Taken. Lilith Saintcrow
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moved among them like a cold wind, quick fingers plucking, and grabbed a few more wallets as he did. They would see only a blur, and the instinct to grab what he could was very close to the surface. Along with other instincts—like the urge to rip through flesh instead of clothing, to spill blood instead of cash.
A few feet clear of the alley he paused, because he smelled her again, very close.
The animal in him snarled. Two drives, possession and revenge, were forcing it to run in circles—and thankfully, giving him enough room to reassert control. Kyle. Goddammit, why? You should have waited, we could have baited and trapped it, and we could have killed it together. And kept Julia out of it. The howling hit, Julia’s voice lifted in a paroxysm of grief, and he had to go. She was likely to hurt herself or someone else, and he was the only one who could control her when she got like this.
But he had to find that woman. She smelled like ice and moonlight, like salvation.
She smelled like a shaman potential.
The scent drifted across his sensitive nose again. He glanced down the alley again—more people were crowding, spilling out of the emergency exits and pressing into the confined space, most with cell phones out.
Stupid herd animals. He could probably scare them, scatter them like the bleating sheep they were.
But the scent of her, close and sweating, filled his nose. He drew in a deep lungful and took off at a lope.
Christ, Kyle, why didn’t you wait? But he knew why. His little brother had taken on the responsibility of an alpha—first into battle to defend his own.
And it was Zach’s fault.
Chapter 5
Her heels hit the cracked pavement with a clattering tattoo, and she didn’t know she was screaming until she had to whoop in enough breath to keep running. Lucy’s little jeweled purse bumped against her side, something in her back tore and ran with pain, and the cold whipped through her throat as she dragged in another breath, suddenly very sure she was going to scream again.
Her legs flew out in front of her as the rest of her was wrenched violently back, a hard hand clapped over her mouth, and she was too stunned and breathless to do more than start kicking and let out a choked cry—a muffled sound, not worth much with the wind rattling the empty branches of a tree overhead.
A motor started. “Get us out of here,” the man said, and tossed her into the van as if she weighed nothing. She landed on something soft, her elbow sinking in, and there was a yelping as if she’d kicked a puppy.
“What the hell is this?” A girl’s voice, young, and there was a sudden sound like a sheet popped smooth before being laid over a bed, resolving into a low rumbling growl much different than an engine.
“Keep your mouth shut, Julia, until I tell you to open it.” He sounded furious. The voice was familiar. Sophie struggled to sit up as the van—it was definitely a van—pulled away from the curb.
What the hell? Someone grabbed her shoulders, shoved her so she half flew across the narrow space and landed hard on something softer than metal but more solid than upholstery.
“Ooof.” A hard huff of expelled breath. “Careful, there,” the man continued. “Be easy with her, dammit!”
“Who is it?” Another male voice.
I’ve been kidnapped. Oh, God. Lucy—”Lucy!” she gasped, and erupted into wild motion. Her elbow whapped something soft, and he oofed again. It might have been funny—if it hadn’t been happening to her. Her wrists were grabbed, and the hand clamped down over her mouth again. He held her still as if she was a little kid.
He was terribly, hurtfully strong, and fresh panic turned everything behind her eyelids red.
“This is our new shaman.” Silence greeted this statement. The sound of growling swallowed the hum of the engine, shook through her before settling down into something like a purr. “You can smell the potential on her. She was back there, near the upir. I think it ate her friend.”
Lucy! She got a good mouthful and bit, as hard as she’d ever bit anything in her life. So hard her jaws ached, and there was a hiss of indrawn breath. Her eyes rolled in her head, and she worried her teeth back and forth. Something warm and coppery filled her mouth. It was too thick and slippery to be spit.
“And she’s blooded me,” he continued, without any discernable change in his tone. “Which takes care of that. So all of you behave yourselves, or I’ll have your hides.”
A sharp intake of breath passed through them all, like wind through wheat. The charged silence reverberated. The van’s tires hummed.
“A shaman?” A very young male’s voice, and it sounded shocked enough for everyone involved. “A real one? A real live one?”
“A potential.” The man’s voice rumbled against her back. “She’ll trigger to us soon enough.”
It was dark inside the rocking van; it took a corner at high speed and she was tipped back against whoever was holding her. Lucy, oh, God. The image of Lucy’s body on the pavement just wouldn’t go away. Sophie made a low, despairing sound in the back of her throat and struggled, getting exactly nowhere. Her skirt was riding up, adding a whole new problem to the situation.
The stuff in her mouth coated the back of her throat. He didn’t move his hand, and she felt his skin quiver against her lips. A weird, slight movement, as if it there were small legs under the skin.
There were glitters of eyes. A reflection of streetlamp light boiled through the interior, outlining a young girl with long dark hair, her hand clapped to her cheek as if it hurt, and a slim young man who looked enough like her to be a twin, with the same narrow nose and winged eyebrows. The young man was actually crouched on a bench seat, easily swaying back and forth with the motion of the vehicle, the pale streak over his left temple reflecting streetlight.
“Slow down, Eric,” the voice behind her rumbled. The growl was coming from his chest, and his hand jammed her glasses uncomfortably against the bridge of her nose.
It was him. The guy who had bumped her at the bar.
The van slowed. “What the hell just happened?” the driver asked.
Think, Sophie! Three men and a woman. They’d just kidnapped her, for God’s sake. And Lucy … Lucy was …
“Kyle took on a rabid upir. Least, I think it was rabid—it acted like it was.” He paused, his hand peeling away from her mouth. “And Julia had to go and get involved.”
“I didn’t—” The girl cowered back as the man holding Sophie made another deep, weird sound.
It was definitely a growl. She froze, her brain struggling, attempting to deal with this new absurdity. It was more distant and dreamlike the more she thought about it.
Lucy’s white face, the horrible gaping below her chin, the blood-drenched thing with the twisting, plum-colored face—it was the Latin Lover who’d been grinding with Lucy on the dance floor, there was no mistaking that white shirt. What had he done to her?
The taste in her mouth, Sophie realized, was blood. She’d bitten him hard enough to break the skin.
Oh, God. What is he going to do to me?
“Kyle’s dead? Really dead?” The very young male voice again. “What will we do?”
The man sagged a little bit. His arms were still iron around her. “I’m working on it. For right now we’re driving, and we’re going to get the hell out of Dodge with our new shaman.” The arms around her loosened fractionally. “Now. What’s your name, honey?”
The blood smeared over her mouth crackled as cooler air hit it. Sophie took