Legacy (Anna Strong Chronicles #4)

I'M ALMOST AT THE DOOR WHEN ONE OF THE FEMALE weres steps in front of me. It's not an accident. She looks at me and rumbles a growl, challenging, threatening. A growl rises in my own throat, and a rush of adrenaline burns through my veins. The vampire springs into defensive mode.

The bar is suddenly quiet.

"What do you want?" My voice is harsh, my muscles tense.

The woman stares at me. "Are you Anna Strong?"

She knows my name?

Startled, I take a step back to get a better look. Do I know her? She's as tall as I am. Brown, close-cropped hair. Dark eyes in a face that would be pleasant if not for the hatred in her expression. She's wearing a pair of skin-tight jeans and a worn leather jacket zipped to her neck. She makes an elaborate show of stripping off her jacket and letting it fall to the floor. She's wearing a tank top that reveals a right arm decorated with an elaborate multicolored tattoo, something with an eagle and a waving flag. It also reveals well-muscled shoulders and rock-hard biceps that she flexes like a prize-fighter.

I'm damned sure now that I don't know her, but I can't help it, the posturing makes me smile. I feel like I'm back in junior high facing a school-yard bully. Swallowing back the urge to laugh, I ask, "Are you calling me out, sunshine?"

It's not the reaction she's expecting. A frown tightens the thin lips. "You think this is funny?"

Culebra is suddenly between us. "Stop it."

Two words, but his tone cuts like a whip. He faces the were. "You are a guest here. Have you forgotten?" He turns toward the crowd at the bar. "Sandra, you gave your word there would be no trouble. Are you abusing my hospitality?"

The were takes a step back and turns toward the bar. I turn, too, though at first I can't tell who he's addressing. Then there's movement as the crowd parts to let someone through. A woman. She separates from the rest. She doesn't say anything; she looks. At me.

My pulse starts racing. I can't move. I can't look away. I don't want to.

She is stunning. More than beautiful. Tall, lean, dressed in black form-fitting leather. Her dark hair is cut to frame her face, a showcase for eyes that flash blue green in the light of the bar and generously curved, slightly parted lips. Her smooth skin glows with pale undertones, as if even inside, she's bathed in moonlight.

The effect is at once devastating and unnerving. Every eye in the room is riveted on that perfect face. I've never felt anything like it-a sexual vibe so strong it transcends gender and species. I can't believe I didn't notice her before.

Only Culebra seems immune. He puts a hand on my arm, tightening his grip to keep me at his side.

"Well?" he barks. "Do I need to ask you to leave, Sandra? Or will you honor your word?"

A smile touches the perfect mouth, lifts the corners of her eyes. "Tamara," she says in a soft, throaty whisper. "Apologize to the lady."

The muscle-bound creature in front of me wilts in disappointment, but she doesn't argue. "Sorry," she says in a tone that implies she clearly isn't. She picks up her jacket and moves to stand by the woman at the bar.

Sandra places an arm across Tamara's shoulders in a gesture as much possessive as defensive. Her eyes are not on Tamara or Culebra, however. They are focused on me.

I shift uneasily. Heat ripples my skin. I'm aroused, physically, embarrassingly, in a way I haven't been in months.

By a woman. Is it a spell?

Culebra is tugging at my arm, forcing me to turn away from those hypnotic eyes. He's pulling me toward the door. Dumbly, reluctantly, I allow myself to be led outside.

Only then is the link broken. I round on him. What the hell was that?

His smile is grim. She likes you.

Likes me? We were mind fucking-or didn't you notice? What kind of magic does she work?

He shrugs. Werewolves emit a powerful sexual energy. It's what attracts humans. It's the way they propagate. Human reproduction is not available to them.

Propagate? Hello, I'm not human. Another insignificant detail? We both happen to be women.

She may not know that you are vampire. They do not have psychic abilities except with other pack members. As for sex, werewolves are like vampires in that respect.

It's all he says. It's enough. Werewolves must make other werewolves as vampires do, with an exchange of blood.

What in the hell were you thinking letting a pack of werewolves camp out in your bar?

"There wasn't any trouble until you showed up. Come to think of it, most of the time there isn't any trouble until you show up," he says sharply. He jabs a thumb toward the door. "I think you're missing an important point. Sandra doesn't act like that around everyone. It's as if she was waiting for you. For you. Her pack mate knew your name. Aren't you the least bit curious why?"

Indignation at the charge that I am to blame for what happened inside suddenly morphs into a pool of uncertainty and rampant curiosity. I realize with a jolt that what Culebra said is true.

I turn to go back in. This time, if that muscle-bound Tamara tries to stop me, she's in for a surprise.

Sandra is inside. It's Sandra I need to see. I feel her tugging at the corners of my mind.

Culebra stops me by grabbing my arm. "Not tonight," he says. "I don't want trouble."

I pause, reading Culebra's concern. He fears for my-for our-safety. There are two of us and at least forty of them. He's right. If things go badly, the odds are not in our favor.

"I'll see what I can find out from the weres and get back to you tomorrow," he says.

I sigh. There is the matter of Gloria's indiscretion to take care of. If I'm lucky, maybe Rory O'Sullivan will try something and I can work off some of my aggression by slapping him around.

Culebra is in my head. He frowns, clucking his tongue. "You must find a way to curb your impulses," he says. "Bully someone like Rory O'Sullivan, and you can be sure he'll bully right back. Better to follow your first impulse and take a human sex partner. Do it before you meet O'Sullivan, please, not after. Lose your temper with him, and you risk exposure."

He sounds like a priest. Irritation slithers up and coils in the pit of my stomach. Diffusing that anger in a proper manner was the reason I showed up here.

Culebra releases a long sigh. I know. I am sorry to disappoint you. You put yourself in this position, Anna, over and over. There is an alternative. You know it. Take one partner to satisfy your appetites safely. Settle down. There's nothing wrong with that. It's the prudent thing to do.

Yadda, yadda, yadda. I've heard it before. This time when I stomp down the dusty boardwalk toward my car, no one tries to stop me.