Page 7 of Ember's Claim

Our luck was riding on Rogue being able to catch something with her soothsayer abilities. Unlike her dad, who only gets visions of the past, Rogue can see things in the past, present, and occasionally the future.

If she could snag a snapshot of a past meeting between Sanders and The Doctor, that could tell us more than finding the target himself, especially if he’s uncooperative.

“So, tonight is a bust.” I twist to scan the crowd, wishing I’d worn a dress. Based on what I’m seeing, I would have fit in better. Not that my jeans and tank top stand out, but I might be more approachable if I wasn’t dressed in my hunting attire.

“Agreed,” Rogue says.

Spotting the bathroom in the back corner, I turn back to my partner. “If we’re calling it, I need to hit the bathroom before we leave.”

She nods, and her whitish-blonde hair falls around her face. “I’ll make sure the tab is closed out. Do you want me to wait for you, so we can leave together?”

I snort. “No. It’s fine. I’ll be three minutes behind you.”

Fluffing out my long blonde hair in the mirror, I try to determine if I look as exhausted as I feel. Makeup covers some of it, but there are dark circles under my eyes.

Ugh. My mom better not have cursed me with her omega genetics. That’s not possible if my wolf is an alpha…right?

No, there’s no way, but I’m going to see my Aunt Nadia tomorrow to ask for a birth control refresher. It’s not quite time, but I don’t want to risk it when my mom is super freaking fertile, thanks to her omega DNA.

Rolling my shoulders back, I tug open the bathroom door and glance around in an attempt to make sure I don’t run into anyone. My eyes land on a man leaning against the far side of the hall.

There’s no way to determine what species he is, but he has a slender build with wide shoulders and extremely long legs. Come to think of it, he’s just really tall in general. He’s wearing a black cloak that’s tight-fitted and goes halfway down his thighs.

Huh.

On anyone else, I’d probably call it a cardigan that doesn’t close, but somehow the stranger pulls it off in a way that makes him seem dangerous. The hood is pulled up, covering most of his hair. Four French braids frame the top of his head, peeking out of the top of his hood. It’s hard to tell if his hair is blond or light brown, but his sharp cheekbones flex as he catches me frozen in place.

His eyes are a piercing gray, stubble lines his chiseled jaw, and dual rings in one nostril complete the package.

Apparently, I stumbled into Punk Rock Elf.

Except, he might not be elven. It’s impossible to tell without checking his ears, since I’m not close enough to pick it up from his scent.

All the air seems to evaporate from my lungs as I give him another once-over. There’s no doubt he’s attractive, but now I’m wondering who he’s waiting for with his hands in his pockets and his booted foot up against the wall behind him.

Glancing over my shoulder, I scan the women’s room, but it’s just as empty as it was thirty seconds ago. My head whips around at the sound of moving air.

All sorts of monsters can move that fast and that silently, so I’m not sure why I wasn’t expectinghimto. I stumble back a step, which is an unacceptable sign of weakness.

I’m sturdier than I look. My shifter genetics are to thank for that, but I’m also nearly five-ten barefoot. The man still lifts me and steps several feet into the women’s room.

The door closes with a thunk as his eyes swirl in some mesmerizing pattern I can’t seem to look away from.

My wolf whines and begins to pace in my mind, and even that isn’t enough to distract me from his glistening gray orbs. My teeth dig into my lower lip as I try to stay focused.

Something isn’t right here.

He bends low until we stare at each other at eye level. His nostrils flare, showing off the two black hoops on one side of his nose.

“I scented something I haven’t smelled in…quite some time. Imagine my surprise when I followed my nose directly to you.” He brings a hand up, running calloused fingers over my cheek while I’m still trying to place his accent. It almost sounds British, or maybe Scottish, but there’s some ancient inflection that makes either of those seem not quite right. “What are you?”

“You should know if you recognize the smell.”

“Brave, huh?” His low chuckle fills the air, and his breath fans over my face. It’s not a bad smell. It’s a little like wintergreen or maybe spearmint gum. “Or perhaps young and unknowing.”

My eyes narrow, and I finally find my senses. Pulling a hand up, I slap his away. My wolf’s annoyance causes my eyes to flicker amber, but I can only tell because it illuminates his pale skin.

“Notyoungorunknowing.” I mock his accent. “I might not be ancient, but I’d say I know more than you, considering I fully understand the concept of allowing someone their personal space.”

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