There was no getting through to him. Despite the hunger still rumbling in her belly, she pushed back her chair and stood. “I’m going to my room.” She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her cold.

“You’re in love with him.”

She stiffened but didn’t turn around.

He continued, his voice cutting across the distance like a whip. “You think he can save you. That he’ll stop anything bad from happening to you. He won’t. He only used you, putting off what he always intended to do. He will—”

“Kill me?” she snapped.

“That’s right.”

“Let him,” she declared, forcing her feet to carry her out of the dining room even as she marveled at how she could say those words. Because in her heart she didn’t mean them. She didn’t want Gideon to kill her. No. She wanted him to love her.

Gideon sat in Cooper’s leather desk chair and pulled up the profile archives. A rare breeze fluttered through the curtains at the open window and ruffled his hair. He stopped and listened for a moment, the sound of a diesel engine outside increasing in volume. The drone faded, blending in with the evening’s other midtown traffic, and he relaxed.

Gideon’s fingers resumed flying over the keyboard. He would have broken in to Cooper’s house sooner—yesterday, when that bastard first took Claire, but Cooper had been home.

Only board administrators like Cooper had home access to the NODEAL database, and this was his best shot at finding Claire. Logging on with Cooper’s password had been easy. He’d seen Cooper type it in countless times.

Typing the name Darius into the search engine, he instantly accessed an extensive file—one that also linked to the files of several other lycans. Gideon’s stomach plummeted as he scanned the information, confirming what he already knew. Darius was one old son of a bitch. Circa 800 AD. Last spotted 1870, New York City. Pack: unknown. Current whereabouts: unknown.

Hell, Gideon knew more than that. At least he knew what city the bastard lived in.

Had Claire already suffered untold indignities at his hands? His throat thickened. It was his fault. With a leaden heart he shut off the computer and crawled back out the window.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Females are selective when it comes to choosing a mate, even when in season.

—Man’s Best Friend: An Essential Guide to Dogs

Helen entered without knocking.

“Good afternoon,” Claire said dryly, propping herself up on the bed with her elbow, smoothing her sundress around her legs. “Come to glare again?”

“Darius wants you to walk the gardens with him.”