“You seem abnormally interested in my relationship with Sophia,” Luc mocked. “Don’t you have your own female to worry about?”

Morton belatedly attempted to hide his obsession with his beautiful neighbor.

“I merely believe Sophia deserves a more worthy male.”

Luc lifted a brow. “A male like you?”

“I would certainly appreciate her fine qualities.” The crimson gaze flicked over Luc with a dismissive annoyance. “Unlike you.”

“If you think she’s so fine, then why haven’t you made your move on her?” Luc deliberately widened his eyes, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Or have you already tried and been shot down?”

“Certainly not.”

“No doubt for the best.” Luc gave the cur another slap on the back, barely resisting the urge to unleash his claws and rip out his throat. The mere thought that the creep had been secretly lusting after Sophia made his wolf ache for blood. “Just between us, I don’t think she would ever be interested. I believe her exact words were that you were ‘a sorry excuse for a cur.’ ”

Morton flinched at the insult, but there was a grim set to his jaw. As if he’d made his decision and nothing was going to sway him.

“That’s only because she doesn’t know me.”

“You think you’ll grow on her?” Luc chuckled. “Like fungus?”

“I think she’s an intelligent female who can appreciate the needs of duty.”

Luc stilled, thrown off guard by the unexpected words. “Duty?”

“Precisely.”

All right, enough was enough.

He had no doubt that Morton was the stalker and he intended to get to the truth, one way or another.

He actually preferred the “another” option, since it included a lot of pain and carnage.

“Is it your duty to try and kill her?”

Morton looked like a deer in the headlights for a split second, then meeting Luc’s ruthless gaze he seemed to accept that he was busted. With a shrug he allowed his act to drop, a cunning expression settling on his pudgy face.

“Ah, I feared you had guessed the truth.”

Luc subtly scooted forward, not wanting to be in the position where he could be pinned against the roll-bar of the cart.

Not that he believed for a moment the cur could physically overpower him. Still, better safe than sorry.

“The only thing I’ve guessed is that you’re responsible for stalking Sophia.”

“Not stalking ...” Morton corrected, “testing.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Although I’ve held the greatest respect for Sophia since the birth of her daughters, I needed to be certain that she retained her strength and agility over the years.”

A chill inched down Luc’s spine. There was something far more disturbing about this calm, almost condescending Morton.

“Why?”

“To bear my children, of course.”

Fury pulsed through Luc, his wolf savagely trying to break free of his restraint. It would kill before it allowed another man to steal his mate.

And the man in him was in full agreement.

Ironic he was the one in a rage considering he’d been trying to provoke the cur.

“Are you insane?”

With a smooth motion, Morton reached into the cooler set on the seat between them and pulled out a small gun loaded with a cartridge.

Luc frowned. A tranq gun? The cur truly was insane if he thought a pure-blooded Were could be put down by a mere tranquilizer.

“Don’t ever question my sanity,” Morton warned, obviously a little sensitive on the subject of his mental state.

Luc carefully judged the distance between them as he sought to keep the cur distracted.

“If you want her as a breeder then why did you try to kill her?”

Morton regarded him as if he were particularly dense. “I didn’t try to kill her. I’ll admit that I devised a few obstacles to monitor her physical condition, but I would never permanently harm her.”

“Bastard,” Luc snarled, furious at the thought of Sophia being systematically terrorized by this psycho. “I know you were the one who shot at her. A silver bullet through the heart would have been very permanent.”

“I wasn’t shooting at her, you fool.” Morton smirked, clearly thinking that his peashooter gave him the upper hand. A mistake that Luc was eager to demonstrate. “I was aiming at you.”

Luc frowned, startled by the confession. “Me?”

“I had borrowed Victoria’s disguise amulet to follow Sophia to her club when you arrived in Chicago.” His expression hardened with disgust. “I knew from the way you were watching her that you were going to interfere with my plans.”

“What plans?”

“To capture Sophia and impregnate her with my litter.”

Any coherent thought was lost as a red mist descended over him, his beast beyond the point of no return.

“No way in hell,” he growled, his words nearly unintelligible.

Looking almost bored as Luc began to shift, Morton pointed the gun at the center of his chest.

“I just knew you were going to be trouble.”

Distantly Luc heard the pop of the gun and felt the dart plunge into his flesh, but, lost in his transformation, it was too late when he realized his muscles were slowly being paralyzed as the unknown substance began to flow through his blood.

Regarding the smug cur in horror, he realized he should have paid far more attention to his own warnings.

Looks truly were deceiving....

CHAPTER 8

Sophia was running late.

After reviewing the payroll and dealing with the linen service that had forgotten to bring their laundered tablecloths and napkins, she had been forced to soothe one of the waiters who had been insulted by the bartender and locate the key to the back freezer that had been lost.

At last she was able to settle in a chair to audition the Were who had traveled thousands of miles just to perform at her club.

Unfortunately, she struggled to concentrate.

It wasn’t that Jian wasn’t spectacular. He nearly set the stage on fire with his lean, muscular body that moved with a fluid grace that was amazing even by Were standards.

But tapping a finger on the arm of her chair, she realized she felt ... weird, unsettled.

She told herself that she was merely impatient to return home to Luc. He was bound to be finished with his golf match by now and waiting for her return.

Hopefully naked in her bed.

What woman wouldn’t be anxious to be done with work?

Counting down the minutes until she could politely bring the audition to a close, Sophia was startled when she caught a familiar scent.

Turning her head, she watched the crimson-haired imp dressed in a silver mesh shirt and black spandex cross the room to take the chair beside her, setting a leather briefcase at his feet.

“Mmm,” he moaned, his gaze drinking in the sight of the near-naked Were dancing on the stage. “Tasty.”

“Troy.” Sophia gave a lift of her brows. “Don’t you have your own business to run?”

“Yes, but the view isn’t nearly so nice.”

She reached to grab his chin, turning his fascinated attention in her direction.

“If you want to ogle the talent, you’re supposed to pay a cover charge.”

He pouted. “Is that any way to treat your bestest friend?”

“The last time I came to your coffee shop you charged me an arm and a leg for a cappuccino the size of a thimble,” she reminded him in dry tones.

“But I sprinkled it with my special fairy dust.”

“Special fairy dust, my ass,” she scoffed. “It was cinnamon.”

A smile twitched at the edges of his mouth. “Maybe.”

“I assume you have a reason for being here beyond trying to sneak a peek?”

The smile faded, leaving the handsome face unexpectedly somber.

“I think we should talk.”

“Uh-oh.” Sophia frowned. “I seem to be getting that a lot lately.”

“A lot of what?”

“Nothing.” Trying to shrug off her persistent unease and the sudden certainty she wasn’t going to like what Troy had to say, Sophia rose to her feet. “Let’s go to my office.”

With a thumbs-up toward Jian, she led the towering imp into her office, closing the door behind them.

Troy strolled to inspect her enviable collection of Fabergé eggs.

“Nice.”

Sophia moved to the wet bar behind her desk. “Something to drink? Water? Brandy?” She pointed toward the sleek silver cappuccino machine. “A ten-dollar cappuccino with fairy dust?”

“No need.” Troy took the seat opposite her desk, opening his leather briefcase to pull out a small flask. “I always carry my own.”

“You came prepared,” she murmured, noting the stack of manila folders in the case. “Should I be worried?”

He took a swig from the flask. “I’m not sure.”

Shit.

She sat in the chair behind her desk, her heart lodged in her throat.