One look at Lyra’s eyes, wild and afraid, and nothing on earth could have prevented Jaden from stepping in. He sprang from the shadows with a vicious snarl, fury hazing the darkness with bloodred. He landed directly in front of the grappling pair, fangs elongated and bared. The shock of his appearance gave Lyra the opening he’d hoped for. She twisted away, but not quickly enough. Mark took her down with a quick clout to the side of the head before whipping back around. Jaden watched, an odd twist of pain in his chest, as Lyra gave a single, shocked sob and collapsed to her knees.
Still, Jaden had gotten part of what he wanted. Lyra could no longer be used as a shield.
Recognition dawned in Mark’s eyes a split-second before the instinctive hatred did.
Then another set of fangs were bared. Eyes flashed hot gold. The werewolf gave a guttural growl and reached for Jaden, long claws already extended from his fingertips. Jaden hissed as he stepped out of reach and waited for his chance. Jaden knew from experience that a wolf would always go for brute force over finesse. And against a vampire, it was almost always the wolf’s downfall.
This time was no different.
Mark lunged, swiped. Jaden ducked easily and extended claws of his own, drawing first blood across the vulnerable belly. The thin ribbons of blood darkening his opponent’s T-shirt seemed to incense his adversary, and he launched himself at Jaden only to find himself with a face full of asphalt. Unable to control himself, Jaden laughed, though it sounded nasty and hollow to his own ears.
“Hmm. I think someone’s going home alone tonight.”
Face bloodied, the werewolf dragged himself off the ground and growled at his tormentor.
“Get out of here, bloodsucker. This is wolf business.”
“Really? Looks like garden-variety jackassery to me,” Jaden said, watching Lyra out of the corner of his eye. She had shifted to a sitting position, and was holding her head in her hands staying very still. How badly she was hurt, Jaden didn’t know. It was so like a wolf to try to win a woman by damaging her. Regardless, it was time to run this bastard off and give Lyra what care she needed.
He tried to ignore the way his heart began to stutter in his chest at the thought.
“Leave now,” Jaden said, his voice soft, deadly. “Or I kill you.”
Mark snorted. “Skinny piece of shit bloodsucker like you? I don’t think—”
His words were cut off abruptly by two kicks, one to his gut and one across his thick head. At that, he went down like a ton of bricks with only a soft grunt for a response. This time, he stayed down. Jaden glared down at him for a moment, only barely denying himself the extra kick he wanted to give the wolf for good measure. But the stupid bastard should feel lousy enough when he awakened facedown in the parking lot in the morning. Although it might be momentarily satisfying, killing him would be nothing more than a messy waste of time.
And despite his disturbing interest in Lyra, Jaden had no interest in getting the Lilim into a pissing match with whatever scruffy pack of werewolves this loser belonged to.
Satisfied that they were now, for all practical purposes, alone, Jaden moved to Lyra’s side and crouched down beside her. A light, intoxicating scent drifted from her, making his mouth water. Apples, he remembered. Sweet, tart apples, with something earthier beneath. Strangely enough, he felt no urge to run, to hiss and spit. He realized now it was a good thing he hadn’t gotten this close the last time. He might have done something really stupid.
Though he supposed his current actions qualified.
“Lyra?” he asked, trying to keep his voice low and soothing. He wasn’t sure how successful he was… he was way out of practice at damage control. Usually, he was the damage. “Are you all right? Do you need a doctor?” Wolves were self-healers, he knew, but it could take a while, which was dangerous when the wound was severe.
She said nothing, moved not a muscle, and Jaden’s concern deepened. He reached for her, momentarily overcome by the urge to make even the simplest physical connection. But his hand stilled in midair when she finally lifted her head to look at him. And whatever he’d expected to see—fear, confusion, even a little gratitude—none of it was in evidence as he looked into Lyra’s burning, furious eyes glowing fire-bright in the dark.
“Don’t even think about touching me, cat,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”
Chapter TWO
AND SHE’D THOUGHT her night couldn’t get any worse.
Lyra Black glared into the face of her would-be savior. He looked comically surprised that she wasn’t already batting her eyes and breathlessly thanking him. That was what all vamps expected: mindless adoration. And thanks to their talents with manipulating human minds, they tended to get it. Especially vamps as pretty as this one, she thought, seeing big, almost innocent blue eyes set in a face made for sin. Fortunately, werewolves were immune to the bloodsuckers’ brand of “charm.”
Not that this one had tried very hard the last time they’d met. Of all the vamps who could have interfered tonight, did it have to be him?
