Page 19 of Hound

“Let’s get this over with.Quick.”The habitual rasp in his tone faltered, seized by an edge that hitched his breathing. Tension lined his muscles as we stepped toward the fourth level, his eyes stealing glances at our surroundings, as if. . .curious.

Impossible.

No difference marked the den of that night. If the coordinate was correct, then what did the last four digits pertain to?

And why had Sylvester entrusted me with this?

My relationship with him stood because of Anabella, however, we never sought each other like she and him. Itwasn’t until the past year where we shared a word or two in commodity, and if this pertained to his disappearance, there was no substantial reasoning to justify it.

Thus, why me?

Lorenzo’s nostrils flared as he tipped his head upward. “I smell him.”

“What?”

He brought the sheet with the coordinates to his nose. His eyebrows met as he sneered in disgust and pushed it to me, an empty hurl escaping from his lips. “Fuck. It’s all over this. But in this room, too. He fucking reeks even when he’s not physically here.”

Lorenzo emitted heavy sniffs as he walked around with flared nostrils, a low growl vibrating off him. He paused before a painting along the wall that was familiar in brush strokes, the messiness similar to Sylvester’s writing.

“That’s his piece,” I mumbled with inquisition trailing in my tone.

“Makes sense.” Lorenzo reeled back, the lines of disgust between his eyebrows seemingly permanent. “He’s all over this.”

“How did you do that?” Regardless of a vampire's heightened senses, scents were the peskiest one of them all since they seeped together into a muddled mess. Vampires relied on recognizing presences as they were one of a kind, tailored perfectly to every being. Had half-humans possessed the ability to track one down through smell? Tristan nor Sonia had ever done so.

“What are you?”

Bronzed eyes burned with a fire that heated this room as they clashed onto mine. “Tonight’s not the night to test me more than you already have, Doll.” Though his voice hadn’t altered, a resounding thrum transcended.

I accepted the warning and moved forward, though my tongue ached to query.

“Why does this place have his art? I thought your kind didn’t like him.”

“Because he owns the establishment,” I whispered. “He made sure to never exhibit so. However, when his pieces slowly trickled in here and there, particularly in hidden corners, the answer was unveiled.” Truthfully, if it wasn’t for Anabella’s affirmation, it would have remained a suspicion. “The once renowned artist Sylvester Reynard-Mallory had a particular touch only he bore, one so grand that vampires and humans alike sought his work as if it was food for the hungry. Yet, one day, when it had all shifted, there was no explanation, and all who owned a piece disposed of them. To detect them here was bizarre—unless the very owner was placing them.”

No one, not even Anabella, knew what flickered his career to plummet or how he was reduced to nothing in our society. The speed of it all didn’t allow anyone to question—or process for that matter.

Lorenzo bent down as he studied the piece. “That fucker’s devious,” he grunted and pointed at the right-bottom corner. “This wasn’t a coordinate; it was his signature. His initials are coded.”

I leveled myself to take in what he indicated.

“One could be an ‘S,’ nine an ‘R,’ four an ‘M.’ But what’s five?”

The realization dawned on me, the picture sharpening as I glanced opposite of the signature to the left-bottom corner. “It’s the number of the piece. If this is four, then five must be?—”

Words ceased to exist on my tongue as my head turned to Lorenzo, our lips a breath away from meeting. His heat blanketed my body as our gazes met. Bronze exploded into the medallion yellow with viper-like slits from our first night.

The familiar vivid possessiveness entranced me, reeled me away from reality and to some other realm. Something that snapped my existence from its deprivation to its rightful place. One in which was born through Lorenzo.

Thoughts held no weight in my actions. I plummeted forward, impulse and lust rushing through my veins as I seized his lips. His captivating tongue charged the electricity that had consumed us the moment we stepped inside. Hesitancy didn’t occupy a chair at this table—it was fierce awareness.

Large arms swooped around and under me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed his rigid groin into mine. A wall met my back, our lips never parting. Lorenzo assured me by deepening the kiss, teeth trailing along my lips as my fangs extended to its full potential.

More. I neededmore.

A possessiveness escaped my touch as hands traveled up his shoulders and fisted around smooth leather, his tongue pursuing a trail from my cheek to my neck, down, down, down, until my collarbone grew exposed to his heat and?—

Shattering glass pierced through the air. Lorenzo suddenly pulled away and dragged me behind him, his broad back widening as he swiftly shielded me. Adjacent to us was a couple that stumbled through the hall to the staircase, taking every decorative piece with them in one form or another.

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