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With a sense of grim satisfaction, he continued his travels. His impromptu demonstration of stealth feeding was unlikely to change Jackson’s mind about wanting to end him, but he hoped it had at least planted a small seed of doubt. Not all blood-drinkers were the murderous demons the Strikers believed them to be.

Only most of them.

Including the mysterious female who vexed him. She was old enough to feed without taking lives, yet she chose to kill. Perhaps he should have told Jackson about her and let the hunter eliminate the problem?

He dismissed that thought almost as quickly as it occurred to him. That wouldn’t free him of the temptation she represented. No, he had to deal with her himself. It was the only way. The sooner the better.

Twenty-five minutes later, he was back in the neighborhood where she had found him before. It was quiet for a Friday night, owing to the threat of rain rumbling in the distance. He removed and stowed his helmet, freeing his senses to the night. Ozone rode the cool breeze, trying but failing to scrub the air of decay, drugs, and cheap perfume.

Two hours later, he was almost resigned to not confronting her tonight, when he caught a hint of sweet gardenia. Heading into the rising wind, he found the out-of-place odor again.

There. Just ahead, walking in the shadows of a row of warehouses, invisible to human eyes. To his sensitive eyes, she glowed blue-white. Another life force bobbed not far ahead of her, this one red and human.

She waited for him to roll to a stop, planting his boots on the pavement to either side. “Ah, bon soir, chéri,” she cooed and continued in French. “I knew you would be back. And what magnificent timing.” She put a hand on his leather-clad arm. Her fangs were out, her eyes black. Beneath a long, open fur coat, she also wore black leather, though not the kind intended for riding motorcycles. “Are you ready to have some fun tonight?”

Her touch and the insinuating tone sent an unwelcome shiver up his back. He ruthlessly tamped it down. “I am ready to know who you are, madame.”

She smiled as if bemused by his bluntness. “You may call me Bijou.”

“And what is it you want from me, Bijou?”

“Me? Want from you?” Her eyes reverted to green, her round, porcelain-doll face arranging itself into the picture of innocence. “You are the one who is seeking me out, are you not?” She touched one long, deceptively delicate fingernail to his cheek. “Do I trouble you so, cher?”

A flash of disorientation struck him at her words, virtually the same ones he had spoken to Jackson only hours ago. “I need you to explain your presence in my territory.”

“Tsk, tsk. Territories. You know there is no such thing.”

True enough. Not officially, anyway. Unofficially, vampires were often sticklers about maintaining their charades in the places they settled. Others, especially younglings, coming in and leaving obvious bodies in unfortunate places was punishable by everything from eviction to execution.

In theory, being the younger of them, Dominique had neither the right nor the ability to order her away, much less kill her.

In practice, this had never stopped him before from doing either.

“We should get to know each other,” Bijou said, tilting her head in invitation. “Come.” When he didn’t move, she shrugged and continued walking. Up ahead, the red aura had stopped. A flicker of lightning revealed it to be a male. A gust of wind brought the tangy spice of his anxiety.

Uneasy anticipation quivered along Dominique’s nerves, a promise of both danger and ecstasy. He parked the bike and followed her at a distance, his steps reluctant, telling himself he had to uncover her true nature, learn her intentions, and her weaknesses.

The young man, her compelled prey, was expecting her. When she walked past him and rounded a corner, he trailed after her, their footfalls lost in a crack of thunder.

Dominique hesitated. He knew what he’d find if he went farther, knew that he should wait for her to finish her feeding. Better yet would be to turn around and leave. But he had ventured too far into this hell of temptation. The only way out now was through.

Bracing himself, he turned into the narrow alley that had swallowed them. As before, she seasoned her meal with sexual arousal. The musky stink of rut, the mad thumping of the human heart, the coppery smell of blood—all this he had expected. It strained his self-control to the point of agony, but he could watch without losing all reason.

What he hadn’t expected was to find her on her knees, appearing at first glance to be servicing him with her mouth. Instead, she was tapping into a vein at his groin, leaving her meal’s bare throat unmarked and begging to be claimed. But it was the prey’s rapturous face that was most unexpected of all. It was…familiar.

Dominique’s mouth fell open, and there was no stopping his lethal teeth lengthening. The young man clawing at the brick wall in an ecstatic fever, bleeding out into Bijou’s greedy mouth was a little younger, a little darker, and much more poorly dressed, but in every other way—the cut of the square jaw, the tilt of the eyes, his muscular height—could have been Jackson Striker.

And then he was.

Dominique’s body throbbed with the sound of crashing thunder and Jackson’s panting moans. He grabbed the short hair and yanked it back to expose more of the thick neck, and trembled with the effort to savor every moment of opening the plump vein. Only a few swallows, that was all. He would need no more to make his point that he maintained control.

Within a gulp and a half, his serum reached Jackson’s mind. There, the erotic fantasies Bijou spun for their shared feed seized him without warning or mercy, reducing him to a quivering, moaning mass of primal need. Long minutes later, or maybe only seconds, a shudder rattled the prey’s limbs. The visions contracted into nothingness. The heart stumbled to a halt.

Dominique leaned against the wall. Every nerve in his body thrummed with mindless satisfaction.

Bijou snuggled up to his side as rain began to patter down around them. “You liked that, non?”

Not sure why, but aware that he should, he opened his eyes to lazy slits and made a cursory attempt to dislodge her. She didn’t budge and nipped at his lower lip. “We should do this more often.”