Prey & Prejudice: Cougar Falls, Book 7 (24 page)

“Not a chance. With as much trouble as you’re constantly in, you need a damn keeper.”

Fine. That sealed it.
“Whatever.”

She watched him warily approach Jenna, sniffing as he went. Then he lowered his head to nudge her seemingly unconscious body.

Quick as a whip, Jenna stuck him in the neck with the tranq. Before Quince could wrap his teeth around her neck, she rolled out from under him and shifted into a gray wolf in seconds.

Laughing at him, she winked at Joy.
“Check you later. Feel free to join us out here if you want, Joy. We could use a cougar to shake things up.”

“Thanks. Nice meeting you.”

“You too.”
Jenna looked down at Quince and snickered.
“Sucker.”

Stumbling and then collapsing to the ground, Quince blinked up at Joy.
“Tricked…me?”

She sauntered over and put a nicely manicured paw on the big guy’s chest. She watched Jenna bound away before she turned her attention back to him.
“Yep. I told you to leave me alone. I’m still not sure about you and Lex. Yeah, you helped us, but maybe that’s because you wanted us to help you take Lex down so you could take charge. I don’t know. But I
do
know I’m tired of overbearing males trying to tell me what to do. First you, then Miles. I’m twenty-nine years old, for God’s sake. When I’m interested, I’ll let you know.”

That said, she leaned down and hissed right in his face. Then, unable to help herself, she licked the small scratch along his cheek.

“There. Now I took care of you,”
she said, trying to cover her embarrassing streak of compassion.
Ugh. Act like a Bermin, you ass. Bring out your inner bitch.
“You owe me one, Quince. Now go home.”
She stepped off him, turned tail and walked slowly, deliberately, away.

She felt his eyes on her until she climbed back down the ridge. But her dumb cat hissed at her the whole way.

What a prince wants…he takes.

Waiting in the Wings

© 2013 Heather Long

Soulgirls, Book 3

Who can blame Richard for his half-century-long bad mood? For fifty years he’s been waiting for his bride to get over the spat that sent her storming away from the safety of his territory. For fifty years, he’s missed everything about her—even her whimsical challenges to his authority.
 

It’s time for her to come home, but when he gets a lead on her whereabouts, he’s stunned. She’s dancing in a glitzy, gaudy Las Vegas show. And her memory of him has been wiped clean.

Kiki finally has the opportunity to headline at the Arcana Royale, but she’s not sure she’s happy about it. Especially when a dark, handsome stranger arouses forbidden passions from deep inside of the fog of her lost past.

Richard has been granted only three days in hostile territory to free his Kiki from the curse binding her mind.
 

Only one problem. When Kiki remembers Richard, she may not forgive him, but if she never remembers, she'll never be free.

Warning:
Contains an arrogant-as-hell vampire prince who will stop at nothing to get the girl he loves, an unpredictable showgirl who loves to party, and scorching sex that drives them both wild.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Waiting in the Wings:

Why the hell am I running away from the party?
The thought crystallized in the sweet silence at the top of the stairs. But Kiki had to go. Out—out of the theatre, away from the girls, away from the music and the distractions.

Hunger gnawed at her belly.

The hunger and an indefinable need twined through her, urging her onward. She was halfway across the stage and descending the steps to the lounge when the drive became a pull. Movement to her left sent her crouching into the shadows. She touched three fingers to the floor and stilled. Nostrils flaring, she caught the scent of nothingness. Not just empty theatre where the scents of human, shifter and vampire lingered amidst the ghosts of alcohol, food and perfume.

Stan appeared at the top of the stage, his normally bland expression grim and serious. His gaze swept over the empty lounge as he studied it. Kiki didn’t dare breathe, but her muscles were tensed, coiled and ready to spring. The sentinel was the guardian to all the women serving as showgirls in the Midnight Mystery Lounge. He escorted them when they stepped out of the safe haven of their cells and he protected them—but he was also a jailor.

