Her roommate, Blaspheme, would say that from his expensive loafers to his well-fitting black slacks and gray silk shirt, this male exuded pure, hardcore sex.

Not that Lena would know anything about that.

“Um . . . hi, Mr. Sabine. I’m Vladlena—”

“Take off your clothes.” His husky voice, tinged with a faint French accent, was so mesmerizing that his words didn’t register for a few seconds.

Finally, she blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Marsden sent you, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then strip.”

He moved toward her, and with every step, her heart hammered faster. He’d been carved from a stone slab of danger, power, and grace, and if he possessed even an ounce of softness, she’d eat the file she was holding. The room shrank as he closed in on her, erotic energy pulsing off him and making her skin tingle. Those wide shoulders rolled, reminding her of a lion on the prowl, and although at five-nine, she wasn’t short, he was at least seven inches taller. He could crush her with his pinky finger, and here she was, in the place her brother had lost his life, alone in an office with the male who might be responsible.

“I didn’t know that getting na**d was part of the job requirement.” She was proud of the way her voice didn’t waver. Much.

His expression hardened even more, something she hadn’t thought was possible. “Jesus. Where did Marsden find you?”

This was not going well at all, and she clutched the file in her hands tighter to keep them from shaking. “I applied for the job this morning.”

“He’s taking applications?”

“You’d rather your medical personnel pop in off the streets with no training?”

A deep frown pulled at his brow, and then he laughed, and good gods, he was impressive when he did that. “You’re here for one of the medic positions.”

So the guy was handsome, but not too bright. “Of course.” Taking a swig of his drink, he dropped his eyes to her feet. Slowly, he dragged his gaze back up her body in a blatant, sensual appraisal before settling on her mouth.

“Well, then,” he drawled. “How badly do you want the job?”

Nate waited for a reaction from the female—beyond the shocked-out expression that included a dropped jaw, wide eyes, and utter speechlessness, anyway. He’d figured out immediately that she wasn’t a screw sent by Marsden . . . well, almost immediately, though he hadn’t determined why Mars had sent her. In the first few seconds, he’d just been happy his lieutenant had sent an attractive but plain female who was actually wearing clothes, and not one of the fangfuckers from the club decked out in an outfit more appropriate for the bedroom than a bar.

This female was different from anyone he’d ever seen at Thirst, from her scuffed black flats and well-fitting but conservative charcoal slacks to her long-sleeved sweater. Her minimal makeup emphasized high cheekbones and full lips, and he had the oddest urge to ask her to take her blond hair out of the tame, hip-length French braid so he could see if it was as silky as it looked.

Maybe the doe-eyed librarian act was her game. Maybe she drew in the males who wanted to tap a wallflower. Nate had never been that kind. He liked hardasses who knew what they were getting into when they bedded a vampire, but as he’d sized up Vladlena, he began to see the appeal.

But then he’d seen the nervousness in her eyes, heard the note of fear in her voice. Some deep, dark part of him had awakened, and the thrill of the hunt seized him. It was a small rush, barely a ripple in the pool of numbness he’d been drowning in, but Jesus, it was as if a thread of life had been thrown to him, and he was going to cling to it for as long as he could.

“Well?” His body buzzed as he studied her, the way it did when he inadvertently drank blood from a coked-up human, but this was better. Purer, without the fuzzy edges. “You just going to stare at me, or are you going to offer up some incentive for me to hire you?”

Her slender throat worked on a few swallows, and he followed the column of smooth ivory skin lower, to the V neckline of her forest-green angora sweater. Just as he dove south to the smooth swells of her breasts, she thrust a file at him.

“Here’s your incentive.” She waited until he took the file, and then she stepped back, as if wanting to get away. It made him want to cage her between his body and the wall just to show her that if he didn’t want her to escape, she wouldn’t. “Eidolon, the head doctor at Underworld General, prepared that for you. It lists my accomplishments and special skills.”

He nearly chuckled at her attempt to divert him, but he was having too much fun watching her squirm. “All of your special skills?”

Again, her soft brown eyes flared. “Eidolon wouldn’t know all of my special skills, since he has enough integrity to not require that his employees sleep with him.”

“Is that so.” He set his glass on the desk and flipped through the file, not focusing on particulars. “So tell me, why are you leaving this great place where the upstanding boss doesn’t want his nurses on their backs?”

“My reason for leaving is my business. But as you can see, I come with the highest recommendation.”

Fair enough. But something about this female was off, and Nate had learned a long time ago to trust his instincts. She was too fidgety, too . . . something.

