'll appreciate it."
The old man hawked and spat. Michael dodged the glob and squeezed his hand a little tighter. It made no more difference than before.
"The whore's probably not going to live out the night, so it won't matter if I take them for others to use." Michael's grip tightened even further. Any other man would have died right then and there, their neck snapped. Yet there was no bone under his fingertips. Impossible, surely...
"What do you mean?" he asked, voice harsh.
"Listen to the wind, vampire. It howls for blood."
As if the old man's words were a trigger, the howls of wolves suddenly sang on the night breeze. It was a sound that spoke of hunting and the need for blood. A sound that stirred the darkness in him, despite the fact he'd fed only a few minutes ago.