The Covert Wolf. Bonnie Vanak
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snarled to the surface. Down, boy. He resisted shifting into his animal side. A wolf stalking through the subways would attract attention. He could handle this as a human. The Sig Sauer holstered at his side was an old friend, but his hands were weapons, as well. He could kick that guy’s ass for daring to even think about hurting a woman.
Heels click-clacked ahead of him, the sharp tap of the woman’s shoes and the brisk sounds of the suit. Matt hugged the wall, every sense screaming awareness.
There.
Before a short set of stairs, the suit had pinned the woman against the wall. No one else was around. Black briefcase lying on the cement, opened, papers spilled out. The suit flashed a dark smile, his fingers splayed along the female’s throat. Light glinted off the polished metal of the knife he held against her throat. A thin trickle of blood dripped onto her pristine white collar.
Matt suppressed a low growl and remained still, gauging the best move. He didn’t want one more drop of blood spilled. Except from that bastard.
Even as he started forward, his footsteps silent, the woman glanced at him. She rolled her eyes. At the very same time, the attacker turned his head.
Matt sprang forward, but the woman punched her would-be molester in his soft stomach, sending him reeling. Cursing, he raced forward.
The suit recovered, his face tomato-red. He came at her, the wicked blade raised.
She snarled and flung out her hands, raising her shoe. Her pointed shoe. The tip landed straight in the man’s groin.
Wincing, Matt watched as the suit let out a high-pitched, unholy scream. He cupped his groin, the knife tumbling to the floor with a clatter.
The woman kicked him again. This time the man yowled like a cat. The Draicon female studied him with a look of satisfaction.
Matt squatted down besides the attacker, squeezed a nerve on his shoulder. The suit fell unconscious as the Draicon female retrieved a cell phone from her briefcase. She thumbed in 911 and spat out instructions, then hung up.
Blood dripped from the small wound, staining the white collar of her shirt.
“You can leave now,” she told Matt in a rigid voice.
The dismissal was curt and brisk. Matt stared in disbelief.
“I know you’re not deaf, because I saw your reaction when I called you a dog. So, are you going to leave? I’ve got this.”
He gritted his teeth. “I was trying to help.”
She rolled those lovely eyes again. “Thanks for the help, hero.”
“He cut you.” His tone was curt, hiding the concern.
She wiped the droplets off her neck. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
At his hard stare, she shook her head and bent over, showing the delectable curve of her bottom as she gathered papers into her briefcase. “Not a Monty Python fan. ‘Course not. Draicon hotshots like you prefer Lassie. Although I doubt you have half the strength of Lassie.”
“Stop it.”
Glancing up, her eyes widened at his sharp tone. He clenched his fists as she snapped the briefcase shut.
“You can defend yourself. I get it. You don’t want help. I don’t need an instruction manual. But the Lassie dig—” Matt struggled with his rising temper “—has to go. I don’t know who knocked the brick off your pretty little shoulder, sweetheart, but it wasn’t me. So ditch the dog references, got it?”
He heaved in a controlling breath. “I’m not your enemy.”
Eyes wide and green as soft moss held his gaze for a moment. The previous misery had returned, making her look vulnerable and young.
“That’s what you think,” she said softly.
With a sharp turn of her polished heels, she slipped up the stairs and vanished from sight.
Matt rubbed his aching neck. This had been the ultimate bitch of a morning.
Couldn’t wait to see what the afternoon would bring. Lieutenant Commander Dale “Curt” Curtis, commanding officer of SEAL Team 21, had scheduled a top-secret briefing about the pyrokinetic demons who’d targeted Matt and Adam. His C.O. had told Matt to prepare for a new assignment.
With a new partner.
Even though he dreaded the idea of a new partner, Matt welcomed the chance to kick demon ass. If a new partner meant finding the leak, so be it.
As for the lovely, contemptuous Draicon … An ominous foreboding filled him.
He had a bad feeling he would see her again.
Very soon.
Chapter 2
The upscale hotel in Times Square boasted a grand view of the bustling streets and the colorful theater marquees. Sienna tapped her foot as she waited in the crowded lobby bar. Odd place for a meeting.
She ran a finger down the glass of water, catching a drop of condensation. Sienna brought it to her mouth, slowly licked it off. She sensed someone staring, and turned.
Son of a jackal …
Leather Jacket Draicon focused on her with a laser blue stare. Those eyes tracked every move her finger made, his gaze smoldering, his mouth compressed.
Had he followed her? And why? Her heart pounded hard at the idea. She studied the werewolf.
Heat surged through her, curling the tips of her toes in their not-so-sensible heels. He resembled a fallen angel with a face sculpted by an artisan’s chisel and cold blue eyes that could cut steel. Limbs sprawled out before him in a position of utter confidence, he looked dangerous.
He shifted position, the move opening his jacket and revealing a pistol strapped to his side. Sienna felt blood drain from her face.
Armed all this time.
Not a man, or a Draicon, to mess with.
As if he read her mind, he lifted the mug of beer in a mock salute and drank deeply. Fascinated, she watched the muscles in his throat work. He set down the glass, his gaze never leaving her as he backhanded his mouth.
“Woof,” he murmured.
Then he stood, dropping a few bills on the table, and left. Crimson flooded her cheeks. I deserved that.
“Oh, I love your Jimmy Choos!”
Startled, she turned. A buxom blonde in a print dress stood before her table. At her side was a severe-looking businessman, a hint of silver in his short-cropped dark hair. He carried an expensive leather briefcase and wore a gray suit with a crisp red tie. The blonde was gorgeous. She carried a large designer purse on her arm and was staring at Sienna’s footwear.
Rather, her legs.
“Such fabulous shoes,” she gushed. “They display your legs nicely. You have great legs.”
“Samantha’s a connoisseur of fine footwear,” the man said. He gave her a small smile. “I apologize for taking up your time.”
The woman simpered, and squeezed Sienna’s hand. “Have a lovely day, darling!”
As they walked off, Sienna glanced down at her palm. In it was a card key in a white envelope that had instructions printed across it.
Her contacts. In disguise, most likely.
As her heart raced with trepidation, she put the card in her purse. This was worse than she’d been told if they couldn’t even meet in the open. Maybe she should back off. It wasn’t too late.
And then what? Go home in defeat? Live alone for the rest of her life, wondering what the black hole in her mind hid?
Finding the Orb