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  “Me, too,” she whispered, drawing him into another slow kiss. “But something tells me that there’s still a magnificent wolf inside you.”

  He smiled a half-smile, his irises beginning to be consumed by amber fire. “The wolf never dies, just lays back and awaits the right opportunity . . . patience, timing, stealth . . . is the only true way of the wolf.”

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at the next

  Crimson Moon novel

  Undead on Arrival

  Available Winter 2009

  from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

  Purpose filled each of Sasha’s long strides as she walked down the hall and then jogged down the curved staircase toward the destination of fresh air. Giving the genteel house staff a quick greeting, she pushed past the ornate, Antebellum-furnished space, through the French doors, and out into the humid night. Freedom.

  No longer feeling trapped inside her and Hunter’s room, the contrast between the air-conditioned, upscale interior she’d just left versus the relative grunge of the bawdy tourist’s district, compounded by thick, warm air, made her seek balance in the tavern across the street. Finnegan’s Wake had a Corona with her name on it. She was now a woman on a mission.

  But as that instant-reflex thought crossed her mind, it also gave her a moment of pause. What was different about her going on a beer-bender and what Hunter was doing? Pain was pain; painkiller was painkiller, and self-medication was exactly that, either way.

  Sasha quickly thrust her body through the tavern doors and let the instant coolness of air-conditioning and the hard thrum of music flow over her senses. Thinking too hard about it all and rationalizing it too much would make her upgrade from a beer to Wild Turkey or tequila, maybe even kamikaze shots with the fellas if she didn’t stop.

  The local supernatural citizenry smiled at her with a respectful nod as though the sheriff had just walked into a bar in the Wild West. If only the human tourists and kids escaping school on break knew.

  There were only a few Fae peacekeeping forces left in the area since most of the Conference diplomats had pulled up stakes. Sasha had to smile as a couple of very handsome archers discreetly lifted an ale in her direction with a question in their eyes after they’d quickly scouted the joint for signs of the big wolf that normally escorted her. That was a factor she hadn’t expected; how things would look if she suddenly started showing up places in the supernatural community solo. She hated that it now made a difference, when all her life she’d gone wherever she’d wanted as her own woman—not somebody’s woman. The entire concept was not only alien but Neanderthal, as far as she was concerned. However, she’d also been a diplomat long enough to know that these things mattered. Every species had a protocol.

  Sasha let out a quiet sigh and looked harder through the crowd for her team. Country music and its sad-story lyrics chafed her nerves. Why couldn’t it have been all-things-Irish night? Sasha glanced at the Fae soldiers again as she elbowed her way toward the tables in the rear. At least it wasn’t R&B or the blues.

  Two pairs of dark, intense eyes stared back at her from beneath heavy fringes of dark lashes. One of the archers wore a chocolate leather jacket, pants, and boots so finely tooled that she shoved her hands in her pockets to stem the ache to touch them.

  On first glance she might have thought he was a Vampire, because the pure sensuality that oozed off him was completely hypnotic. Yet his multi-hued aura and the warmth that emanated from him told her he was anything but dead. His smile also told her that he’d appreciated her thorough assessment of him and that she’d given herself away.

  Still, it was hard not to stare at him or his patrol partner. The guy was stunning; both were, actually. The first one in brown leather owned a wash of silky, milk chocolate tresses that shone like glass over his broad shoulders, and his lush mouth was set so perfectly in the flawless café au lait frame of his face, complete with deep dimples, that he was mesmerizing. A thin darkening shadow of new beard covered his jaw like velvet. Yet for all his Fae beauty, she was a wolf down deep and preferred her males with a bit more rugged attributes. Maybe a cut over the eye, an imperfect nose from a brawl . . . it was sick, but what could she say. The fact that any of this had invaded her mind was disturbing, though.

  The first archer’s partner leaned forward, his midnight blue irises filled with wonder, and his face no less handsome in its stark contrast to the spill of blue-black hair that draped his black-leather clad shoulders. What he lacked in dimples, he made up for in a regal aquiline nose, cleft in his chin, and dashing smile. Tall, sinewy like ballet dancers, with long graceful hands, they were absolutely breathtaking as a pair.

  They lifted a brow at the same time, brought their ales up to their mouths slowly, and then set them down in unison with exact precision. It was like watching a synchronized dance. However, the very serious proposition was in the subtle eyebrow gesture and the way they glanced at each other for a moment before taking a very purposeful sip from their skeins.

  Ménage à trois . . . ? Noooo. Sasha chuckled quietly and kept walking.

  They seemed so disappointed as she tilted her head, bowed slightly, closed her eyes for a beat longer than a normal blink required, and thus declined without a word. But that seemed to be enough to keep the more bashful of the species at bay. It was clear that if she’d said no to the tall, lithe archers, who were positively gorgeous, then the gnomes and other less aesthetically gifted members of the Fae society seemed to take that as a hint that she wasn’t about to cross the line. Cool.

  But she was also well aware that wouldn’t mean jack to any Werewolf males present. Any Shadow Wolf males would be respectful of the so-called mate bond that had been displayed at the UCE Conference, but Werewolves . . . it was all about continual presence and show of force. New awareness of just how precarious this situation had become stoked defiance within her. Screw it. She wanted a beer.

  Hulking, biker-disguised males from the Order of the Dragon functioned like that, too—if your enforcer wasn’t with you, then that meant you were possibly game for whatever. If they won in a brawl, to the victor went the spoils—as in, the female. The concept was so Neolithic Period it wasn’t even funny . . . but then again, that’s probably the time from which the Dragons hailed. It made her head hurt.

