She was close by. But there were no lights on in her place.
Following a hunch, he walked around the side of the building. There was a nondescript American sedan parked in front. She was inside of it.
Wrath went down to the sidewalk and, as if he were just taking a stroll in the shadows, passed by the car.
He stopped dead.
His useless eyes worked well enough to tell him that some guy was all over her. As if the potent sexual craving of the male human wouldn't have tipped him off.
For God's sake, he could smell the bastard's lust through the sedan's glass and steel.
Wrath lunged forward. His first instinct was to rip the car door off and kill whoever had his hands on her. Just pull the guy out and tear his throat open.
But at the last second he spun away and forced himself back into the darkness.
Son of a bitch. He was literally seeing red, he was so worked up.
That some other male was kissing those lips, feeling that body under his hands...
A low growl vibrated through his chest and out his mouth.
She's mine.
He cursed. Yeah, and in what parallel universe was he living in? She was his temporary responsibility, not his shellan. She could be with whomever she wished. Wherever. Whenever.
But God, the idea that she might actually like what the guy was doing to her, that she might prefer the taste of the human's kiss, was enough to make Wrath's temples pound.
Welcome to the wonderful world of jealousy, he thought. For the price of admission, you get a splitting headache, a nearly irresistible urge to commit murder, and an inferiority complex.
Yippee.
Man, he couldn't wait to get his life back. The second she was through her transition, he was going to get the hell out of town. And pretend he'd never, ever met Darius's daughter.
Butch O'Neal was one hell of a kisser.
His lips were firm, but deliciously soft. Not coming on too strong, but letting her know he was prepared to take her to bed and show her he meant business.
And he smelled good up close, a mix of aftershave and fresh laundry. She reached up with her hands. His shoulders were wide and strong under her palms, his body drawn in a tight arch toward hers. He was all coiled power, and in that moment she wanted to be attracted to him. She honestly did.
Except she just didn't feel that sweet rush of desperation, that wild hunger. Not like she had the night before with...
Now was a hell of a time to be thinking about that other man.
When Butch pulled back, his eyes were hooded. "I'm not doing it for you, am I?"
She laughed softly. Leave it to Hard-ass. Blunt as always.
"You know how to kiss, O'Neal, I'll give you that. So it's not for lack of technique."
He returned to his side of the seat and shook his head. "Thanks a hell of a lot."
But he didn't seem terribly hurt.
And now that she was thinking more clearly, she was glad there was no spark on her end. If she had liked him, if she had wanted to be with him, he would have broken her heart. She was sure of it. In ten years, if he made it that long, he was going to implode from the stress, the ugliness, the sorrow of his job. It was eating him alive already. Every year he was wound a little tighter, and no one, but no one, was going to pull him out of that tailspin.
"Careful there, Randall," he said. "It's bad enough knowing I don't turn you on. But that pity on your face is a real ass burner."
"Sorry." She smiled at him.
"Mind if I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"What's up with you and men? Do you, ah, do you like them? Us, I mean?"
She laughed, thinking of what she'd done last night with that stranger. The question of her sexual orientation had certainly been laid to rest. Buried good and hard.
"Yeah, I like men."
"Did someone do a number on you? You know, hurt you?"
Beth shook her head. "I just like to keep to myself."
He looked down at the steering wheel, running his hand around the circumference. "That's a damn shame. Because you're terrific. You really are." He cleared his throat as if he'd made himself feel uncomfortable.
Sheepish. Good lord, Hard-ass was actually sheepish.
On impulse, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You're pretty fantastic yourself."
"Yeah. I know." He shot her his trademark mocking grin. "Now get your butt inside that building. It's late."
Butch watched as Beth crossed in front of his headlights, her hair flowing over her shoulders.
She was the real deal, he thought. A genuinely good woman.
And man, she knew exactly what his drill was. That look of sadness in her eyes just now meant she saw the early grave that was waiting for him.
So it was just as well there was no chemistry for her. Otherwise he might try to talk her into falling in love with him just so he didn't go to hell all by his lonesome.
He put the car in gear, but kept his foot on the brake as she went up the steps to the front lobby. She had her hand on the door and was shooting him a wave when something moved in the shadows beside the building.
He flipped the engine back into park.
There was a man dressed in black heading around to the rear.
Butch got out of the car and jogged silently across the side lawn.
Chapter Fourteen
Wrath's sole focus was getting to Beth. So it wasn't until he was halfway across the courtyard that he heard the human behind him.
"Police! Halt!"
And then there was that all-too-familiar sound of a gun being cocked at him.
"Let me see your hands!"
Wrath caught the man's scent and smiled. Lust had been replaced with aggression, and the fighting urge was as strong as the sexual one had been. The guy was full of juice tonight.
"I said, halt and hands!"
Wrath stopped and reached into his jacket for one of the stars. Cop or not, he was going to drop the human, put a nice little slice through his artery.
But then Beth threw open the slider.
He smelled her instantly, and wouldn't you know it, he got a hard-on.
"Hands!"
"What's going on?" Beth demanded.
"Get back in the house," the human barked. "Hands, ass**le! Or I'll put a window in the back of your skull."
By this time the cop was no more than ten feet away and closing fast. Wrath lifted his palms. He wasn't about to kill in front of Beth. Besides, that gun was going to be at point-blank range in another three seconds. And not even he could survive a hit that tight.
"O'Neal - "
"Beth, get the f**k out of here!"
A heavy hand clamped down on Wrath's shoulder. He let the cop push him against the building.
"You want to tell me what you're doing waltzing around this place?" the human ordered.
"Out for a walk," Wrath said. "And you?"
The cop grabbed one and then the other of Wrath's arms and pulled them back. The cuffs went on quickly. The guy was an old pro with the metal.
Wrath looked over at Beth. From what he could tell, she had her arms linked tightly across her chest. Fear thickened the air around her, turning it into a blanket that covered her from head to foot.
Isn't this going well, he thought. She was scared to death of him again.
"Do not look at her," the cop said, pushing Wrath's face toward the wall. "What's your name?"
"Wrath," Beth answered. "He told me it was Wrath."
The human actually snarled at her. "Do you have a hearing problem, sweetheart? Get out of here."
"I want to know who he is, too."
"I'll phone in a f**king report tomorrow morning, how's that?"
Wrath growled. He couldn't deny that getting her inside was a damn good idea. But he did not appreciate the way the cop was talking to her.
The human reached inside Wrath's jacket and started pulling out weapons. Three throwing stars, a switchblade, a handgun, a length of chain.
"Jesus Christ," the cop muttered as he dropped the steel links on the ground with the rest of the load. "You got some ID? Or wasn't there enough room in here for a wallet, considering you're carrying about thirty pounds of concealed weapons?"
When the cop found a thick wad of cash, he cursed again. "Am I going to find drugs, too, or have you sold out for tonight?"
Wrath allowed himself to be spun around and slammed back against the bricks. While his two daggers were stripped from their holster, he stared down at the cop, thinking how much he was going to enjoy ripping that thick throat open with his teeth. He leaned forward, leading with his head. He couldn't help it.