He swallowed, even missed a step and tripped forward. Thankfully he righted himself before he fell. "I was there with someone else and couldn't get away. But she was just a friend, honest."

Just a friend. Right. And I wouldn't like to nibble on your carotid.

Bride twisted to the side to avoid slamming into a woman in a hurry, a woman whose heels clacked faster and faster against the pavement in a booming rhythm that made her cringe. After a decent meal, she would be able to control the volume in her ears.

Her gaze slid back to Tom. Why not? she thought. He was young, but he probably wouldn't put up a fight when she came at him with fangs bared. He might actually like it. Kids were kinky these days.

Of course, that would mean avoiding him for the rest of his life.

She could erase the memory of her eating habits from his mind if she only drank from him once. But if she were to go to him for a second helping, his mind would begin to build an immunity against her "forget me" suggestions. He would remember her and what she'd done, and word about what she was would leak. Spread. That's why she'd never been able to drink from her boyfriends, and why she'd had to sneak away every night from her only live-in to find a meal. That's also why he'd considered her secretive and ultimately booted her from his life.

Eating from the same buffet was a mistake she'd made a few times before the war, and each time she had been chased by cross-holding, holy-water-throwing, stake-wielding fanatics. Ironically enough, the war had saved her, wiping out the very people who'd wanted her dead.

"I'm thirsty," she said. "Wanna get to know me over a drink?" Funny, Bride. Very funny.

"Hell, yeah!" His eyes darkened, those chocolate irises overshadowed by the dilation of his pupils. "Anything you want, anywhere you want it."

If he only knew... "Great. I—" A familiar scent suddenly drifted to her nose, and she stilled. Frowned.

Tom noticed and backtracked, his smile fading. "Everything okay?"

Bride closed her eyes as she inhaled again, sorting through the sea of fragrances and locking in on her. Slowly she exhaled, then inhaled again. Sure enough. There it was.

It was a fragrance she'd encountered only a few times the past two decades, a blend of aged pine and smooth morning sky. A fragrance that belonged to her childhood friend, Aleaha Love, a girl— woman now—she hadn't seen in sixteen years. A friend she had wept for, missed, needed, and never stopped searching for.

Finally, blessedly, Aleaha was nearby. Had to be.

"Sorry. Maybe we'll do that drink later." Despite Tom's protests, despite her growing hunger, Bride leapt into a sprint, dodging people, shoving them out of the way when necessary. Her heart slammed against her ribs, as fast and hard as the high heels she still heard drumming inside her head, and sparked a burning pain in her chest. Calm down. You know better.

"Hey," someone snapped.

"Watch it," another growled.

At one time, she and Aleaha had been inseparable, relying on each other for survival. Bride had protected and provided for the girl, and Aleaha had staved off the loneliness. Because Bride was a vampire and Aleaha a shape-shifter, both of them had feared being captured, studied.

Tortured. Didn't help that they'd been poor and dirty, as disposable as garbage. They'd had to live in the shadows.

One day several policemen had chased them for sneaking inside the homes of the rich and stealing food. Bride had hidden the younger girl, leading the cops away from her. But when she'd returned, there'd been no sign of Aleaha. Not there, not anywhere.

Now Bride's gaze swung left and right, scanning the masses for any hint of her friend. Not that she expected to see her. One touch, and Aleaha could assume the identity of anyone, her appearance becoming theirs. Where are you, Leah Leah? Swiftly Bride breathed in and out, the scent of pine and sky intensifying. She was on the right path.

Excitement pounded through her, and the burning in her chest increased. The few times she'd encountered her friend's scent, it had never been this potent, and she'd soon lost the trail. Was this the day she'd meet with success?

So many times she'd imagined presenting Aleaha with all the things they'd dreamed about but Bride had been unable to give her. Fancy clothes, soft shoes, and so much food the girl's stomach would burst. She'd imagined whispering and laughing in the dark with the only person who knew what she was but loved her anyway. Just like they'd used to do.

