Gabrielle smiled, knowing that her friend was hardly lacking in the romance department. For the past four years, he'd been happily monogamous with David, an antiques dealer, who was currently out of town on business. "You want to know the strangest thing about this, Jamie? When I got up this morning, my front door was unlocked."
"So?"
"So, you know me, I never leave it unlocked."
Jamie's tawny, manicured brows knit into a scowl. "What are you saying, you think this guy broke in while you were asleep?"
"Sounds crazy, I know. A police detective coming into my house in the middle of the night to seduce me. I must be losing my mind."
She said it casually, but this wasn't the first time she'd questioned the soundness of her own sanity. Not the first time by a long shot. She fidgeted absently with the sleeve of her blouse while Jamie observed her. He was quietly concerned now, which only increased her discomfort with the subject of her possible shaky mental stability.
"Look, hon. You've been under a lot of stress since the weekend. That can do strange things to your head. You were upset and confused. You must have forgotten to lock the door."
"And the dream?"
"Just that - a dream. Just your harried mind trying to tell you to chill out, to relax."
Gabrielle bobbed her head in an automatic nod of agreement. "Right. I'm sure that's all it is."
If only she could accept that the explanation was as reasonable as her friend made it sound. But something in the pit of her stomach rejected the idea that she might have carelessly left her door unlocked. It was something she simply would not do, no matter how stressed out or confused she was.
"Hey." Jamie reached across the table to clasp her hand. "You're going to be okay, Gab. And you know you can call me anytime, right? I'm here for you, always will be."
"Thanks."
He let her go and picked up his fork to gesture at her frutti de mare. "So, are you going to eat any more of that or can I scavenge it now?">Thorne came away at once, and did not meet her startled gaze. He didn't offer any excuse or apology for his strange behavior, either.
"You smell like jasmine," was all he said.
And then, without looking at her, he stepped out the door and strode into the darkened street outside.
It was wrong to pursue the woman.
Lucan knew this, even as he had waited on Gabrielle Maxwell's apartment steps that evening, showing her a detective's badge and photo ID card. It wasn't his. It wasn't real, in fact, only a hypnotic manipulation that made her human mind believe he was who he had presented himself to be.
A simple trick for elders of his kind, like himself, but one he seldom stooped to use.
Yet now, here he was again, some time past midnight, stretching his slim personal code of honor even thinner as he tried the latch on her front door and found it unlocked. He knew it would be; he'd given her the suggestion while he had talked with her that evening, when he had shown her what he wanted to do with her and read the surprised, but receptive, response in her soft brown eyes.
He could have taken her then. She would have Hosted him willingly, he was certain, and knowing the intense pleasure they would have shared in the process had nearly been his undoing. But Lucan's first duty was to his Breed and the warriors who had banded together with him to combat the growing problem of the Rogues.
Bad enough that Gabrielle had witnessed the nightclub slaying and reported it to the police and her friends before her memory of the event could be erased, but she had also managed to take pictures. They were grainy, almost unreadable, but damning just the same. He needed to secure the images, before she had a chance to show them to anyone else. He'd made good on that, at least. By rights, he should be back at the tech lab with Gideon, IDing the Rogue who had escaped outside La Notte, or riding shotgun around the city with Dante, Rio, Conlan, and the others as they hunted down more of their diseased brethren. And so he would be, once he finished this last bit of business with lovely Gabrielle Maxwell.
Lucan slipped inside the old brick building on Willow Street and closed the door behind him. Gabrielle's tantalizing scent filled his nostrils, leading him to her now as it had the night outside the club and at the police station downtown. He silently navigated her apartment, through the main level and up the stairs to her bedroom loft. Skylights in the vaulted ceiling summoned the moon's pale glow, which played softly over Gabrielle's graceful curves. She slept nude, as though awaiting his arrival, her long legs wrapped in twisted sheets, her hair spread out around her head on the pillow in luxurious waves of burnt gold.
Her scent enveloped him, sweet and sultry, making his teeth ache.
Jasmine, he thought, curling back his lips in a smile of wry appreciation. An exotic flower that opens its fragrant petals only under the coaxing of night.
Open for me now, Gabrielle.
But he wouldn't seduce her, he decided, not like this. He wanted only a taste tonight, just enough to satisfy his curiosity. That was all he'd permit himself. When he was through here, Gabrielle would have no memory of meeting him, nor of the horror she had witnessed in the alley a few nights ago.
His own need would have to wait.
Lucan went to her and eased his hip onto the mattress beside her. He stroked the burnished softness of her hair, brushed his fingers along the slender line of her arm.
She stirred, moaning sweetly, rousing at his light touch. "Lucan," she murmured sleepily, not quite awake, yet subconsciously aware that he had joined her in the room.