She glanced at the coffee cup, at the empty plate, then back at Dan. He grinned.
Only it wasn't Dan's grin. It was something colder. More deadly.
Dan wasn't Dan. Dan was Marcia.
"Jack, get in here now," she said, only the words stuck in her throat and wouldn't come out. She thrust to her feet, the sudden movement spinning the diner around and around.
He'd put something in the food. The coffee.
She was an idiot. A complete idiot.
Dan was approaching, his footsteps seeming to reverberate through her head. There was anger in his gaze now, and something in his right hand, something he hid from the other patrons.
A knife.
A knife that flickered with blue fire under the diner's lights.
It was silver.
He couldn't get her with that knife. Couldn't lodge it in her flesh. She'd never be able to shift shape if he did.
Without really thinking, she called to her hunter soul.
Magic swept through her, but the drug in her veins was slowing all reactions, even the shapeshifting one. She smelled his closeness, heard the sweep of air even as her body gained beagle form. She dodged under the blade, felt the scrape of fire as it cut across the flesh along her spine, then launched herself at his throat.
He threw up his arms to protect himself. She latched onto his forearm, her teeth sinking deep into his flesh, the metallic taste of blood rushing into her mouth as she twisted and tore at his arm. He staggered backwards, his scream a sound of fury and pain combined.
Again the air screamed its warning. She released him, dropping to the ground, trying to dodge the blow. She wasn't fast enough by half. The blade sliced into her thigh, hitting bone and lodging there. Agony flared, running like wildfire through the rest of her body.
The woman hiding in Dan's friendly form laughed. It was a cold, cruel sound that abruptly cut off, then became an odd choking sound.
"I came here with orders to kill you, Marcia," Grey said, his voice as cold as Eryn had ever heard it. "It was something I wasn't going to enjoy until now. For touching her, for lodging that knife in her flesh, I will watch you die and I will enjoy it."
"The police are coming," the man who was Marcia gasped.
"You know the rules. Do nothing when discovery could occur."
Grey snorted. "The rules, in this case, stopped applying ages ago. Good-bye Marcia."
There was a slight hiss of air, another gargled sound, then the thump of a body hitting the ground. Then warm hands were on her and the knife removed.
Eryn?
His voice was warm in her mind, but it was far away, so far away.
I have to go. I can't stay and answer the questions your boss undoubtedly has. Not yet. Heat brushed across her forehead. A kiss so sweet and tender her heart ached. It may take a while, but I'll be back. I promise you that. Just wait for me, Eryn. Please.
Then he was gone, and all that was left was the familiar coldness of sleeping alone.
Chapter Eight
"Happy Birthday, Jack." Eryn raised her wine glass and clinked it lightly against his. "How does it feel to be over the hill and fast approaching forty?"
"Old." Amusement touched his blue eyes. "And I'm still waiting for this goddess you reckon is out there. I think I'm about ready for a woman to call my bluff and enrich my world."
She grinned. "Maybe said goddess knows you're still not ready to settle down. Maybe she's right under your nose, and you're just not looking down."
He raised an eyebrow, the amusement in his expression becoming decidedly sexy. "The woman under my nose right now is one I'd willingly party with, only she keeps refusing my offers."
"Because you're not really serious."
"Aren't I?"
"No." She took a sip of wine, then pointed with her glass at the redhead dancing with Bob. "Amy's been known to throw a lustful look or two your way."
"She's not serious, either. Trust me on that."
"You've flirted?"
"I flirt with everyone. She ran away faster than most."
Eryn grinned. "Maybe she has deep feelings she's afraid to reveal."
"I doubt it." He took a sip of wine, then said, overly casual, "So, how's your life been lately?"
She shrugged, feigning an indifference she didn't feel.
"Same old same old." Back to working with boring old farts and wondering if her sex drive had upped and left.
It had been six months since she'd last seen Grey. Trust him, he'd said. Wait for him, he'd said. Well, she had, and she would, but the hope that she'd actually see him again was beginning to fade.
"You sure you don't want to come work with me?" Jack said. "We really could use your nose on a permanent basis."
"I'll think about it."
"You will?" He raised his eyebrows. "I've been nagging you for months—why the change of heart?"
"Maybe I'm tired of working with boring old farts."
"Well, I've got the paperwork all written up. Just give me the word and you're mine."
She grinned again. "Jack, I will never be yours."
His sigh was sorrowful—an effect spoiled by the cheeky gleam in his eyes. "Ain't that a sad truth. You want to dance?"
"Nope. I might go out and get some fresh air. This room is feeling a little close." Besides, she was feeling a little depressed. Or maybe even a little sorry for herself. And definitely a little angry at Grey for making promises and not keeping them.
She finished her drink in one gulp that had her head swimming, then made her way through the dancers and headed toward the backyard.
Outside, the warmth of the day still lingered, and the night was still and bright. She closed her eyes, raising her face to the silvery light of the full moon, feeling the power of it wash through her veins. Some shifters, and not all of them children, believed the full moon had the power to grant wishes. It wasn't something she believed in.
And the moon had certainly never granted any of her wishes.
She blew out a breath and opened her eyes. The music from the room behind her throbbed across the night, a rich sound reminding her of that first night in the bar, and the moment her gaze had met Grey's.
And once again, she experienced the sensations of that incredible moment. Her heart leapt to her throat, and her breathing stalled as the world around her seemed to fade into silence. Fierce desire surged, burning her skin, sending little beads of perspiration skittering across her flesh. And all she wanted to do was find him, press herself against him. Feel him on her, in her.
The memories were so strong, her reactions so fierce, that, for a moment, it was easy to believe that he was here, that the reactions were real rather than a response to memory.
But the night remained silent except for the music and the distant wash of sea against sand. The air was filled with the scent of the many wildflowers inhabiting Jack's untended lawn, as well as the mellow aroma of alcohol. Raw masculinity and thick desire—the only two scents she could classify as Grey's—weren't even a blip on the smell radar.
She crossed her arms, her gaze sweeping the extent of Jack's small yard. Suddenly, she felt too confined by boundaries. She needed to be alone, needed to run, needed to go… where?
The wash of water seemed to grow stronger. The sea. She needed to go see the sea. She didn't question the desire, just turned around and walked back into the house.
"Jack," she shouted, once she'd spotted him. "I'm going for a walk."
He gave her a wave of acknowledgment. She grabbed her cardigan, just in case the wind was cooler down near the water, then, after wrapping it around her shoulders, she headed out.
The streets were silent, still. No surprise, considering it was nearly three in the morning. She smiled, enjoying the peace, letting it fill her, calm her, as she strolled toward the ocean.