Two nights left to find that son of a bitch traitor Gregor and Christian was no closer to pinning down his location than when he’d started.
Fuck.
He scented the air, disappointed to find it devoid of the dhampir’s delicious jasmine aroma. Who gave a shit about finding Gregor when he could watch her tight ass and the sway of her hips hugged in the tight leather pants she had a penchant for wearing?
Just thinking about her raven hair and supple curves made his cock hard.
The hulking vampire who never seemed to be far from the female was flying solo tonight. What was he to her, anyway? A bodyguard? Lover? A territorial growl rumbled in Christian’s chest. The thought of any male touching her perfect body made him want to break something.
Jesus, obsessed much?
The night was quickly turning into a bust. Christian checked the scores for the USC game on his phone and cursed under his breath. He’s missed the spread by three motherfucking points. One gods-damned field goal and he was out five grand. With a growl he tossed back what was left of the whiskey in his glass and slammed it down on the bar. Perfect ending to a shitstorm of a week.
He watched as the vampire made the rounds. If he was the dhampir’s lover, then he was definitely playing the field. Asshole. The male was big enough to break Christian in half, and he wasn’t exactly petite. Again, the thought of the vampire rutting on the dhampir sent Christian’s blood to boiling.
Fuck this shit. I’m outta here.
Christian threw a twenty down on the counter and pushed away from the bar. If tonight’s activities followed the trend, the vampire would be chasing pussy until sunup. All of this was a monumental waste of Christian’s time.
The night air helped to cool his rising temper as he stepped out of the club, and Christian took several cleansing breaths. A faint scent piqued his curiosity, a deep woodsy musk. Gregor. Or at the very least a berserker. Christian took off at a clip, tracking the scent out of the club district. Ten blocks passed under his feet and he continued on, his attention focused solely on his quarry. Streetlights illuminated the sidewalk, but Christian kept to the shadows. He sidestepped a group of humans who were a little too drunk for sure footing, and stepped into an alley to keep from being knocked on his ass.
“McAlister must be desperate to send a tracker after me.”
Christian was snatched by the collar of his shirt and whipped around. Gregor took hold of him by the shoulders and slammed him into the alley wall with enough force to crack the building’s façade. His head knocked against old stucco and Christian let out a grunt. Fuuuuck. He was strong, but an angry berserker could put Christian on his ass without batting a lash.
“Take it the fuck easy,” Christian said from between his teeth. “He doesn’t want you dead. He wants you back.”
Gregor chuckled. A cold, emotionless sound that got Christian’s hackles up. “Sure he wants me back, but not before he teaches me a lesson for my disobedience, right?”
Christian shrugged. Well, gave as much of a shrug as one could while pinned against a wall. “You know how the director is. His pride took a hit when you left. He’s gotta get a piece of it back. Doesn’t mean he’s not willing to let bygones be bygones. The Sortiari is always looking at the bigger picture, right?”
Black bled into Gregor’s eyes, inky tendrils that swallowed up all of the color. It was fucking chilling when berserkers gave themselves over to rage. Even his wolf crept deeper into his psyche as though to take cover.
“They’re nothing without their army,” Gregor replied with a derisive snort. “And McAlister is an impotent coward.”
True. Christian wasn’t going to argue that point with him. “Wouldn’t you rather be the right hand of Fate than another one of their targets?”
Gregor’s eyes narrowed as he studied Christian. There was no use in trying to gauge his loyalties. He was a private contractor and McAlister had him by the balls.
“The Sortiari’s plans no longer fit into my agenda.”
“What does that matter?” Christian had one job, and that was to bring Gregor in. He doubted McAlister would care how he got it done. “Why not use their resources to get what you want? You play nice with the director, knock some heads when he asks you to, and continue on the path you’re already on. Wouldn’t it be easier for you to accomplish your goals if you’re not looking over your shoulder all the time?”
Gregor slammed Christian into the wall, rattling his teeth. Gods, that fucking hurt. Berserker strength wasn’t anything to scoff at. “Let’s get one thing straight, werewolf. I’m not afraid of the Sortiari.”