He dropped his bag near his desk. Damn but he was tired.
He hurt.
And he was horny.
All because of a little human.
No, not a human. He’d stake his life on it.
“You tracked the bastard down in twelve hours.” Dee gave a faint hmmm, kind of like a revving motor. “Jerk, you’ve just broken my record.”
The disgruntlement in her voice had a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t worry, babe, there’s always next time.” Dee was a bloodthirsty one. She was the toughest and sneakiest fighter he’d ever come across.
And she was one hundred percent human.
A human with a serious attitude.
“I couldn’t let that ass**le stay on the streets.” Because he’d seen the pictures. Seen just what good old Bobby had done to the women who’d “wronged” him.
Poor Sheila Gentry had gotten seventeen stitches in her face because she’d made the mistake of saying no when the guy asked her out for dinner. She’d taken a pit stop at a gas station and found one hell of a Romeo who wanted to pick her up.
Psycho.
Caged psycho now.
The little ADA had better do her job and keep him there.
He eased into his chair. Heard the grunt of the leather. “Dee, what do you know about Erin Jerome?”
She blinked her chocolate eyes. The lady was all of five-foot-three. One hundred and fifteen pounds. She looked like a hard wind would blow her over.
But he’d seen her take down demons twice her size.
Dee knew the score about the Other world. Knew it, and often hated it.
A frown had her brows pulling low. “The new ADA? She just started.”
Yeah, he knew that. He would have known about her if she’d been around for more than a few weeks.
Her scent. He’d never smelled anything like it. Roses. Soft, subtle. And…more. An alluring, haunting scent of woman.
She didn’t smell like an animal. Didn’t give off the wild, rich scent of female shifters.
But the minute he’d seen her, the minute he’d caught her fragrance in the air, his whole body had stiffened.
And he’d gotten the biggest hard-on of his life. There was something there. He knew it.
“Oh, hell, she’s Other.” Dee curled her lip. “I swear, you guys are taking over the city.”
Yeah, they were.
“What is she? Witch? Djinn? One of those charmers?”
Jude didn’t speak. Because he didn’t know.
“A vampire?” Ice dripped from her voice. Dee hated the vamps. Her mission in life was to exterminate as many of them as she could.
Not that he blamed her, really. A vampire master had slaughtered her family years ago.
Dee was real big on the “eye for an eye” mentality.
“I don’t…think so.” Erin’s skin had been flushed with color. Kissed by the sun. Vamps were usually paler than, well, death.
The lady had been a real looker. Coal black hair, thick, spilling to her shoulders. Red lips. Cheeks almost brutally sharp.
Eyes wide and gold. And a little black mole near the corner of her left eye.
Great body. High br**sts. Round hips. Long, long legs.
Sexy.
Tall, slender, she’d walked with confidence, grace.
Until she’d seen him.
Then he’d watched her stumble, for just a moment.
Because she’d sensed what I am.
Only another shifter should have been able to sense him.
“She didn’t smell like a shifter,” he muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. Hell, he shouldn’t even be worrying about this now. He should be sleeping. Drinking. Congratulating himself on another job well done.
Not obsessing over a woman who clearly wasn’t interested in him.
Yeah, ’cause smelling a woman, sniffing her like a freaking dog—that was the way to get a date.
“Just let me know if you hear anything about her, okay?” he finally said.
A cautious nod.
“Thanks, Dee.” He closed his eyes…and saw Erin.
Shit. He needed to get a life.
He needed to take a life. Needed to kill. Needed to feel the sweet trickle of life being washed away.
The Slasher, Bobby Burrows, waited just behind the bars. There he stood, stalking around and muttering about evil and devils and hell.
And annoying the hell out of him.
That bastard had been on the news for the last two nights.
Bobby’s fat, ugly face had been splashed across the screen—making him sick.
Bobby Burrows didn’t deserve fifteen minutes of fame. He deserved a trip to the grave.
Bobby grabbed the bars of his cell. Tightened his thick hands into straining fists around the metal and screamed, “The f**kin’ devil marked me! I want reporters in here, I want my lawyer, I want—”
“Relax.” He sidled closer to Bobby, finally stepping out of the shadows he loved so much and smiling. He jerked his thumb toward the group of guards who were watching television near the entrance to the cages.
Cages. That’s what he called ’em. To keep the animals inside.
But sometimes, the cages couldn’t hold the animals.
He drew in a deep breath and caught the scent of the man’s sweat and blood. “They’re not gonna help you.” They were too busy huddling up and watching a game to give a shit about the guy left in holding. He smiled and hoped he didn’t look too hungry. “But I will.”
Bobby squinted at him. The left side of his face was covered by a large, white bandage. “What? Who are you?”
His hands rose to the bars, reached for Bobby’s—
The Slasher jumped back.
Ah…not as stupid as he looked. “Why don’t you tell me who hurt you, Bobby?”
“I-I did. The devil—”
“The devil’s not real.” He’d never seen him. Judgment wasn’t for the afterlife. It was for here and now, to be delivered by the strong.
“Yes, he is.” Absolute certainty. “Found me in the swamp. Changed before me. I shot the bastard, but he still came after me.” He licked his lips. “Then he cut me.”
The bars were so thin. Not nearly strong enough to keep him out.
But strong enough to trap the human inside.
“He let you live, didn’t he? I don’t think the devil would do that.”
“He’s a monster!” Spittle flew from Bobby’s mouth. “Hiding behind the face of a man. That f**kin’ hunter! Pretendin’, he’s pretendin’!”
“We all pretend,” he told him softly, aware of the excitement burning through his gut. He didn’t have any more time to waste. “It’s how we live.” His hands flew through the gap in the bars. His right hand locked around the Slasher’s throat.