Tonight, Kiki refused to be caged.

The lure calling to her increased, but she ignored it. Better to wait the guardian out than allow impulse to get her caught.

She’d made that mistake before.

A ripple of awareness shivered through her. The elusive thought trickled through her mind and vanished before she could capture it. Seconds became minutes, and Stan turned—finally—and vanished toward the back of the stage. Kiki remained frozen until the whisper of the door closing and the definitive echo of the sentinel’s shoes on the steps reached her ears.

The pull tugged her again, but still she waited. When a full five minutes passed and the sentinel didn’t return, she rose and drifted through the shadows until she reached the main doors. A quietly as they allowed, she slipped out into the blast of light and a cacophony of noise. Her eyes narrowed, and she squinted against the fluorescent overheads and beaming crystals reflecting onto the marble parquet lobby floor. Clusters moved through—coming and going—in groups of two, three and twenty.

Cheerful alarms rang up winnings. Cards shuffled. Men swore. Women laughed. Alcohol flowed. A woman sauntered past wearing the musk of sex and a satisfied smile. A man followed behind her, adjusting his tie. A couple in the corner all but rode each other through their clothes, while a grandmother smacked her husband in the back of the head and shooed him out the main doors.

It took her minutes to filter through the overwhelming barrage drowning out that nascent push-pull sensation driving her from the safety of the theatre. Striding across the lobby, she turned away from the all-seeing sphinx and the waterfall-fed wishing pond. She circled away from the elevators and down the steps into the casino proper.

The pull beckoned.

Irritated with the constant jerking tugs, she slowed her pace and drifted through the gamblers. She paused to enjoy one woman’s victory over the slots and again near a blackjack table—where defeat hung like a shroud over the players, but they tapped their fingers expectantly as if their luck would be found with the next turn of the cards.

The stronger scents of perspiration mixed with desperation on the casino floor. Her gums throbbed again. The twisting, squeezing of her belly rumbled. A waitress passed, and Kiki snitched a glass of wine so smoothly the succubus never noticed. The fruity grapes carried the tang of copper, and she drank it down swiftly. The alcohol eased the cramps in her stomach, and a flutter of euphoria stretched out inside her like a lazy cat batting at the air.

She traded her empty glass for another, this one a darker red with a far heavier metallic taste. The one-two shot of wine settled her jitters, and she resumed her prowl toward the mysterious lure all the way across the five-thousand-square-foot maze of gaming tables and slot machines to a dark and smoky lounge she had never entered before.

Unsurprising considering how many lounges the Arcana Royale featured—from sex clubs to bloodletting to dancing djinn and more. The Royale catered to every creature and their deepest desires.

She recognized the masculine pull three steps into the darkly lit bar. Her eyes adjusted slowly, but she didn’t have to search. He walked straight toward her, a smile curving his sweet lips.

He was why she was here. He was waiting for her.

His nearly jet black eyes were like velvety pools of darkness after someone stole all the stars away. He wore a beautiful suit, black-on-black silk. If someone carved out the night and gave it human form, it would have been this man. Wrapped in the scents of patchouli and sandalwood, she barely processed his arms closing around her—the whisper of his lips feathering along her jaw to her ear.

Head tilting back, she saw the light above kaleidoscope. His teeth grazed her throat.

“Darling, I didn’t know where you were.” The words, so drenched in need and affection jolted her from the lethargy stealing over her body. He pulled back, and she met his gaze. He closed the distance, head tilting and mouth open.

He’s going to kiss me.

She slammed her forehead into his. He swore, but she snapped her arms out, breaking his hold and caught him by the shirtfront. “Who the fuck are you?” Fury blossomed in her like a match dropped into a can of kerosene.

“Kristina.” His voice shuddered with command, the hum of it draped over her like misty netting, and she rebelled.

