Urban Fantasy Collection - Vampires Read Online Free PDF

head, he kissed her, drinking in her magnolias and blood scent. “Merci beaucoup, chérie,” he whispered against her lips.
    Simone sighed again. She glanced past him to Silver. “Come, petit .” She stretched a hand to Silver and wriggled her fingers. The boy took her hand and pulled her to her feet. They headed down the few steps to the dance floor.
    Dante rose to his feet and climbed onto the dais. Under Pressure slammed and raged in the Cage, their music a fist—punching, punching, knockout. Dante closed his eyes. Every chord, every screamed word, every drum strike vibrated into him, thrummed along his spine.
    A gentle nudge from Lucien opened the link between them. < She’s FBI. Tried to get rid of her. >
    Dante smiled at the chiding tone. < Yeah, yeah. I didn’t stay put. I know. Merci.>
    Opening his eyes, Dante spun around. The crowd howled. Several of his tayeaux squeezed from the crowd to curl on the steps below. The tiny bat tattoos at the hollows of their throats shimmered in the overheads, visible only to nightkind, marking them off-limits. Dark emotions oozed from the crowd at the sight of them—envy, bitterness, resentment—and lapped against the edges of Dante’s consciousness. He looked into each pale face, each set of kohl-rimmed eyes, curving his lips into a smile but thinking, as always, What do they want from me?
    Pain flickered and Dante shook his head, one hand to his temple. Drawing in a deep breath of the clove, cinnamon, and sweat scented air, he turned his thoughts outward.
    Silver and Simone danced and shimmied on the floor, beautiful and graceful, nearly luminous with inner light—moon-blooded and hungry. Mortal watchers circled them. Hoping to be chosen, dreaming of a smooth, cool hand locking around a wrist and pulling them into the dance.
    Beyond them, the crowd parted for Lucien, murmuring as he passed.
    The FBI agent stepped out of the crowd and onto the first step leading to the dais, Lucien right behind her. He looked up at Dante, a warning in his eyes. Dante shrugged. He studied the woman climbing the steps. Slender in a black trenchcoat and slacks, trendy black Skechers, dark red hair twisted back in a French braid, stray wisps curling beside her smooth cheeks and forehead, generous lips. Her blue eyes burned with intelligence and determination.
    < Cute, > Dante sent.
    Lucien’s warning darkened to a glare as he stepped past the woman to stand behind the throne. < Dangerous, > he arrowed back.
    Dante grinned.
    The agent stepped onto the dais. “Dante?” she shouted.
    Despite the music, Dante heard her just fine, but was content to let her shout. He nodded. She reached into her purse, withdrew a slim wallet, and flipped it open.
    â€œSpecial Agent Wallace,” she shouted. “FBI.”
    Leaning closer, Dante touched the badge, looked from the photo ID to the agent’s solemn face, back to the photo, back to her. She smelled clean and sharp, like sage, like the city after a hard rain.
    â€œGood picture.” Releasing the badge, he shifted his gaze back to her face. “I’ve already talked to the cops, though.”
    Agent Wallace dropped the badge back into her purse. “I realize that. This is a separate inquiry,” she shouted. “I find it—”
    Under Pressure ended their set with a long feedback squeal and a final tribal-style pounding on the drums, then the club plunged into darkness so the band could slip unnoticed from the Cage. The noise from the packed club—squeals, shouts, the buzz of a hundred conversations—swelled in the darkness. The low-wattage house lights switched back on to reveal an empty Cage.
    Agent Wallace resumed speaking in a more normal tone of voice. “I find it curious that Mister De Noir led me to believe you weren’t here.” Her gaze held his.
    Dante shrugged. “I’m hard to keep track of. I come and go a lot.”
    â€œIs there some