Miss Burel?"In one second flat, Genevieve's thoughts died and her entire body went up in flames.Standing on her rickety porch, with the chipped white paint and the sweet double swing, was the owner of that deep, demanding baritone. Genevieve stared at him like a mole who had just seen the sun for the first time. Hot, blinding and impossible to turn away. She was sure she had never met him before. She would have remembered if she had. Her gaze moved over him. Yes. This male in dark blue jeans and a worn, black leather jacket wasn't someone you walked past without either staring, double-taking or running into a tree. He was so tall his head grazed the roof of the porch, and so broad across the chest, the white T-shirt he wore strained against all that muscle. But it wasn't just his size and fierce manner that had her skin vibrating with awareness, or the thick, dark hair, or the light dusting of stubble around his mouth - or, God, even those incredible liquid amber eyes that equally mocked and studied her. No. It was the brightly colored tattooed skull interwoven with tribal markings that covered his collarbone and ran up the length of his neck.
A near half hour passed as Salvatore weaved his way through the winding tunnel, his steps slowing as he tilted back his head to sniff the air.The scent of cur was still strong, but he was beginning to pick up the distant scent of other curs, and…pure-blood.Female pureblood.Coming to a sharp halt, Salvatore savored the rich vanilla aroma that filled his senses.He loved the smell of women. Hell, he loved women.But this was different.It was intoxicating.“Cristo,” he breathed, his blood racing, an odd tightness coiling through his body, slowly draining his strength. Almost as if…No. It wasn’t possible.There hadn’t been a true Were mating for centuries.“Curs,” Levet said, moving to his side. “And a female pureblood.”“Si,” Salvatore muttered, distracted. “You think it’s a trap?”Salvatore swallowed a grim laugh. Hell, he hoped it was a trap. The alternative was enough to send any intelligent Were howling into the night.“There’s only one way to find out.”He moved forward, sensing the end of the tunnel just yards in front of him.“Salvatore?” Levet tugged on his pants.Salvatore shook him off. “What?”“You smell funny. Mon Dieu, are you…” With blinding speed, Salvatore grasped the gargoyle by one stunted horn and yanked him off his feet to glare into his ugly face. Until that moment, he hadn’t noticed the musky scent that clung to his skin.Merda.“One more word and you lose that tongue,” he snarled.“But…”“Do not screw with me.”“I do not intend to screw with anyone.” The gargoyle curled his lips in a mocking smile. “I am not the one in heat.