She wasn't sure for whose benefit that was tacked on. God, John -
The knock on the door was soft. "Yeah," she said over her shoulder.
"You got a visitor. "
The instant the reply hit her ears, her body flared to life, and abruptly she was ready to usher this trick-or-treat motherfucker out the door headfirst.
John was early tonight, which was fine with her.
"We're done," she announced, getting to her feet.
The human rose up, his nostrils flaring. "God, your perfume is. . . amazing. "
"Don't bring that shit into my house again, or next time we're not going to do any talking. Clear?"
Opening up the door, she got hit with her mate's bonding scent: Those dark spices were barreling down the hall. . .
And there he was, at the other end, standing tall outside her office.
Her John.
As his head came around toward her, he dipped his chin and smiled, his eyes looking a little evil. Which meant he was more than ready for her.
"You're beautiful," the faker breathed as he stepped forward.
She was about to brush him off when John caught sight of the horny little fucker.
This did not go over well.
Her bonded male came prowling down the hall, his shitkickers loud enough to drown out the bass beat from the club proper.
Her buddy with the caps and the cape was still focused on her, but that didn't last. As he got a load of the nearly three-hundred-pound, jacked-up force of nature riding up on him, he actually shrank into himself and took cover behind Xhex.
Manly. Yup. Real stud material.
John stopped at the door and blocked all escape, those beautiful blues of his downright vicious as he glared over her shoulder at the human.
God, she wanted to fuck him, she thought.
With a casual wave, she provided introductions. "This is my husband, John. John, this was just leaving. Do you want to escort it out, honey?"
Before the faker could respond, John bared his fangs and let out a hiss. It was the only sound he could make besides a whistle, but it was better than words -
"Oh, man," Xhex muttered as she stepped aside sharply.
The wannabe had just pissed himself.
John was more than happy to take out the garbage. Dumb-ass human, looking at his female like that? The bastard was lucky John was so sexed up. Otherwise he'd have taken the time to break a leg or an arm just to make a point.
Clamping a hold on the nape of the guy's neck, he frog-marched the leering son of a bitch over to the rear exit, kicked open the door, and dragged him into the back parking lot.
Some version of, "Oh, God, please don't hurt me," was coming out of that mouth, and with good goddamn reason. Only the thinnest veil of common sense was keeping John from murder.
As there was no way to command the guy to look at him, John spun the POS around, grabbed him by the shoulders, and lifted him up until his cute patent leather black shoes hung in the breeze.
Meeting eyes that had some kind of ridiculous fake red color over them, John willed the poser into a trance, and wiped clean the memories of those fangs that had been flashed. Then. . . well, it was tempting to implant a little ditty about how vampires really did exist and were coming after him.
Good dose of induced paranoia would put a quick end to this charade the fucker was living.