She'd imagined showing Aleaha the new tricks she'd learned, the different abilities that had revealed themselves, one by one, springing from a place deep inside her. A place protected by thorns and fire, so that she couldn't get past it to see what else lurked there. But she'd tried, oh, had she tried. Many times. And every time, the pain had almost killed her. Finally, she'd given up and now left that turbulent place inside her alone.

Unless she experienced any emotion too strongly, that is. Then the thorns and fire sprang up on their own. Too much pleasure brought pain (not that it detoured her). Too much pain brought more pain. Too much sadness, too much anger, too much happiness—pain, pain, pain. Which is why you need to, what? Calm down. Being incapacitated held no appeal.

Aleaha's wonderful smell was so strong now, she discerned two scents wrapped together, both somehow familiar ... she was almost upon the source ... but there was no longer any women in sight. Was Aleaha guised as a male? Where could she— Bride crashed into a solid, unmoving wall of muscle, air gushing from her parted lips. She stumbled backward, hit someone else and bounced forward, nailing the wall of muscle and brawn yet again.

That second time, her knees gave out and she tumbled to her ass. As she sat there, panting, she realized Aleaha's scent was now all over her. Had she truly found her? Bride's excitement became as hot as fire in her veins.

The man—Aleaha?—turned, his lips curled into an annoyed frown. Down, down he gazed, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. When he spotted her, his eyes widened and his frown lifted into a what-have-we-here grin. Bride's excitement drained, as did the burning. There was no recognition in that gaze, no ethereal outline of Aleaha beneath that face. But what a beautiful face it was.

Bride, always a lover of art, experienced a wave of feminine appreciation. His eyes were bright amber, honey mixed in cinnamon and fused by fire, surrounded by decadent black lashes. His skin looked as if it had been dipped in a pot of opalescent glitter. That glittery skin should have made him appear weak, girly. It didn't.

It somehow added to his I'll-kill-anyone-anytime-anywhere-and-laugh-while-doing-it air.

Clearly, he was an otherworlder. Though which race, she didn't know. Whichever one, she had to wonder if they were all like him: perfection wrapped in dazzling and sprinkled with every woman's fantasy. What would his blood taste like? Would she be able to keep him down? Her mouth watered, and her fangs elongated.

He had a wonderfully sloped nose, sharp cheekbones, and a stubborn jaw. His dark brows were slashes of menace, yet tempting all the same. His lips ... a portal to heaven, surely. They were lush and pink and promised unimaginable pleasures without saying a word. He knew it, too. He radiated utter confidence, absolute strength, and that I'll-do-anything wildness.

As she stared up at him, his smile took on a wicked edge, knowing and sure. He was nothing like shy but horny Tom, the boy-man she'd just abandoned. Dressed completely in black, this man seemed every inch the night warrior. Ready to slash your throat without a moment's notice.

In his case, looks were not deceiving. Without a doubt, he was dangerous.

"Well, well. Aren't you a pretty thing?" he said, offering her a hand. That voice ... deep and raspy and just roused from bed, as perfect as his face and body. As people buzzed beside them—the females staring at him in openmouthed wonder, the males giving him a wide berth—Bride tentatively accepted his aid. His warm fingers curled around her wrist, and he easily hefted her up.

When she gained her bearings, she realized he'd tugged her forward so that they were only a few inches apart. He did not release her hand. Her smaller height placed her gaze right at the steady pulse in his neck, and her mouth once again watered.

Concentrate. Bride raised her chin and forced herself to look him in the eye. "You smell like my friend Aleaha Love. Do you know her?" Wait. What if she'd changed her name? He could have been with her and not even known it.

"I smell like a woman, hmm?"

At least he didn't sound insulted. Merely amused. "Yes."

"Well, you smell like sex." He leaned down as if he intended to share a secret with her, moonlight caressing him as though it couldn't help itself. Maybe it couldn't. "The dirtiest kind of sex, at that. Which just happens to be my favorite." His thumb traced her palm.

A shiver slid the length of her spine. He was flirting with her, and wickedly so. Though she had no desire to flirt back—really—she forced herself to say, "Wow. Already we have something in common." One thing she knew about men. They were more likely to help a woman if they thought they'd get something in return. "That's my favorite kind, too."

