Rogue Darkness by Dianne Duvall

The door to the bedroom opened. Marge emerged, her head down, staring at her phone. “You need to turn the volume down. Or better yet, turn the TV off. What have you found on—?” She glanced up. Eyes widening, she stopped short.

Sean grinned and tossed her a wave. “’ello, luv,” he said, his British accent back in place.

When the woman gaped at the four downed men, Sean shrugged. “Sorry for the mess.” He pointed at Kent. “That prat there tried to put his hands on Becca. I couldn’t allow that, so I taught him and the other blokes some manners.”

Marge hastily reached into her jacket.

Crossing the cabin in a flash, Sean grabbed her hand and confiscated a 9mm. “I’m going to have to take that.” He snatched the phone from her other hand. “Your phone, too.”

“How did you do that?” she whispered. “How did you move so fast?”

“I’m asking the questions now. And I’ll tell you what you told Becca. If you cooperate, I’ll be your friend. If you don’t…” His expression turned so menacing that even Nicole felt a chill. “Well. Dead women don’t need friends, do they?”

Swallowing hard, she shook her head.

“Who’s your boss?”

“If I tell you, he’ll kill me.”

“Perhaps,” he responded darkly. “But he’ll probably be quick about it—a shot to the head or some such. I, on the other hand, will draw it out. Everything you and your people planned to do to Becca to make me talk?” He stepped closer to her, so she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “That’s nothing compared to what I’ll do to you.”

Her face paled. “I don’t deal with him directly.”

“Bollocks. I heard you talking to him.”

“That wasn’t him. It was his henchman.”

“And the henchman’s name is?”

“Alan Danvers.”

“And who’s your boss?”

“I told you. He’ll kill me if I tell you.”

“So you want me to kill you instead?” Sean shook his head. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

She swallowed hard. “He’ll kill Kent if I tell you.”

“Good. Kent deserves to die.”

She stiffened. “Kent’s my son.”

Nicole stared.

“Bollocks,” Sean protested again.

Though she trembled, Marge raised her chin. “It’s true.”

“Well, you did a piss-poor job of raising him.”

Her lips tightened. “Maybe, but I’d die to protect him.”

Sean tilted his head to one side. “If you’d die to protect him, then I’m guessing you’ll tell me the truth to keep me from torturing his sorry arse.”

She paled.

“And you should know…” Sean leaned in closer. “I don’t make threats I won’t follow through on.”

“I can’t,” she insisted.

Sean remained silent for a moment. “Take your blazer off.”

She paled. “What?”

“Take it off.”

Hands shaking, Marge discarded her blazer. Beneath it, she wore a sleeveless blouse.

Sean set the phone and gun on the coffee table. Straightening, he parted his lips and let his fangs descend.

Her eyes widened once more. “Oh shit.”

When she stumbled backward, Sean grabbed her arm to stop her. Dipping his head, he sank his fangs into her neck.

Marge winced and struggled briefly before the chemical released by the glands above his fangs kicked in. It didn’t take long. Her eyelids drooped as she stood meekly in his grasp.

Sean lifted his head. “Who do you work for?”

“Work for?” she repeated groggily.

“Come on, luv. You know you want to tell me. Who do you work for?”

“Augustus Benford.”

Triumph lit Sean’s features. “Wait here.” Leaving her, he returned to Nicole’s side and abandoned his British accent. “I have a new plan.”

“You do?”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze, then slid his hand down past her elbow. Raising her forearm, Sean gently ran his fingers over the inside of her wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“Feeling for the tracker.”

Nicole pointed to a spot on the back of her wrist where she’d worn her watch. “It’s right there. I watched Melanie implant it.”

“There’s no mark.”

“Seth healed it afterward so there wouldn’t be.”

Parting his lips, he let his fangs descend again. “This is going to hurt a little.”

Her pulse fluttered nervously. “Okay.”

Raising her wrist to his mouth, he dragged one sharp fang across her flesh.

Nicole winced as a shallow cut opened.

Sean swiftly lifted his head. “Sorry.”

Nodding, she tried not to wince as he applied pressure to her skin and—as gently as possible—forced the tiny tracker out of her flesh. “You know that’s the only way the network can track me without my phone and watch, right?”

“I know.” He pinched the tracker between his thumb and forefinger. “Put some pressure on that to stop the bleeding.”

She started to do as he suggested but realized she still held his phone. “Here.”