Hunting Ground [Claiming Series, #3]

- 4 -

They reached her street eventually and he paused, surveying everything intently.

"Do you smell something?" she asked.

"City smells, human. Coming snow."

"Then why do you look so concerned?"

"Because this would be a marvelous place to hunt."

She stiffened, but she didn't pull away. "How so?"

He raised his other arm and began pointing. "See all the dark places between the buildings? All the large evergreen shrubs? The little alcoves around doorways, not all of which are lit?"

"Yes..."

"Those rogues would look at this as a smorgasbord."

"Oh, no," she whispered.

"You have reason for concern."

"Yes, but I'm not just worried about myself. Most of the people living here are just kids."

"I know. All the more tempting." He shook his head. "I will keep my assessments to myself, if that will make you more comfortable. But I must say, if this is where you live, I am reluctantly to leave you alone here."

"I can lock myself in."

"Locks don't stop us if we choose to ignore them."

He felt the shudder pass through her and smelled her rising level of fear. That scent called to his kind and inevitably would call to the others.

"You're practically a beacon," he said irritably. "Your fear is perfuming the air. Let's get to your place before we discuss what to do to protect you."

She didn't argue. Indeed, she quickened her step, guiding him toward her apartment on the third floor. The alcove around her door was lit, but it didn't reassure him.

He stilled her hand as she started to use her key, holding it back until he had inhaled the air around the edges of her door.

"It's empty," he said finally and let her open the door.

She stepped quickly within, closing the door behind them and locking it before she even turned on a light.

What Kane saw affected him. She owned little, and what she owned appeared to be very much second or third hand. Little spots of color, like a pillow here and there, and the dishes on her counter tried to liven the tiny space. Not that he owned much anymore. Not since Violet. He had plenty of money, just no desire to spend it. He suspected this was a very different situation.

She hurried over to her kitchenette, as if she wanted to put distance between them, and began a pot of coffee. Then she pulled something from the freezer and put it into a small microwave.

He took the opportunity to check out her apartment, including the bedroom behind the closed door. The quality of construction was about as poor as the builders could get away with, and even the walls looked worn from abuse.

He returned to find her waiting, watching. Uneasiness roiled in her. She didn't like having him here, but he suspected she would like being alone even less.

"Eat," he said as the microwave pinged. "While you do, we'll discuss measures to protect you."

She nodded slowly, then turned to pull a prepackaged dinner out of the microwave. A cup of coffee soon sat beside it on the tiny dinette. He settled onto one of the creaky chairs facing her.

"This apartment affords little protection," he told her flatly. "If you insist on staying here, you must keep your windows and doors tightly closed at night."