and the house, glowing excessively, lazily stretched out fifty yards in front of them. The house looked so modern that it might pass for a spaceship. A path dotted with flowers wound toward the impressive front entrance nestled between columns, welcoming the wayward traveler—if that traveler happened to own an island and a sweatshop.
Charity tried to melt into the Porsche’s bucket seat. She resented agreeing with that clown with the Range Rover, but it was clear that she didn’t belong here. This was a dozen steps above Sam, and Sam was a marathon above Charity. Charity would stick out in a very bad way. She said as much.
“C’mon, you look great,” Sam said, getting out of the car.
“What millionaire wants to live at the end of that death road, anyway?” Charity climbed out of the car. Her dress pulled down, nearly exposing her breasts, before cinching up, not far from giving a crotch peep show. “Why do guys get to wear clothes that cover their bodies, and fashion tells women to basically go nude? I mean, don’t guys usually have to pay for that pleasure?”
“You’re so weird,” Sam said again—it was her favorite observation of Charity—and her hips swayed as she made it to the front of the car. “To answer your question, a millionaire that wants privacy.”
Devon’s urgent tone resurfaced in Charity’s memory. He’d been so adamant that they should turn around.
“Or maybe a millionaire with a lot of secrets,” she murmured, looking back the way they’d come.
Chapter Four
Devon stared after the Porsche as it disappeared around the bend. He should’ve tried harder to get his message across. Samantha never would’ve turned away, but he’d seen the wariness and intelligence in the other lady’s eyes. She had street smarts, he could tell. She might’ve listened. She might’ve let one of his guys take her back to the main road so she could get a cab.
“Who was that chick?” Dillon asked.
“The one on the right, the pretty blonde, was invited. Samantha Kent,” Devon said without inflection, hiding his unease. “Her daddy is some big-shot CEO. She has a trust, I think, but Vlad isn’t after her. He wants her dad. He’s going to try to use the daughter to get what he wants from the old man.”
Vlad was a cunning, ruthless elder vampire who thought nothing of breaking magical law in the Brink, what magical people called the human world. Vampires were prohibited from changing humans, but the elder didn’t intend to ask for permission, either from the humans he planned to change or the shifters who regulated magical law in the Brink.
“I meant the other one. She doesn’t belong,” Dillon said.
“No, she doesn’t.” Devon leaned against his SUV and kept from clenching his jaw. “Jessica Young was invited. That was not Jessica Young.”
“Was she a last-minute change?” Jimmy asked, easily their least prepared and most immature pack member. “Or is she in the way wrong place at the absolutely worst time?”
Devon directed his gaze back toward the private road. “I don’t know.”
“I recognize that chick.” Andy scratched his nose, expression troubled. His dirty-blond hair stuck up at all angles, the result of using his fingers for a comb after his surf earlier. “She’s in my physics class. Damn smart. Dresses like a poor street kid. Smells funny.”
Devon remembered the way the gal had scowled when he’d noticed her lack of jewelry, something none of Samantha’s friends would leave the house without. They wore bling like it was an art form. Instead of inviting scrutiny, as Samantha always did, this woman shied away from it. If her eyes could’ve literally shot knives, he would’ve had to change to his wolf form to heal from the wounds.
“Why would Vlad be interested in a poor street kid?” Dillon asked.
“He wouldn’t, unless there is something we don’t know.” Devon bit back the annoyance in his voice. Surprises were liable to get his whole pack killed. He turned back to Andy. “Smells funny how?”
Andy shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. “Dunno. She just…doesn’t smell right.”
Devon pushed away from the bumper of his car. “Is it something we’ve got to worry about tonight? Or is the smell because she doesn’t shower?”
“She smells good. Tantalizing. She’s that Sammie girl’s roommate. Maybe she got sucked into this gig. The girl is dirt poor, I hear. White trash or something.” Andy scratched his chest, catching a hole in his T-shirt and ripping it a little bigger. He didn’t seem to notice. “I definitely tried to hit