The Real Werewives of Vampire County - By Alexandra Ivy Page 0,6
in the ass,” she muttered beneath her breath, her head snapping around as Luc jogged easily up the stairs.
“Were you saying something?” he asked, a faint smile toying at the edges of his mouth.
She ran a swift gaze over his magnificent body, refusing to allow herself to linger on the rippling muscles and the broad shoulders that were displayed to perfection by the tight T-shirt.
He was unharmed.
That was all that mattered.
“Did you find the shooter?”
“Nothing.” His jaw clenched with frustration. “Whoever it was managed to enter and leave the building without leaving a trace.”
“A witch?”
“Impossible to say without further information.” He shrugged. “I’ll do a more thorough search when the building closes for the night.”
She cleared her throat. “I haven’t thanked you.”
Expecting him to gloat, Sophia was caught off guard when he abruptly stepped forward, grasping her upper arms as he regarded her with a fierce glare.
“I don’t want you to thank me, Sophia. I want you to let me do my job.”
She shivered as the heat of his hands seared against her bare skin, her wolf growling in low approval.
Traitor.
“I haven’t given you the job.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard any number of rumors about you, but none of them mentioned that you were stupid.”
She stiffened. Until this moment she’d never given a damn what people said about her.
Who cared if she was known as an immoral, heartless slut?
Now she scowled at the thought he might be judging her without ever knowing the truth.
“What rumors?” she growled.
“That you’re the Queen of Bitches.”
“True.” No point in trying to deny that. Not that she wanted to. “What else?”
The dark gaze skimmed over her face. “That you’re exquisite.”
“Also true.”
“That you were blessed with four pure-blooded daughters. An amazing gift to our people.”
She lowered her gaze. Although the word of Cassie’s talent of prophecy, as well as her recent disappearance, weren’t state secrets, they hadn’t yet become common knowledge.
The fewer people who knew, the better.
“Yes.”
“And that you’re a survivor,” he continued, ignoring her sudden wariness. “Which was why you were smart enough to seek help when you needed it.”
She lifted her head with a wry smile. “Slick.”
“Skilled,” he corrected, frustration still simmering in his magnificent eyes. “And unfortunately late to the party. Take me back to the beginning.” His brows drew together as she hesitated. “Sophia?”
She ground her teeth. Dammit. He was a wolf on the hunt.
He wasn’t going to let this go.
“I’m not really sure,” she muttered.
“Something spooked you or you wouldn’t have felt the need for a bodyguard.”
“It’s all been so ... childish.”
His hands loosened their grip so he could run his fingers lightly up and down her arm, sending a series of pleasurable quakes through her body.
“Childish?”
She struggled to keep her mind on track. Not easy when her thoughts were being consumed with how quickly she could have him stripped of his clothes and pressed against the wall.
The things she could do to that fantastic body.
Mmmm.
His eyes dilated as the spice of her arousal filled the air, his body tensing with an answering hunger. With a low curse, she wrenched her mind back to the conversation.
Where were they?
Oh yeah, her murderous stalker.
She shrugged. “It started with spiteful notes left on my door.”
“What did they say?”
“The usual. ‘I hate you.’ ‘Go away, bitch.’ ‘Whore.’ ” Her lips curled in disgust. “Something a juvenile human would do.”
“What else?”
“My tires slashed. A dead rat left in my swimming pool.” Her gaze shifted past him to the bullet hole in the floor. A few more inches and she would have been skewered. “At least until today.”
His frown deepened, his expression distracted. “Strange.”
“Strange that someone tried to shoot me, or strange that they hadn’t tried before?” she asked dryly.
“It usually doesn’t escalate so swiftly.”
She forced herself to hold his questioning gaze at his unnerving perception.
It wasn’t bad enough his mere touch could make her wolf pant with need, he also had to be intelligent?
“You mean the attacks?”
“Exactly.” His hands shifted so his thumbs were brushing the sensitive line of her throat, pausing over the unsteady beat of her pulse. “It’s a hell of a leap from scribbling a nasty note to pulling a trigger. Most people never progress to that point. And those that do take longer than a few days to go from catty to psychotic.”
“Hmmm.” Her expression was noncommittal. “I see your point.”
His eyes narrowed. “When did you receive your first threat?”
“A few days after I moved into my new house. Two weeks ago,” she promptly answered. “I assumed it was a jealous neighbor.”