He drew back his hand as though she’d burned him. Lyra felt a fleeting instant of shame when his expression, so open and filled with what appeared to be genuine concern, shifted into a narrow-eyed glare. But it was no more than he deserved, she reminded herself. When she’d been holed up at that rat-infested vampire safe house all those months ago, he’d all but announced she was unfit to be in the same room with him. She’d quickly gathered that the other people in residence were his refugee friends—some other cat vamp and a human woman who’d seemed nice enough, despite her questionable taste in companions, as Lyra remembered.
But this one. This one was a Grade A, certified cat vamp a**hole.
Knowing it made it easier to say what she needed to, easier to look into those big baby blues and tell him where to go, and she was glad. Because a non-vamp who looked as good as he did might have tempted her to trouble, and the gods knew she had enough of that in her life already.
“I can see you’re as sweet as ever,” he muttered, getting to his feet in a single graceful movement that left Lyra, normally so confident, feeling awkward as she regained her own footing.
Stupid vampires.
“Yeah, I have a lot of reason to be sweet to you,” she sniffed. “First throwing me out of your super secret vampire meeting because I’m not the right species, and now cold-cocking some idiot I could have taken out myself.” She crossed her arms over her chest, disconcerted by the way his eyes darted to her br**sts and then away. She could almost think—but that was stupid. Vamps didn’t check weres out. They took them out, and that was always going to be the way of it.
Still, beholden to her own morbid curiosity, she shifted so that her folded arms pushed her br**sts up and together, displaying them attractively beneath her cami. Sure enough, his eyes flickered back and then away a couple more times, as though he wanted not to look but couldn’t quite help himself. Lyra tipped her head to regard him, stunned to realize that not only was her erstwhile savior most definitely checking her out, he was flushed. His nostrils flared ever so slightly, as though he were scenting something. Prey, maybe.
And when she caught his eye again, he looked both miserable and so hungry it took her breath away. Lyra let her arms fall back to her sides, suddenly very uncomfortable with the game she’d just played. Every lesson she’d ever learned, everything she’d been taught by her pack, filled her head at once, admonishing her.
To toy with a vamp, even a lone and seemingly well-intentioned one like this, was to play with fire. Nothing would ever come from mixing wolves and vampires but blood. And more often than not, fair or not, it was the wolves who would shed most of it.
It was small consolation, but the vampire looked just as uncomfortable as she felt all of a sudden. He turned his head to look down at Mark sprawled out on the pavement, sleeping the sleep of the deservedly unconscious. She watched the sharp flicker of his movement and felt a momentary pang of… something… as she allowed herself the barest of moments to take in the lithe perfection of his form encased in slim-fitting black jeans, scuffed black boots, and a high-collared military-style coat. His chin-length hair was black as night and tucked behind his ears, making his features that much more sharply appealing.
He could have been a sullen young rock star instead of a centuries-old vampire. And Lyra found, with no small amount of horror, that her mouth watered either way.
“You could have taken him, huh?” The vamp prodded Mark’s prone body with the toe of his boot, and Lyra finally remembered his name. Actually, she remembered the human woman saying it in a tone usually reserved for small and badly behaving children, which nearly brought a smile to her face.
“Yes, I could have, Jaden,” she said, enjoying the startle it gave him to hear his name fall from her lips. A strange name for one as old as he must be, she decided. Very modern. But he’d probably renamed himself at some point. Lyra had heard they did that, living so long they got sick of the name they were born with. She might… but then again, she enjoyed being the only Lyra she knew.
“Guess I did make an impression that night,” he remarked. “Since you feel the need to bitch me out, by name, instead of thanking me. But there was no way you were going to take this guy down. I was watching. It was over the second he got his fist in your hair.”
Whatever oddball fantasy she had been entertaining about him up to this point crumbled into dust. Just another arrogant vamp, Lyra decided. It didn’t matter that he was right, that she knew he was right about Mark. What mattered was that he and the rest of his ilk had no respect for either her or her kind.
“I would have found a way,” she growled, stepping closer to Jaden. “I don’t need some cat vamp rescuer who expects me to lick his paws for gracing me with his presence.”
His brows lifted, mocking her subtly. He knew she’d needed him… needed someone, anyway… and that was the thing Lyra hated most. She was already considered unfit to lead because of her sex. Her entire life had been about projecting strength, about watching what the males of the pack did and then doing it better. To have to be rescued from a single wolf who’d caught her off guard was humiliating. The only silver lining that she could see was that the story of it would never reach her pack. Or Mark’s, Lyra thought, shooting another glance at his unconscious form and barely restraining herself from curling her lip at the sight. She wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t want word of this encounter getting out.