Blood Trail

She sighed. "Course, I have been wrong before and I haven't taken him off the list. Mind you, at this point, I've only got three people who I have taken off the list."

    "I don't believe that." Henry picked up the bare leg stretched out on the cot beside him and began kneading her calf, digging his thumbs deep behind the muscle and then rolling it between his palms.

    After a half-hearted attempt to drag it out of his grip, Vicki left her leg where it was. "Believe what?"

    "That you've been wrong before."

    "Yeah. Well. It happens ..." She had to swallow before she could answer. "... occasionally."

    Henry knew he could have her now, she'd made her point and would be willing. More than willing - the tiny room all but vibrated to the pounding of her heart. He wrapped iron control around his hunger.

    "So." Slapping her lightly on the bottom of the foot, he laid her leg aside. "What did you want me to do?"

    Her eyes snapped open and her brows drew down.

    Henry waited, his expression one of polite interest.

    For a heartbeat, Vicki teetered between anger and amusement. Amusement won and she grinned.

    "You can stake out that tree I found. What wind there is - and there's bugger all air moving that I can tell - has changed again so that it's off the fields. If someone shows up with a .30
    caliber rifle waiting for a target, grab him and it's case over."

    "All right." He began to rise, but she swung her leg across his lap, barring his way.

    "Hold it right there ... and don't raise that eyebrow at me. We keep this up much longer and we'll end up ripping each other's clothes off in the kitchen and embarrassing ourselves. I don't want that to happen, this is one of my favorite T-shirts. Now that we've both exhibited control over our baser natures, what do you say we call it a draw and get on with things?"

    "Fair enough." He held out his hand, intending to scoop her up into his arms in the best romantic tradition, but instead found himself yanked down hard against her mouth.

    They didn't rip the T-shirt, but they did stretch it a little.

    At the end, he took control and when his teeth broke through the skin of her wrist, she cried out, digging the fingers of her free hand hard into his shoulder. She kept moving as he drank and only stilled as he licked the wound clean, the coagulant in his saliva sealing the tiny puncture.

    "That was ... amazing," she sighed a moment later, her breath warm against the top of his head.

    "Thank you." The salty smell of her skin filled nose and throat and lungs. "I was pretty amazed myself." He squirmed around until he could see her face. "Tell me, do you always make love with your glasses on?"

    She grinned and pushed them higher with an unsteady finger. "Only the first time. After that, I can rely on memory. And for some things, I have a phenomenal memory." She moved, just to feel him move against her. "Are you always this cool?"

    "Lower body temperature. Do you mind?"

    "It's August and we're in a closet with no ventilation. What do you think?" Her fingernails traced intricate patterns along his spine. "You feel great. This feels great."

    "Feels great," he echoed, "but I've got to go." He said it gently, as he sat up, one hand trailing along the slick length of her body. "The nights are short and if you want me to solve this case for you. ..."

    "For the wer," she corrected, yawning, too mellow to react to his smart-ass comment. "Sure, go ahead, eat and run." She snatched her foot back, away from his grab, and watched him dress. "When can we do this again?"

    "Not for a while. The blood has to renew."

    "You couldn't have taken more than a few mouthfuls; how long is a while?"

    Tucking his shirt into his jeans, he leaned down and kissed her, sucking for a moment on her lower lip. "We have lots of time."

    "Maybe you do," she muttered, "but I'll be dead in sixty, seventy years tops and I don't want to waste any more of it."

    Police Constable Barry Wu glanced over at his partner and wished he knew what the hell was going on. Whatever had been bothering Colin for the last few weeks, getting under his skin and twisting, bothered him no longer - which was great, a depressed werewolf was not the most pleasant companion in a patrol car - but Colin still wouldn't say what the problem had been and Barry didn't like that. If Colin was in some kind of trouble, he should be the first to know. They were partners, for Chrissakes. "So." He peered up and down Fellner Avenue as they crossed the