Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply(6)

My conclusion: Love is messy, contrary, and chaotic. And to be avoided.

I enjoyed passion, but love? That seemed to be far too much trouble. Look at my brother Darrius, who still pined for a woman dead many years. And our older brother, Damian, ensnared by a lovely woman who bore him a son and daughter. Tragic, really.

I am, of course, completely in love with Kelsey and my niece and nephew. If Damian were not king of the werewolves, I may have killed him for his family.

But though I am second in line to rule the werewolves, I would rather be tossed into a pit of scorpions than have his job.

Speaking of scorpions . . .

“Holy freaking crap!” squeaked Jessica, apparently forgetting she was a vampire, deadly with swords, and wearing thick-soled boots. She jumped into her husband’s arms, and Patrick laughed before foot-shooing the creature out of the cave where we all crouched. Below us was the campsite of Moira Jameson and company. We had been sent as a protection detail—at least partially.

We were here at the behest of Queen Patsy Marchand, who had her hands full with four children and the rulership of the undead and another breed of werewolves called the loup de sang. A vampire by the name of Karn, who had been thought dead, had recently crawled out of the earth after more than six hundred years. He’d been healed from the fire he’d been tossed into by vampires who’d punished him for being a complete douche bag, so he was also carrying around six centuries’ worth of fury and vengeance.

He’d gotten wind of our ongoing project in the Sudan, and our goal to find and recover two ancient vampires who’d been lost to the world for more than three thousand years. Dr. Jameson, though she did not yet realize it, was close to uncovering the vampires’ locations. Her grandfather had started the work, and she unknowingly continued it.

We had arrived several hours earlier, right after the sun had set, and crouched in this cave, watching the camp below us. Since I was a werewolf, my senses were vastly more attuned to sights, sounds, smells, and movements. I scented the remnants of the humans’ meal—a thick stew of meat and potatoes—as well as the wisps of campfire that fluttered in the air like fine silver threads. Shadows moved in the camp, people in their tents turning off lanterns, restless in their efforts to get comfortable in a place that offered no comfort—not the air nor the ground nor its very being. The sand had movement, too, wind and creatures that made it shift and skitter. Above us, the sky looked like tiny diamonds that had been spilled across black velvet. I think the desert was the perfect place to hide secrets. It was very much earth’s graveyard.

I leaned against the rough stone wall and scanned the area. My gaze rested on the tent where Dr. Jameson and her assistant lay sleeping. Moira was an interesting human. She was not a petite woman. She was tall, close to six feet, with lush curves that begged exploring. A strong woman—almost like a werewolf. She moved with grace and purpose, and yet when she rested, she was completely still. She had thick, waist-length red hair that she kept braided. I had not gotten close enough to see the color of her eyes, or to see the freckles that I bet were sprinkled across her nose like cinnamon.

“You like her.”

I turned and looked down at Jessica.

“Who?” I asked.

Jess rolled her eyes. “The redhead with the killer ass, that’s who.”

“Ah.” I tapped my chin. “I vaguely recall someone in the camp matching that description.”

“You are full of shit,” she said. “You’ve been watching her ever since we got here.”

“Everyone’s been watching the camp,” I said. I wasn’t feeling particularly defensive about getting caught in my viewing of Dr. Jameson’s assets. I don’t apologize for being a man. Or a werewolf. I just liked riling Jessica. “I’m only doing my duty.”

“Yeah, right. If by ‘doing your duty,’ you mean ogling archaeologists.”

I put my hand against my heart as though wounded by her accusation. “I do not ogle, Jessica.” I waited a beat. “I leer.”

She laughed and slapped my shoulder.

“Drake.”

The sharp tone of my brother, Darrius, had Jessica and me straightening instantly. We looked down into the campsite and quickly saw what had alerted him: shadows slinking between tents. My gaze was riveted on Dr. Jameson’s tent, and I saw the low light of their lantern flicker, as though something had crossed it.

“We should get to sparkling,” said Jessica. Ancient vampires, as well as some other paranormal creatures, had the ability to appear and reappear in locations. Jessica called it “sparkling,” much to the chagrin of her husband.