With a fling of her arm, she knocked him three feet back into a table. The occupants squealed and fled. Her teeth hurt so badly she wanted to scream, but the man was on his feet and coming for her. She braced herself.

If he wanted a fight, she would give him one.

But deep below the anger, a savage thrill sent a grin to her lips.

She really hoped he wanted a fight.

Richard rebounded to his feet. The sluggish beat of his heart surged double time. Adrenaline flooded his body, and his blood caught fire.
By all that’s holy, I’ve missed her.
Fifty years of separation vanished in a single blow. Her eyes glittered with suppressed passion. The potent scent of her filled his nostrils. The teasing lick of her throat was just a bare sample, and he wanted more.

On borrowed time, he’d called to her the moment he set foot inside the casino. Her blood sang to him—his blood running through her veins—his lover, his wife.

He slid a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her to him. Defiance shone in her expression, but he easily caught her hand before the next blow landed. Shackling her wrist, he brought her fist to his lips and kissed the knuckles. Her lips parted, and she exhaled a startled little sigh.

“Hello, my darling Kristina.”

“No one calls me that.” Her chin came up, curiosity warring with the rebellion in her gaze. His Kristina was a creature of impulse, a delightful assault on all proper etiquette and expected behavior. She loved to laugh, dance, drink and surrounded herself with others as carefree as herself. Her wicked sense of humor and unabashed wonder at the world filled his dark and lonely nights with welcome distraction.

Sad how easily he slipped back into old habits without her.

“I have always called you that.” He kissed another knuckle. Around them, waiters cleaned up the destroyed table and the bar’s patrons gradually drifted back to their own pleasures. The two men he’d been allowed to bring with him distracted the other voyeurs, affording them a modicum of privacy for this most public reunion. He studied her, hungry for every detail. She seemed leaner, as if all the soft curves had been erased. Her face, always angular and exquisite, was even more refined—like fine porcelain—perfectly pale and unblemished. Her lips were a rosy red, lacking her normal darker lipsticks and cosmetics. Oddly, she wore almost no makeup at all and yet seemed to shimmer from within.

His heart fisted in his chest. He turned her hand and slid his thumb along the pulse point in her wrist. The blood responded to him, drumming as if pumped by his own system. He kissed the soft skin just above the pulse point. The flutter of it tingled against his lips.

“Who are you?” Unlike her earlier antagonism, this question echoed through him, shattering his bliss. Malcolm told him she didn’t remember, but she had answered the blood call. She had come straight to him. Her gaze had locked on him the moment she entered the lounge; he didn’t mistake that.

“My name is Richard, and I am here for you, Kristina.” He watched her eyes, looking for any glimmer of recognition, but despite the liquid heat in her black eyes, no spark of recognition ignited.

“Richard.” She rolled the name around on her tongue, as though testing it. “I like that. My friends call me Kiki.”

“Do they?” This was not how their reunion should go. Stroking the hair back from her cheek, he tucked a lock behind her ear. “Come sit with me, Kristina.” He drew her deeper into the private lounge. The Bloodletter Bar seemed appropriate considering the first time he’d met her was in a rowdy little tavern in Vienna.

She hesitated, sucking her lower lip into her mouth. His eyes narrowed.
Where are her fangs?
The rich vetiver of the succubi in the room combined with the heavy undertones of blood should have aroused a hint of bloodlust and—even if she exhibited remarkable self-control around the hedonistic pleasures offered in the bar—he called her blood. Excitement would have skittered through her and her fangs should have descended.

“I don’t think I can.” Her wince softened the rejection, but he was not in a mood to be denied. Not after this many years.

“Why do you think that?” Controlling the urge to whisk her out the door and into his waiting car took every ounce of effort. Malcolm briefed him on the plane ride via conference call. Kristina’s binding to the casino meant he couldn’t just steal her—not without damning her. He sent word ahead to the Overseers with a five-million-dollar offer to buy out whatever contract they held over her.