Page 9 of Blood Secret

But it wouldn’t be enough. There was no such thing as “enough.” It was as I imagined the way an alcoholic would feel.

Instead of giving into the never-lessening lust which threatened to consume me like wildfire, I kept my job in mind.

I focused on her, imagining her face in front of me, reminding myself of the danger she was in. Only I could help her. That thought, plus the spells cast on me to prevent the blood lust from overwhelming my sense, helped me hold on to my senses.

Hours passed.

The sun sank.

Lights flicked on above-head, in some of the windows up and down the street.

When I was reasonably certain no one was paying attention, I rose and craned my neck to get a glimpse of her window. The lights were on there, too.

It would only be a matter of time.

And not much time, either.

She must have wanted an early night, leaving the apartment at only ten o’clock. Either that, or she was planning to visit more than one location. What could she possibly get out of it?

These questions and so many more ran through my head as she walked down the stairs from the porch, brushing past me just gently enough to stir my hair, but nothing else.

I watched her walk away—head down, hands deep in the pockets of a black, sleeveless dress which hung on her like a curtain.

She didn’t want to wear anything form-fitting, the way so many girls had as they’d walked past on the street.

I’d wondered time and again why they bothered wearing anything at all. Nothing was left to the imagination.

Not with Janna.

The dress was short, but she wore stockings underneath and a pair of heavy boots which came up to her knees. Her long hair hung in a thick braid between her shoulder blades, and when she turned her head to the side to check for cars as she crossed the street, I caught sight of thick-rimmed glasses. She wore no jewelry, nothing to set her apart except for a leather satchel slung across her body. It was high-quality, unlike everything else she wore.

A gift from her adoptive parents, I guessed as I followed her at a distance.

She dashed down the stairs to the subway as easily as if she had done it a thousand times. It wasn’t always so. She’d grown up with drivers and nannies and tutors. Yes, her adoptive family was quite wealthy. Father involved in banking, mother who sat on the board of a dozen charities.

Wealthy wives did much the same in the present time as they had during my last assignment. Some things hadn’t changed.

She rode the train with her head down, not even looking from side to side. There were plugs in her ears, and I could hear music coming from them even where I sat halfway down the car.

Something loud, driving, not much like the music I remembered. It sounded angry. Was she an angry girl?

It would be just my luck to guard an angry girl with a grudge against the world. That fit in with the image the Council had given me. A lost, angry girl who only wanted something to fit into. A group, a crowd of friends, a lifestyle to identify with.

From what I saw all around me, she wasn’t the only one. Every nature and style of dress was on display, not to mention face paint of all kinds and multicolored hair.

I remembered the days when a woman didn’t show her ankles, and when pinching her cheeks to give them color was considered loose.

Janna didn’t wear that sort of paint on her face—only a thick, dark line around her eyes which served to make them look even closer to violet than Isobel’s.

That, and a deep crimson on her lips. Like she had just fed.

No, no, of course she hadn’t.

Wishful thinking, maybe, or the thirst that still ticked in the back of my mind like a clock which would never wind down. No matter whether I wound it, it went on just the same. I only had to ignore it as best I could.

It was a long trip into the city, which gave me time to observe the way she moved in the world.

I didn’t blame her for keeping to herself. I wouldn’t have drawn attention to myself if I were her, either, a pretty young woman in a sea of wolves. Which was what they were.

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