That put a surprised sparkle in his amber eyes. "Isn't this just my lucky day, then?" You never answered my question. Do you know Aleaha Love?"

"I know many women, but their names escape me right now. I so want to solve this mystery and become your hero. Perhaps your friend and I use the same perfume.

"She doesn't wear perfume, and I doubt you do, either." Even though so much time had passed since Bride had seen Aleaha, she knew her friend would never douse herself in any kind of body spray. Aleaha had to be as desperate to find Bride as Bride was to find Aleaha. She couldn't believe otherwise. Aleaha was the one person who would never have walked away from her willingly. They'd become family, relied on each other.

"Perhaps, then, it's a coincidence that we smell the same."

"Perhaps." Her shoulders slumped. He could very well be a shape-shifter like Aleaha, and all shapeshifters could very well produce the same fragrance.

"I didn't expect you to agree. Darling, coincidences don't just happen. We need to put our heads together and think up some kind of explanation for this extraordinary occurrence. I do my best thinking in bed. You?"

She laughed; she just couldn't help herself. The man was incorrigible. "Another thing we have in common. Thinking in bed. Alone." Letting him assume a little some-some was possible was one thing. Outright agreeing to it was another.

"Alone." He tsked under his tongue. "Now that's just silly." His gaze fell to her mouth, and his pupils dilated. "What race are you, darling?"

She felt what little warmth resided in her cheeks drain away and finally tugged her hand from his. Had he seen her staring at his pulse? Had he sensed the growing hunger in her? "I'm human. What race are you?"

"Targon." He chuckled, the most erotic chuckle she'd ever heard. "But seriously, pet. What race are you?"

"I'm human," she insisted, then returned to the only subject that mattered. "My friend. You smell like her." Bride had heard of Targons. They were a warrior race— big surprise—and all of them possessed brown hair and eyes. Or so she'd heard. If that was true, Aleaha wasn't a Targon. She had green eyes. "Why?"

One of his brows arched, and she feared he meant to rebuke her again. Then he shrugged as though he didn't care what they discussed. "I've just left a female's bed. Two females, actually. But neither used the name Aleaha, I don't think. Someone shouted 'Oh God' several times, but that's not helpful to you, is it? Anyway, I digress. I'm ninety percent certain I'd remember your name, if you were so inclined to give it."

She wondered how she'd laughed at his flirtation a moment ago. The man was frustration incarnate. "Think back. Are you sure you didn't cry out their names in the heat of passion?"

"I'm sure. But I can describe their birthmarks and wax preferences. Hair and eye color would be a bit harder, since I wasn't paying attention to that area."

Disappointed, Bride shook her head. Having him describe his partners wouldn't do any good, since Aleaha could look like a thousand different people. "Did you stop and eat anywhere afterward? Maybe rub up against the person sitting next to you?"

"No and no. Now, your name," he continued smoothly. "I hinted before, but you didn't give it to me. I guess I'll have to be direct. Tell me."

"I'm Bride." Damn it. Why had she given him her real name? Why hadn't she told him Amy, her new identity?”

“Can you take me to the women? I'd like to see them for myself."

"So persistent. I like that. By the way, my name is Devyn. Not that you asked." His lips edged into a frown, but another spark ignited in his eyes. This one, if she wasn't mistaken, was of curiosity. "Why didn't you ask for it?"

"Because I didn't care to know it." So much for flirting for the info. "Now. Can you. Take me. To the. Women?" Careful, or your irritation with him will drive him away.

His frown intensified, but then, so did his curiosity. "Yes. I can. Will I? No." I won't. So let's discuss something else. Like why you didn't care to know my name. In case you haven't noticed, I'm gorgeous. Everyone wants to know my name. Everyone."

Great. He was one of those. Conceited, narcissistic. Too bad he'd already used up her patience. There'd be no pandering to his ego.

She reached up and fisted his shirt. It was soft, almost as if it were made from cotton rather than the synthetic blends most people were now forced to wear. He must be wealthy.