Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 72056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I step into the tub, wincing at the heat. I love baths, and I haven’t had one in over a month due to a new tattoo—a Celtic band around my left upper arm. My only other ink is a wolf howling at the moon on my lower back. No, I’m not kidding. I got the tattoo while I was in college, before I knew what I truly was.
I’ve always felt close to wolves. They’re nocturnal animals, and being mostly nocturnal myself, I felt drawn to their beauty and nobility at a young age. I can’t deny I was intrigued when I found out that wolf shifters actually exist. Imagine…a man who can morph into my favorite animal.
A man who looks like Victor Rogan.
I inhale the brisk scent of the aromatherapy oil. The tangy citrus clears my mind. I’m here for one reason, and one reason only—to seduce a handsome were for information. Not to become infatuated.
Still, as I immerse myself in the warm, scented water, I imagine Victor Rogan wrapping his body around mine, kissing my lips, sinking his cock into me…
I jerk upward.
Did I hear something?
No.
My senses are on alert…but why?
I’m here. It’s the evening. I’ll find Victor Rogan tomorrow.
Not now.
Go now.
I’ve learned, as an adult, not to second-guess my intuition. Though I often wish my vampire side didn’t exist, it has given me some gifts. Faster reflexes, which is a godsend in my sport of choice, Taekwondo. I’m a third-degree black belt, and my instructor wants me to take over some of his classes. I’ve politely declined. As soon as he opens an all-night dojang, I’m there.
Enhanced intuition is another. Far from extra-sensory perception, my intuition is exactly that—intuition. I can’t read minds. I can’t sense emotion in others.
What I can do is understand and assess a situation immediately without needing to consciously reason it out.
Right now, my intuition is telling me to get out of the tub and go down to the casino.
Why?
I have no idea, but I’ve learned not to ignore these feelings.
I hold back a whimper as I leave the comfort of the scented bubbling water. A plush white bath sheets hangs on the rack. I grab it and wrap it around me, snuggling into its warmth.
So cozy.
That king-size bed in the next room with plush pillows beckons me. How easy it would be to simply lie down, let the comforter envelop me, and deal with Victor Rogan and whatever else I have to do here tomorrow.
I sigh.
Not in the cards for me tonight.
I wipe the moisture from my body, hang the towel back up, and wander into the bedroom. God, yes, there’s the bed. I’m a nocturnal person, being half vamp. I know it’s my reluctance to help my father that’s begging me to snuggle into bed and leave this until tomorrow.
I’m in Las Vegas. The city that never sleeps. This is a vampire’s haven!
I inhale deeply and open my suitcase. Black skinny jeans, leather boots, and a lacy red tank top. Too vampy?
I chuckle at my own joke.
I have no idea what Victor Rogan looks for in a woman. My father is convinced he’ll bite—I hope so!—so I decide to be myself.
Classic Hannah Bates.
Skinny jeans, black boots, and a tight T-shirt with a Celtic trifecta emblazoned across my chest. Victor may as well see me as I am.
I brush out my long, dark hair until it shines, and then I draw in a deep breath.
Time to go.
I tuck the keycard to my room inside my phone wallet, tuck my phone in one of my back pockets, and head out the door to the elevator. Since I’m in a suite, the elevator is close, and as luck has it, a door is open, waiting for me.
I head down to the lobby level.
The door opens, I walk through the marble lobby toward the casino, and—
Chaos!
People mill around everywhere, screaming and raising drinks. What the fuck? I arrived only a little over an hour ago, and while the casino was crowded, as casinos usually are, it was nothing like this. It’s freaking sensory overload—especially for my heightened senses. Bright flashing lights, earsplitting sounds, and hordes of people milling around the slot machines.
For a split second, I doubt my intuition. I’ll never find Victor Rogan—or anyone, for that matter—in this mess.
I squeeze through the throngs of people to get to the bar. A glass of red wine will help ease the blood lust that’s hitting me thanks to the rhythmic heartbeats in this crowd. I should’ve topped myself off before I came down. Hindsight.
I finally make it to the bar when a young man in a tuxedo shirt hands me a glass of what appears to be sparkling wine.
“No, thank you,” I say.
“On the house. To celebrate.”
“Oh. Okay.” I take the flute. It’s not red, but it’ll do for now. “What are we celebrating?”