“Shit. How come vampires don’t rule the world, then?”

“Similar to other Flame-born creatures, the Anlu’kyr keep themselves hidden from the eyes of Neutrals. They may be powerful, but their procreation is slow. If they went head to head with humans, they might lose because of numbers alone. Plus, they’re not invincible. Silver is a mild poison to them. Piercing their heart with anything will incapacitate them. Decapitation will end their life.”

Good to know at least bits of the legends are true. I need to get me some silver. Or a nice fat stake.

Seonu settles back in her seat and continues her scan of the streets. The two soldiers sit with rigid postures, alert to every passing car. I’m already tense myself, my stomach’s a twisted knot, and their edginess is ramping up my jitters. It’s coming off them in waves thick enough to warp the air. I can’t imagine what we’re about to face. I have no reference except horror movies, but given the soldiers’ unease, I don’t think these vampires are the sparkly ones.

Laasya doesn’t seem to share her colleagues’ discomfort. She’s looking out the window and humming an off-key tune to herself as though we’re on our way to a Sunday picnic.

When I turn back to Flanagan, I find my gaze wandering along the line of his muscled thigh and lingering over the generous bulge in his crotch before I force my eyes upward. I have to tamp down the sudden desire to run my fingers across the stretched suede and get a feel of the muscles beneath. I take in the shape of his massive chest dressed in hard leather, the long rippling neck, and those thin plaits running through his blond hair at the side of his head before I finally meet his eyes. When I do, the heat I find there punches fresh arousal straight to my groin. He’s watching me like I’m prey he’s ready to devour. A soft knowing smile pulls at his lips again.

I jerk my eyes away. What the hell’s come over me? I’ve never ogled a man in my life. Terry would rib me sore if he knew I was eyeing dick. Flanagan doesn’t seem the least self-conscious about this random erotic tension between us. Maybe it’s a normal response to being Grounded. I bloody hope so, or I’ve got some serious navel-gazing to do.

I scramble for a cover to my blatant leering. “So what’s with the whole Lord of the Rings look anyway? And that symbol on your shoulder?”

Flanagan’s lips curve even more, but he runs with my deflection and taps the silver design on his vest. “This symbol is the Guardian motif—the wolf, the jaguar, and the wings of a raven. And I’m sure you’ve already experienced how uncomfortable normal clothing is for Channelers.”

I huff a laugh. “Yeah, no kidding.” My whole wardrobe is so itchy I’ve given most of my clothes to the secondhand shop. Wearing anything but organic cotton is like wearing a hair shirt. I’ve even abandoned underpants, preferring to go commando so I’m not constantly scratching my ass.