“Shit,” Ilsa muttered before leaning against the wall of a nearby building and shoving her hands in her pockets, falling into thought. I wanted to say something, anything to contribute, but all that crossed my mind were images of breaking the front door down and roundhouse kicking me some bad guys. So I said nothing. Occasionally, Ilsa would cast me another look, suggesting this was my fault, then press her lips together as her train of thought moved on.
As though I was to blame for her lapse in judgment.
Maybe I was.
After a while, Ilsa’s eyes raked my body, and I’m not sure the look was entirely innocent. There was a pause, and then she was staring straight at me again, but her eyes had shifted out of focus. I took this to mean she was formulating a plan and decided to let her do whatever.
The silence was killing me. I wished she’d say something.
I only wanted this over with because being shot at with silver bullets had disrupted my fun.
Although being with Ilsa had opened up a new world of entertainment, and maybe I didn’t want that part to be over just yet.
“Can you change your appearance?” she asked me abruptly.
“Na, my human form is what it is. I can’t change it. I can turn into a bat, though.”
“Really?
I snorted. “No.”
She didn’t laugh.
Ilsa started gnawing on her bottom lip, and I tried to maintain my concentration on the situation at hand rather than her lips. Being with Ilsa the night before had served only to stir up my demon rather than satiate it, and with every passing moment—especially in the silence where I was left alone with my thoughts—it was clawing harder against me, straining to get out and take her again. Controlling my demon had been more difficult to maintain as the days stretched on than I had anticipated. Demons lived here for decades, so how did they do it? I’d need an outlet soon. Something, anything to take my mind off the woman in front of me. Because as it were, I’d either need to take her right here in the street or unleash some sort of bloodlust.
I know which I preferred, but I didn’t think Ilsa would appreciate the public display.
“Surveillance.”
“Sorry?” I was snapped out of my thoughts, and she arched a brow at me.
“Surveillance. We watch them, see who’s coming and going.”
“And then what?” I asked.
“How about just one step at a time? We need to gather more information. These people don’t exactly make themselves easy to find.”
Impatience was edging in on her tone, and I grinned. It was so tempting to push her. She was so cute when she was mad—except for those times when she was flailing a silver knife about, that was less cute. But I guess I should keep the peace with Ilsa, at least for now. She was trying to help me, after all. Even though in the process, she was helping herself. I wanted to believe that somewhere underneath the bravado, she cared for my well-being.
After a beat, Ilsa nodded, more to herself than to me, and began striding toward the club again. I followed, catching up with her and occasionally casting her an unrequited glance, hoping she’d let me in on whatever secret plan she had beyond watching the club. But she said nothing.
When we reached Urban, Ilsa kept walking, circling the block twice from different angles—once passing the front of the club and another slipping down a side thoroughfare before coming around on the other side of the street. We were concealed mostly from the view of the club by the shop front verandas, sticking to the shadows. Following her lead, we finally slid down into a crouch, concealed by empty tables bolted to the concrete outside a café that was long shut down.
Falling into silence, we stared up at the second and third stories of our target building. Large windows adorned the side of the second story, but the third was closed off with shutters. I knew this club. I’d been in it once or twice the first few times I had come to Earth, drawn to it by the crowd that frequented—those who were worth robbing, getting their kicks by leaving the other end of the city and partying on the wild side, and those who robbed.
It was the type of place people came to be seen with its heavy, smoky atmosphere, loud music, expensive drinks, and seductive décor. Or sometimes, not to be seen but to be lost in the crowds while they had business to do. There was a balcony that overlooked the dance floor and some sort of VIP area up there I could never gain access to no matter how much I batted my eyelashes and pushed my tits together at the bouncer.
Ilsa slid down next to me, her forearms resting on her knees, staring at the building, almost appearing to take inventory of it.
She impressed me. I was happy to let Ilsa take control of the situation. For now, anyway. If we got into trouble, I was certain I could fight my way out, and she knew how to handle herself well enough. While I tended to rely on humans underestimating me and not suspecting I was as strong as I was, Ilsa was different. She may not have been a physically imposing woman, but she looked the part—toned body, a stern expression, and radiating power.
Sexy as fuck.
It didn’t escape me how she tried to hide her limp as she walked and took long, purposeful strides. An impressive specimen of a woman, she’d captured my attention in such a way I found myself hoping this investigation stretched out, wishing we wouldn’t find whoever was trying to harm us straight away, and maybe, with time, she’d relax around me. Because her shoulders were tense, and she always looked as though she was on the verge of leaping into a defensive pose at any moment, pulling another silver knife from some hidden pocket.
It may have been an immature wish, but I didn’t care.
I liked her like a cat was attracted to the one person in the room who doesn’t like cats.
My attraction to her, coupled with her strength and attitude, was magnified by the animalistic lust that had exploded from both of us in bed together.
At the memory, my demon stirred, and I had to suppress the growl threatening to burn in my throat. My skin started to ripple, my shoulders flexed, and my neck cracked as I shifted. Learning my mistakes too late, as usual, it was a slap in the face now that I couldn’t control my demon through violence alone—we needed both, craved both the fight and the fuck. Demons were instinctual beings, and if our minds denied us what we desired, they would take over and claim it.
Shit.
It was coming.