Forced it to heel.
He didn't want a Breedmate. Never had, never would.
Dante watched Tess and her boyfriend stroll off ahead of him, their casual chatter all but lost amid other conversations and the general buzz of street noise swirling all around him. He hung back for a minute, blood pounding in his temples as well as other, lower regions of his anatomy.
Turning around, he loped off into the shadows, back to the building where he'd left Harvard on watch. He hoped like hell Gideon's tip about Rogue activity there was going to prove solid--the sooner, the better--because right about now he was itching for a good, bloody fight.
Chapter Eight
The North End stakeout was a bust. There had indeed been a rave at the old, empty building, but the partygoers were just a lot of humans. Not a Rogue in sight, and no sign of any Darkhaven vampires, let alone any misguided Breed youths jacked up on Crimson. Maybe it should have come as a relief that the city was quiet for a few hours, but after a patrol that had netted zero action all night, Dante was a good long way from relieved. He was frustrated, tense, and in severe need of some chill.
The cure for that was simple enough. He knew of about a dozen places topside where he could find a willing female with juicy veins and a warm, welcoming pair of thighs, and after dropping Chase off at his Darkhaven residence, Dante drove to an after-hours nightclub and parked the Porsche at the curb. He dialed the compound on his cell phone and gave a quick recap of the night's nonevents to Gideon.
"Look at the bright side, D. You went seven full hours without killing the Darkhaven agent," Gideon remarked slyly. "That's an impressive benchmark in itself. We've got a pool going over here about how long the guy's going to last. For what it's worth, my money's on nineteen hours, tops."
"Yeah?" Dante chuckled. "Put me down for seven and a half."
"That bad, eh?"
"I suppose it could have been worse. At least Harvard knows how to follow orders, even if he seems the type to prefer being in charge."
Dante glanced in his side mirror, distracted by a wedge of pale female belly and half-exposed, leather miniskirt-clad h*ps that were currently snaking around the left taillight of the vehicle. Perched on steep platform heels, she rolled toward the closed window with a practiced strut that suggested she was a pro. When she leaned down and shot him a glimpse of fleshy tits, a street-hardened smile, and heroin-vacant eyes, she removed all doubt.
"Lookin' for some company, handsome?" she mouthed at the darkened glass, unable to see who she was propositioning and evidently not caring, based on the quality of his ride.
Dante ignored her. Even a live-for-the-moment libertine like himself had certain standards. He hardly noticed as the prostitute shrugged, dejected, and moved on up the street. "I need you to run a search on something for me, Gid." "You got it," he said, the clack of a keyboard being drafted into action sounding in the background. " What do you need?"
"Can you find anything on some kind of museum event taking place tomorrow night? A dinner or something like that?"
It took only a second for Gideon to come back with a reply. "I've got a social-pages listing for a chichi patrons' dinner exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts. Tomorrow night, seven-thirty."
That had to be the event Tess and her boyfriend were talking about at the produce stand. Their date.
Not that he should care what the female was doing, or with whom. It shouldn't put his blood on a hard boil to think of another man touching her, kissing her. Burying himself inside her body.
It shouldn't register on his fury meter at all, but damn if it didn't.
"What's going down at the MFA?" Gideon asked, breaking into his thoughts. "You got a lead on something over there?"
"No. Nothing like that. Just curious, that's all."
"What, you're suddenly into the arts?" The warrior chuckled. "Jesus, maybe a few hours with Harvard is having an adverse effect on you. Never figured you for the highbrow shit."
Dante wasn't a total cultureless heathen, but he wasn't in any frame of mind to explain himself right now.
"Forget it," he all but snapped into the cell phone.
His irritation was only slightly improved when he noticed he was being sized up again. This time it was two pretty females who looked like they'd come in from the suburbs for a good time. College girls, he was guessing, based on the fresh faces, perky twenty-something bods, and torn, faux-vintage designer jeans. They were giggling and trying to act unimpressed as they approached the car on their way into the club.
"So, where are we, D? You on your way back to base now?"
"No," he said, voice low as he cut the engine and let his gaze trail the women as they passed. "Night's still young. I think I'll stop off for a quick bite first. Maybe two."
Sterling Chase prowled his Darkhaven residence like a caged animal, edgy and anxious. Although the night hadn't exactly been a success by any measure, he had to admit a certain exhilaration his first time out on his mission. He didn't care much for the arrogant, antagonistic warrior he'd been partnered with, but he reminded himself that his purpose in seeking the Order's help far outweighed any of the bullshit he would likely be subjected to by Dante or his brethren these next few weeks.
He'd been home for a couple of hours now. A couple more and it would be daybreak, not that he would feel much like sleeping.
At the moment, he felt like talking to someone.
Of course, the first to come to mind was Elise. But at this hour she would be retired to her quarters, preparing for bed. It didn't take much for him to picture her seated at her delicate little vanity, probably nude beneath yards of gauzy white silk and brushing out her long blond hair. Her lavender eyes were likely closed as she hummed absently to herself --a habit she'd had since he'd first met her, and one that only endeared her to him all the more.