You do something to me. Just by existing.
Her hand drifted toward his chest. “I—”
He stepped back stiffly, clearing his throat. “I think I’ll stand under the cool water awhile longer, Kate. It would make my back feel better.”
“Right,” she whispered. “A cold shower for your . . . back.”
His smile was rueful and shy and sweet enough to make her heart creak.
“Something like that,” he murmured. His hand touched her cheek so briefly it was only the ghost of a caress, but it was still powerful enough to implore her to step toward him. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as if the struggle within him was intense.
“I’d better go,” he said, then turned and with that long and powerful stride, escaped into the bathroom.
Body still thrumming with unsatisfied cravings, she thought, His willpower is stronger than mine.
She pictured him standing naked in the shower and knew it would take all her will just to keep herself from joining him there.
The doorbell startled Kate. She wasn’t expecting company. It’s probably a holiday package, she thought, but when she opened the door, she found a group of uniformed men. A sheriff and three deputies armed with shotguns.
“Hello, ma’am. May we come in?”
A trickle of unease dripped down her spine. Why had they come to the door with their weapons in hand?
“What’s this about?”
“We’re tracking a fugitive. The trail led here.”
“A fugitive, you say? What’s he wanted for?” Her heart thumped more quickly, her eyes studying their faces. Their eager expressions didn’t put her at ease.
“He? I didn’t mention it was a he,” the sheriff said, looking past her. They pressed forward.
“Most fugitives are men,” she said.
“Is he inside?” the sheriff demanded.
“Sure, he’s inside,” one of the deputies said with an angry sneer, and she spotted the tips of his fangs.
“Oh!” she said, backpedaling into the house. She swung the door, but one of them grabbed it and shoved it open. They pushed forward, spinning her and cuffing her hands behind her back.
Her outrage spilled out as curses, but they didn’t break their stride. They shoved her onto the couch and told her to stay there.
“The disguises don’t fool me. I know you’re ventala.”
“The show wasn’t for you. It was for your neighbors,” one said as he hurried to the back of the house and opened the deck door. More men spilled in, and she gasped.
“Get out of my house!” she yelled as they started checking rooms and some rushed upstairs. They kicked in the guest room door where her visitor had just been showering.
“Katherine Devane,” the fake sheriff said, looking inside her wallet. “I know who you are. You’re an aspirant. You wrote the story about the vampire nest in South Dakota and got them all killed.”
She ignored the sheriff and held her breath, listening for sounds from the guest room. Had they found Bronze? Overpowered him?
A group of ventala pounded down the stairs. “Upstairs is clear.”
“There was an open window in the downstairs bedroom. He must have climbed out.”
“Outside then. Fast!” The sheriff turned to her. “Did he have his memory, Kate?”
She pursed her lips and glared at the fake sheriff. He grabbed her arms and squeezed them. “Where did he go? Tell me right now.”