Bittersweet Blood (The Order #1)

He must have decided the same, because he strode past her and opened the door. Graham waited on the other side.

By the time she entered the elevator, Tara was grinning like the mad woman Christian no doubt thought her to be. She’d done it—broken Rule Number One—and hadn’t been struck down by a bolt from above. Then again, maybe it was a delayed reaction. Maybe that bolt would hit her as she walked out the door. Her grin faded.

“Are you okay?’

The elevator had stopped, but Graham watched her, a slight frown on his face.

“Sorry?” she said.

“Mr. Roth can be overwhelming when you first meet him.”

“He was very kind. I’m just a little worried about what he’ll find out.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.” Graham pressed the button and the doors parted. A man stood waiting, and Tara’s mouth fell open.

He looked like a rock star. An enormous rock star. Shoulder length blond hair pulled into a ponytail, blond designer stubble, lots of black leather. She had a brief impression of him smiling at her, before Graham nudged her out of the elevator.

The rock star inhaled deeply as she passed. “Mmm. Sugar and spice.”

Her feet slowed, but Graham somehow maneuvered her, not very gently, across the reception area. She glanced over her shoulder. The rock star was definitely smiling.

The cold air hit her face as Graham escorted her from the building.

“Mr. Roth told me to make another appointment in a couple of days’ time.”

“Friday,” he said. “Seven o’clock.”

“I can take time off, come during the day, if it’s easier.”

“Mr. Roth prefers evening appointments. Seven will be fine.”

He disappeared back into the building. Glancing at the dark alley opposite, Tara took a deep breath and set off down the brightly lit street.

Now for Rule Number Two.

…

Her cat?

Christian Roth stared at the closed door. He’d lived a long time, and very little surprised him these days. But her cat?

He inhaled, catching the lingering scent of her on the air. It was mouthwatering; a sweetness tinged with a sharp, bitter flavor he found intoxicating. He’d spent the entire interview wondering whether she tasted as good as she smelled.

She was also ravishingly pretty, with that bright blond hair and huge green eyes. But that wasn’t usually enough to catch his attention. There was something more, something very different about Tara Collins. He just couldn’t work out what.

Yesterday, someone had left him a very cryptic message, suggesting he should meet her. He’d been undecided. Then earlier this evening, Piers had called and told him there’d been a demon sighting close to his building. Hunting demons wasn’t Christian’s job anymore, but he’d gone as a favor. He’d tracked the demon to the alley opposite and then been totally distracted by a delectable blonde who’d crashed into him and sent his senses reeling.

She’d had the same effect when she walked into his office. For the first time in what seemed like an age, his hunger had risen. Even now, his gums ached with the need to feed. If it hadn’t been for Piers’s imminent arrival, he’d have gone hunting tonight with little Tara Collins as his prey.

But Piers was on his way. First the phone call, now a personal visit. Piers was head of the Order of the Shadow Accords, the organization that policed the supernatural world, and whatever he wanted, it was unlikely to be good news. Still, Christian couldn’t deny the twinge of excitement that twisted his guts. He’d made the right decision to leave the Order, but he missed the exhilaration of the chase, the thrill of the kill.

Graham stuck his head around. He had a slightly frazzled look in his eyes, no doubt from the unexpected visitor; Piers tended to have that effect on humans, even ones like Graham, who had spent time around their kind and knew what they were.

“He’s here,” Graham said.

“Send him in.”

“Another thing—Piers saw your new client in reception, and I’m guessing he liked what he saw.”

“Shit.” He’d have to warn Piers off, which was bound to pique his interest.

What was so alluring about Tara Collins?

Piers was dressed in his usual gear, black leather pants and a long black leather coat. Tall, around Christian’s six-foot-four, he was lean and hard, and beneath the coat, he’d be armed with enough firepower to take down an army of demons. He looked exactly what he was—a killer.

He grasped Christian in a huge bear hug, and clapped him on the shoulders. Then his hands fell away, and he stepped back.

“Christian, you look like shit.” A slow grin spread across his face. “In fact, it’s worse than shit—you look like a businessman.”

“I am a businessman.”

“A boring businessman.”

Christian didn’t bother to deny it.

“You also look hungry.”

“I haven’t fed in a few days.”

“Days?”

“Weeks then.” Christian shrugged. “It’s not a problem.”

“Talking of eating, I ran into someone coming out of the elevator. Young, blond.”

“Leave her alone.”