  Thick-bodied male Dragons smiled at her as she shoved past them to get to the bar where she could better scout for her squad. They seemed to take her subtle refusal of the Fae as an open invitation that only meant she didn’t do that species . . . and since her big Shadow Wolf was AWOL, hey. She cast them a glare with a low, warning snarl, which they cheerfully accepted as she passed them. Damn, why did it have to be all of this? She was just glad that the Vampires had been so completely offended by the events that took place at the Conference that they gleaned to their own private blood clubs for now. Tonight she wouldn’t have the personal wherewithal to remain politically correct if a member of the undead propositioned her.

  Sasha ruffled her hair up off her neck in frustration. Where were her guys, and when had entering a bar gotten so complicated? It was bad enough navigating all this bull as a human female, now she had to deal with this supernatural crap, too—all because of a change in rank in relationship to Hunter? Geez!

  “Finally by yourself, I see,” a deep voice said in a low, sensual growl behind her.

  This particular voice didn’t make her spin on it with anger; instead it made her stomach do flip-flops.

  “Just came in for a cold one and to catch up with my squad before we move out,” she said as calmly as possible, straightening her spine and turning slowly to meet the voice that had been behind her.

  For a moment, neither of them spoke, but took their time openly assessing each other.

  “You look good,” Shogun said in a low rumble, not hiding his admiration.

  “You do, too,” she replied quietly, wishing she’d put more cavalier confidence in her tone. “Thanks for the support back at the UCE Conference. We needed your voti
ng bloc—as well as the show of force . . . also deeply appreciated your willingness to go down swinging with us out in a firefight.”

  An intense stare met hers. A graceful mouth slowly lifted into a lopsided smile. Dazzling white upper and lower canines caught the tavern’s overhead lights before receding into a perfect human dental line. A ruggedly handsome, copper-hued face slowly grew serious as they said nothing. Serious, almond-shaped eyes appraised the shape of her mouth, and she watched an Adam’s apple bounce in a throat that seemed momentarily at a loss for words.

  He’d tied his dark hair back into a ponytail, leaving his once-bald impression to war with his new image in her mind. Through his light cotton, collared Polo shirt and jeans, she was well aware that his wolf wanted out. It seemed as though the tension in his body and every sculpted muscle in his toned biceps, abs and chest were trying to hold it back. It was the kind of thing that could literally start a civil war.

  “I noticed that you’re using the term ‘we’ and ‘us,’ but I only see you here tonight. Am I reading too much into things, or is there an opportunity present because you’ve finally made some hard personal decisions?”

  Now it was her turn to swallow hard. Of all the individuals who could have approached her, why would it have to be this one?

  “Nothing’s changed,” she said with false bravado. “I just came in for a beer and to hang out.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yeah,” she scoffed. “This is America, last I checked. Women are allowed to go to a bar alone for the sole purpose of having a beer.”

  His smile widened. “True,” he said, stepping closer. “In the human world. It’s just that, this close to a full moon, when one has openly declared a mate . . . it could send mixed signals in our world.” He gave a swift nod in the direction of the disappointed Fae archers. “That’s why they tried a bedazzling spell.”

  Sasha blinked twice and refused to comment. The last thing she wanted to seem ignorant of was yet another supernatural cultural fine point. Damn, she should have known that!

  “There’s a lot your Shadow might not have exposed you to as a permanent mate,” Shogun said with a confident chuckle, ignoring how her gaze narrowed on him. “Who knows . . . maybe I could fill in the gaps as a temporary, but regular, lover?”

  “Excuse me,” she said calmly, beginning to leave. “But thanks for the support.”

  “Wait . . . I’m sorry,” he said, staying her leave with a tentative caress against her forearm. “That was out of order. Blame it on the moon.”

  She let her breath out hard but kept her tone easy. Although she didn’t understand why, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Look . . . I know there’s been chemistry since that first time we bumped into each other in North Korea . . . but . . .”

  “I’m just satisfied that you’ve finally admitted that,” he said quietly, staring at her with an unblinking gaze. “There was chemistry when I saw you fight in the mountains . . . I just wish it would have been with me, rather than him. We fought well together in that Vamp house to free your pack brother. It was like a dance, Sasha. I haven’t forgotten it or you.”

  She looked away for a moment, but was drawn back to his magnetic stare. “To even comment on any of that is way too volatile given the issues at hand,” she said in a very private reply. “Now it’s gone beyond just a matter of right and wrong—there’s détente between huge clans that haven’t had peace in eons. Right now, this new alliance and new peace is very fragile . . . the last thing I wanna do is tip the balance. There’s a lot to consider, like mega Federations on your side and mine, all right?”

  He swallowed hard and nodded. “The fact that you’ve processed all of that . . . have turned it around and around in your mind like a Rubik’s Cube, trying to see if there was any way for the colors to line up . . .”

  “No. That’s not what I was doing,” she said, scanning the crowd, now not so much looking for her team as she was monitoring the crowd for signs of Hunter.

  “Then why is the hair standing up on your arms and the nape of your neck like you’re on guard just from talking about it, much less thinking it? You never even mentioned his name or the fact that the way you felt about him was the primary reason you wouldn’t consider—”

  “I have to go.”

  “He’s not himself, is he?”

  Again she stopped and couldn’t move.

  “Why would you ask me something like that?” she said in a near whisper, panic making her heart slam against rib bones.

  “It’s in your eyes,” Shogun said in a soft rumble, blocking her retreat with a quick sidestep.

  Sasha looked away and stepped around his body, careful not to brush against him as she did so. “I need to catch up with my team. Hunter is fine.”