A shadowy figure, dressed far too warmly for the weather, in a heavy black coat, entered through the shop’s narrow door. In the window, Bella straightened and sniffed the air.

The motion accentuated the slender column of her neck and the tracery of blue veins that seemed visible even from across the street. Bullshit, you’re imagining things. Still, Max’s stomach growled and his dick hardened. He could take care of only one problem without getting arrested, so he fumbled in the backseat for his thermos of blood.

“You’re a fucking pervert, Harrison,” he growled to himself as he unscrewed the lid. B positive. Best blood type, hands down.

The shadowy figure sat across from Bella. It was a woman with a shiny black bob and generous cleavage. Something about her seemed oddly familiar, but then, Max could have been confusing her with a chick from the movies.

The two conferred briefly. Though he couldn’t read the werewolf’s facial expression, and the curvy woman’s face was obscured by the shadow of a hanging lamp, he could tell from their body language things were all-business at that table.

“What I wouldn’t pay to hear what’s going on in that messed up little head of yours, wolf.” He lifted the thermos to his mouth, wanting to finish off the blood quickly. He’d never cared for clots.

He’d no sooner taken a swallow than he’d noticed Bella was no longer in the window. Max’s gaze shot from the door to the sidewalk, where she was striding briskly and purposefully away.

He counted to ten before he exited the car and headed for the coffee shop. Seconds later, the werewolf’s associate exited. Max was ready for her.

He clamped his hand over the woman’s mouth as he hauled her into the alley between the shop and an optometrist’s office that had closed for the night. “Don’t make a fucking sound, or so help me I’ll—”

She bit him.

Reflexively, he released her, then cursed himself for doing it.

She laughed, loud and half-crazy. “You’ll what?”

The familiarity he’d sensed at first sight crawled up his spine, and he forced away the resultant shiver. “Who are you?”

“What, you don’t remember me?” She laughed again and grabbed a handful of her black hair. The wig slipped from her head in a smooth motion, and a riot of red curls, which seemed too voluminous to have been hidden beneath, tumbled onto her shoulders.

“How could I forget?” Max stepped forward, backing her up to the damp brick. “Though your name escapes me. Begonia?”

She made a face. “Dahlia. But I’m glad to see I made an impression.”