Page 3 of Feral

No more romance.

No one else added to the list of people who could get hurt if I screw all this up.

Professional, simple relationships only.

“Why would you do that?” I asked, desperately trying to keep my voice even.

“Because I think this could work. In fact, I think you’ve short changed how brilliant this actually is in giving us an edge against the Protectors. You get in good with the supernatural community again, and perhaps they will start to fill our field agent ranks.”

“And since the Protectors seem hell bent on keeping the ranks of supernaturals they have to a small number…yes, that makes sense.”

“You see,” his lips came dangerously close to the shell of my ear, “we make a good team, Director.”

“Don’t call me that,” I turned my head before I could think better of it.

His eyes bore into mine and for a second his fingers stilled on my body. Trey’s mouth was close, his breath ghosting across my face. I’d be lying if I said he didn’t do things to my body that a woman in my position could not afford to indulge in. Not when I’d learned the hard way what it was like for a Mundane to fall for someone with supernatural powers.

Slow, agonizing torture punctuated by fleeting moments of happiness. Never again.

I extricated myself from his grip and snatched my whiskey from the coffee table.

“My apologies,” his voice was just a touch breathy.

I couldn’t help smiling at the fact that I’d actually gotten tohimfor a change.

“Call me Angelica when we are alone and Director Dearborne when we’re with others. But never justDirector. That was Francesca, not me.”

“I understand.”

Those words held far more than just an agreement about what to call me. Trey really did understand why I hated that woman, why the memory of her brought a bitter fury to my blood. She’d used and tormented my family for thirty years, threatening my children and imprisoning my husband before finally killing him. And I had been the one to end her life with a swipe of a sword, like some kind of hero in a book.

It had been necessary.

It had been justice.

So why does the memory still make me sick?

I finished off my whiskey and turned to face Trey, who had been waiting patiently this whole time.

“Find me a meeting with someone, anyone,” I instructed. “I want to begin immediately. We need more agents.”

“Still no word on the missing shipment?”

“No, and now I have two dead field agents.”

Trey grimaced.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, help me beat them.”

Trey’s lips curled up and damn him! He looked like he was about to say something down right smutty or devious.

Or both. And isn’t that just my type?

At the thought of David, I tightened my jaw and shut down any attraction to Trey. It wasn’t that David would want me to remain a widow forever. He wouldn’t. But the thought of anyone in my life after what had happened to him…

I just can’t.

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