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them violate your mind, demand an even exchange. If you request it, they must
give it but if you don't, they'll cheat you every time. Send him packing and
I'll further discuss it with you over a cup of coffee under the sun'"
Sasha was deeply torn. Clearly the military had so much more to learn, and
bringing home strategic information was as vital to missions as blowing things
up. It might even go a long way in helping her do the least favorite part of
the gig, namely, supernatural diplomacy and negotiations. Just observing this
Shogun character and the way he spooked a very old, powerful vamp made her
need to know a lot more than she obviously did. Her biggest challenge at the
moment was absorbing all these species nuances for which there was no intel.
This was learning on the fly if ever she'd seen it!
And perhaps it was all a trap& Damn it, she would just have to take the chance
and be very, very careful.
The offer of knowledge was just too titillating to pass up, and the vampire
seemed to know it.
"Seduction with information& I guess you wolves have finally learned something
from us after all," Geoff nearly hissed, and then glanced at the blue-gray
horizon and was gone.
Sasha looked at the retreating vapor and then saw a couple of liquor-bleary
patrons yawn, squint, and then rub their eyes as though they were confused.
"He thinks you stole his kill out from under him," she said.
"That's why we're called wolves," Shogun said in a deep rumble. He gave a
swift nod to several corners of the room and patrons that had seemed out of it
were suddenly very alert. "We always hunt in packs."
Sasha now saw the others, standing in various positions throughout the club.
Clearly they were now allowing themselves to be seen. She understood why Geoff
thought better of standing his ground. It would have been a lost cause,
anyway. She kept her eyes on Shogun, but now also held his men in her
peripheral vision. This was definitely going to get interesting.
Shogun didn't say another word, just turned on his heel and began to walk out
of the strip joint, head held high, back straight, exuding unfailing
confidence that she'd follow. While that irked her, there was little else she
could do. She had to find out what he was talking about. Sasha tucked her
Glock into her waistband, grabbed her purse, and trailed after him.
Following him through a series of small streets and alleys, she was hyperaware
of her gun pressed against her spine and hung back just far enough to keep up
with him, but with space enough to fight or run if there was an ambush. The
fact that he had an alert, attack-ready pack at his beck and call was not lost
on her in the least.
Finally he made an abrupt turn and took a steep flight of apartment steps in
three swift lunges. Sasha stopped. Two things immediately hit her: one, this
guy had an incredible ass; two, it would be very foolish to go into a
closed-in space behind a potential threat in a South Korean ghetto. There had
been five of them at the bar, probably more of his pack.
"What's wrong?" He stopped walking and turned to look at her, then folded his
thick arms over his chest.
"I don't know you."
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He shrugged. "You're armed, packing silver. I don't know you, either and?"
"I don't do closed-in spaces."
He sighed and sat down hard on the crumbling concrete. "No restaurants are
serving yet at this hour. I don't know about you but after a full moon, I need
a strong cup of green tea, at the very least. My assumption is that you're
Western-born and take coffee. I have some in the apartment."
Sasha pulled out her Glock, studied the clip, and leaned against a building.
"I'll wait." What the hell did "at the very least" mean? She stared up at him.
"Wish I had met you last night," he said quietly, and then stood and turned
and supped into the building.
"No, you don't," she muttered, thinking about loading C-4 under a bridge. She
still had some on her, if he wanted to get technical or crazy.
About the only thing worse than watching water boil was waiting for it outside
on a desolate foreign street If the guy didn't come back soon, she'd go out of
her mind with the questions that were rattling around in her skull. A
significant part of her was ready to run up the steps in the direction he'd
gone just to go investigate, overriding common sense, combat training, and her
gut, when he appeared with a glass coffeepot in hand.
"How do you want it?"
She looked him up and down, trying not to read too much into the sexy tone of
his voice or his loaded question. He had the nerve to come to the door with a
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