A sudden chill made her shiver. She zipped up her short jacket and flipped the collar up over her ears. An eerie feeling settled in her gut. She hadn't heard any thoughts, but she'd definitely felt a presence. Someone was watching her.
She reached in her bag for a stake. At least she'd only felt one presence out there. Was it Angus? Who was he exactly? As soon as she returned home, she'd check him out.
The park entrance wasn't that far away. She crossed the stone bridge and strode alongside the Pond. The Scotsman was downright confusing. Gorgeous and sexy, without a doubt. She'd enjoyed talking to him until he'd started scolding her like a two-year-old.
What had come over him? The minute he'd taken her stake in his hands, he'd become rude and overbearing. Why would a man with a huge sword be so uptight over a wooden stake?
She halted with a jerk. God, no.
Her heart pounded. No, not him. He couldn't be a vampire. Could he? She spun in a circle, searching the surroundings. She even looked at the Pond, as if he were going to rise out of it and fly toward her.
Get a grip! The man was not a vampire. She would have known. She would have felt it. And he would have attacked her. Instead he'd lectured her on safety. She'd smelled the whisky on his breath. What vampire would drink anything but blood? And he was drinking from a silver flask. She'd read in reports that silver burned their skin.
Oh, shit. Months ago, when she'd first arrived, she'd read a report about last summer, when the Stake-Out team had spotted a bunch of vampires in Central Park with the boss's daughter. Many of the vampires accompanying Shanna Whelan had been wearing kilts. Scottish vampires. All armed with swords. And just because Angus's flask was silver in color, that didn't mean it was actually silver. It could be stainless steel or pewter.
Oh God. He might actually be a vampire.
Shit! She should have taken him down while she had the chance. Emma strode toward the corner entrance to the park, then ran up the stairs to Fifth Avenue. Good heavens, Angus had seen her stakes. He had to know she was the slayer. He'd probably report her to all the other vampires.
She froze, her arm lifted to hail a cab. Cars zoomed by. Horns blared in the distance.
The clip-clop of horse hooves approached slowly from an open carriage. All the sounds of the city blurred as the full truth unfolded in her mind.
Angus knew who she was. Her nights of secretly slaying vampires and remaining anonymous were over. The vampires would want revenge. They'd want to kill her. Her quest to avenge her parents had just escalated to a new level.
She was at war.
CHAPTER 3
The devil take it. He'd screwed up royally.
Angus watched Emma cross the stone bridge, her stride quick and determined. Instead of convincing her to retire, he'd made her even more determined to use her bloody stakes. Roman and Jean-Luc were right. He was too hot-headed. But damn it all, it pissed him off that such a lovely young lass would place herself in so much danger. He suspected she was avenging more than the innocent mortals killed recently in Central Park. She was avenging her mother. That would explain her passion and determination, but even so, her behavior was suicidal. It was an idiotic, reckless thing to do, and yet there was nothing stupid or careless about Emma Wallace.
She was clever and quick. She possessed enough psychic power to detect his presence, though he'd managed to shield his thoughts and location from her. He'd never had to do that with a mortal before, which only gave further proof of how special she was. He had hoped reasoning with her would be enough, but she was so determined, it was going to be difficult to persuade her. He might have to pin her down just to get her to listen.
The thought of her lying beneath him caused him to swell. Bugger. He glanced down at his sporran, which was now hanging askew. He couldn't go to Roman's townhouse with an erection. They'd tease him about it for the next century.
He watched her jogging up the steps to Fifth Avenue. He moved quietly to the street, far enough away that he could still see her with his superior vision. She was hailing a cab, a worried look marring her pretty face. Good. It was about time she realized she was playing with fire.
He had to do something. If the Malcontents caught her in the act, they would kill her without a second of remorse. They considered mortals nothing more than a food source, a herd of cattle. Vampires were naturally faster and stronger than any mortal could be. The lass was doomed if he didn't stop her.
He watched her slip into the backseat of a taxi with a graceful, controlled movement. So lovely. And amazing. Three kills last summer and one more this spring. She had to be one fierce little fighter. If only he could direct that passion elsewhere…