Though he couldn’t see her, he could feel her level of arousal and Ivar tried to pace himself. He intended to come with her, not before, but she made him hot—and he’d desired her for so long—it was all he could do to keep from racing to the finish.
Resting his forehead against the fiberglass tub wall, he closed his eyes and wished they were in the shower together. He wanted to touch Phoenix, wanted her to touch his cock. And he hungered for more than that. He’d dreamed about her putting her lips around him and sucking until he couldn’t stand another minute. The thought of coming in her pretty little mouth almost brought him to climax and Ivar slowed his stroking. He was going to shoot hard, but he didn’t want to come yet.
Fool, the voice inside his mind mocked. It was true, he was a fool. If he was focused on his job the way he should be, he wouldn’t be jerking off in the bathtub. This lust was a complication he didn’t need and that was truth.
She came without warning, the riptide of her pleasure clawing at him, her wail making his balls tighten. His own orgasm roared down on him and he rode out the pulsing climax until it finished.
He was in sorry shape, Ivar decided once he had the strength to move. He cleaned up, tucked and zipped, and even though he’d come just moments earlier, he remained about half-hard. Because she was still aroused.
Phoenix Cahill was an assignment, a pawn in a larger mission, and he couldn’t let her affect him like this. He just wasn’t certain how he could prevent it. She got past his defenses and left him tied up in knots.
One big aching, throbbing knot.
Ivar put his hands down on either side of his bathroom sink and leaned forward, chin dropping to his chest. He wished he could blame his lapse on what she was—tantric vampires fed on sexual energy—but he’d been a normal, blood-drinking vampire for seven hundred years, and knew better. Rare though her kind might be, Phoenix wasn’t the first tantric he’d encountered. Those others, however, hadn’t left him in a state of near-constant heat and they hadn’t rattled his control. Phoenix alone did this to him and he didn’t like it.
He was mentally detailing all his stupid actions when he detected the sound of her door opening. Ivar straightened, tipping his head to hear better, but he wasn’t wrong. Where the hell was she going at 2:00 a.m.? As he listened, she went down the stairs and out the building’s front entrance.
Ivar rushed after her. For a moment, he paused on the front stoop and let the night enfold him. Darkness had a rhythm, an ebb and flow that seemed to match the low throb of want that he couldn’t smother if Phoenix was close.
His eyes scanned the area, seeking her out. It was instinct more than vision that helped him locate her. Clouds obscured the moon, but instead of staying in the pools of illumination cast by the streetlights, Phoenix traveled in the shadows. While her night vision should be as acute as his own, she’d always acted like a typical human when she’d gone out. Up till now.
Maybe she was meeting someone; maybe the man he’d been ordered to bring back to the clan lord’s estate. Maybe Ivar could wrap up this mission and get the hell away from her before he lost what was left of his self-command.
Phoenix seemed to be moving with purpose and he picked up his pace. She hadn’t taken her car. Why not? The apartment building might be in a safe area, a quiet area, but this was Los Angeles. His protective instincts surged and Ivar found himself in another battle, this one to remain hidden from her.
He wasn’t certain why he worried about Phoenix. It wasn’t as if she were some mortal woman who would be almost helpless if confronted by a mugger. Tantric vampires had the strength, stamina and powers of regular vampires and pity the man who thought he’d found an easy mark. That made his lips curve.
Until he realized that she was hunting.
He choked back a string of curses. This complicated things. He’d noticed her becoming more and more nocturnal since he’d moved in, but he hadn’t realized she’d reach this point so quickly. The idea of Phoenix feeding on the orgasmic energy of any other man made his fangs drop. It was purely possessive—a vampire male ready to fight for what was his.
Ivar clenched his fists, retracted his fangs and swallowed the growl. The streets here were empty, but he didn’t have much time to make a decision—did he watch her feed from another man or did he offer up himself as her prey?
Sex got knocked off center stage as Ivar felt a flicker strum his senses. It was light, a mere whisper against his nape, but it caught his notice.
He’d been so locked on Phoenix that he’d forgotten all about scanning the vicinity for potential threats. It was a stupid mistake. Reading energy was second nature to vampires, but whoever—whatever—he’d picked up was trying to hide himself from detection. He simply wasn’t quite powerful enough to remain completely invisible, not with Ivar’s strength.
Now that he was paying attention, the brief shimmers were as distracting as a strobe light. Scowling, Ivar pushed out farther with all his being, trying to pick up additional information, but the identity of the other remained unknown.
Not a human, that much was obvious. Only the wizards had the ability to block him and he was certain this wasn’t a wizard, not with the telltale crackle of magic missing from the short flashes he discerned.
Vampire or demon?
He didn’t know, but what Ivar sensed was pure malevolence and without question it was aimed at the woman walking ahead of him. His talons extended from his fingers, and this time when his fangs dropped, he didn’t force them to recede.
Someone meant Phoenix harm and no damn way would he allow anyone to hurt her.
Chapter Three
Ivar scowled. The protectiveness he felt for Phoenix was unwelcome, but it couldn’t be denied. Even as he shook his head over his idiocy, he tried to locate the threat. The flashing energy might have caught his attention, but it also made it difficult for him to pinpoint where the stalker had concealed himself.
Studying the area, Ivar tried to use his years as a warrior, his centuries as an enforcer, to narrow the options. In a fraction of a second, he took in the trees and bushes, the underground parking garages, the shadowy doorways and alleys, and grimly realized there was no shortage of good cover. The enemy could be anywhere and could attack Phoenix from any direction.
She continued walking and the distance between them widened far enough that Ivar had to battle his instincts. He wanted to be beside her, ready to defend her, and he couldn’t be. He needed to stay back, to ensure that he didn’t leave himself vulnerable when the attack came.
And it would come. His instincts said as much and they were too finely honed to dismiss.
He knew when the hunter moved to keep pace with Phoenix and Ivar trailed behind them, still searching. The fact that his adversary was mobile ruled out a few of the hiding places he’d tagged as possibilities, but it didn’t eliminate enough of them to make a difference in his tactics.
The clouds that covered the moon thickened, leaving the streetlights as the only illumination as Phoenix approached a corner. Once she turned, she’d be on a street with a lot more activity. Ivar flexed his talons and shifted, putting more weight on the balls of his feet, preparing himself to run. To fight. His instincts weren’t wrong.
At the first hint of motion, he raced toward Phoenix. Her surprise made her slow to react, and even with his preternatural speed, Ivar knew she’d be on her own for a few seconds, long enough for her to be hurt badly.
Long enough for her to die.
But in less than an instant, Phoenix began to defend herself. She wasn’t practiced in hand-to-hand combat, that was obvious, but she wasn’t cowering.
Long, sharp talons slashed toward her throat. Raising her forearm, Phoenix blocked the blow.
Blood dripped from her