Curvy. Curvy is something.

Putting the lid on his less-than-helpful inner voice, he ran his thumb over the loopy whirls of her writing. “The file says you’re a shifter. What species?”

“Tiger.”

Not bloody likely. He inhaled deeply, seeking her scent. Through the tantalizing aroma of vanilla was a wild undertone of feline . . . and canine. Mostly canine, in fact. He’d have pegged her for a wolf, so why was she saying she was a tiger? It wasn’t any of his business, but again, something was off. He’d encountered every species of shifter alive, and he’d never come across one with this particular blend of scents.

His sixth sense was telling him to send her packing. The club had enough troubles, and it operated on a delicate balance. He didn’t need this female messing up anything or causing problems. And yet, she intrigued him with the very qualities that were making him twitchy.

“Okay, Tiger Lady, why are you applying to work here?”

“I need a job, and I work well independently, but I don’t want to work in a human hospital or clinic.”

“Why not? It would be a hell of a lot safer, and you don’t strike me as someone who likes to take risks.”

There wasn’t a tiger shifter on the planet who didn’t like to cozy up with danger, but she didn’t deny his accusation. “Humans provide fewer challenges, medically speaking.”

Her chin lifted, and though she was shorter than he was, she somehow looked down her nose at him, all superior-like. Interesting. Usually females batted their eyelashes and gave him smoky take-me eyes. The superior thing sent another rush through him, piquing his interest even more. Hell, he was actually getting hard.

He picked up his glass again and studied her over the rim. “So you like challenges,” he murmured.

“I love a good fight.” An odd darkness infused her voice, setting off his internal alarms.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just what I said. Challenges are what make life interesting, don’t you think?”

He wondered what she’d do if he challenged her right up against the wall. His cell buzzed with a text message, and what do you know . . . opportunity was knocking. Buzzing. Whatever.

He looked over at Vladlena, who was shifting her weight nervously. “Can you start work now?”

“Right this minute?”

“If I like how you perform, you get the job.”

She glared at him for a heartbeat, as if trying to decide how he meant, “perform,” and then she shrugged. “Why not.”

He took her to the medic station, where Marsden met them with a big, bleeding male with a gaping laceration that had opened up his arm from shoulder to elbow. Blood streamed from his mashed nose and lips, and a piece of his ear had been torn off.

Vladlena leaped into action, snapping gloves out of the dispenser on the wall and then grabbing a towel to put pressure on the laceration as she guided the male toward the exam table. When he growled at her, Nate’s first instinct was to deck the guy, but she handled that like a seasoned pro as well.

“You do not growl at your nurse.” There was an underlying growl of her own in her words, but it was soft, almost gentle, bringing to mind the sound of a mother wolf chastising her young. “I have to help you, but I don’t have to make it comfortable. Got it?”

The male settled down, surprising the hell out of Nate. Mars nodded in approval and then jerked his thumb toward the hall. “I’m going to check on the other participant in the dance floor brawl.” He took off, and Nate turned back to Vladlena, who was reaching for the rolling med kit next to the bed.

“Now,” she said, “let’s get some vitals. What’s your species?”

“Warg,” the male grunted, and yeah, Nate figured. Werewolves, or wargs, as they liked to be called, were growly by nature, and they tended to be larger than other animal-based underworlders and humans—probably because they grew an extra inch or two after being bitten and turned into a werewolf.

She inspected his mouth and airway for any of the teeth that had been knocked out. “Was it a fist or foot that did this?”

Before the warg could answer, there was a shout from outside, and a vampire burst into the room. The warg came off the table, and Nate leaped to intercept him.

“Not in my office,” Vladlena snapped, and for a moment, the warg paused.

Unaffected by her command, the vampire lunged. A pure animal in his rage, he struck out at Vladlena, knocking her into the cabinets.

Fury ripped through Nate with the force of a summer storm, and then he was moving faster than his thoughts, ramming his fist into the male’s nose and popping a double-tap into his throat. As the vamp’s head rocked back, Nate seized him by the neck and slammed him into the wall. He felt the sting of a blade slash at his gut, but he was too lit to let it slow him down. If anything, the pain fed his need to draw blood, and he reached for the fucker’s wrist, snapping it with a quick twist of his fingers. The vamp shouted in agony and dropped the blade. Now Nate was going to tear the bastard’s head off.

Literally. One of the interesting things about being a day-walker was that he was stronger and faster than “normal” vampires, and he was going to make use of that right now—

Marsden’s hands came down on Nate’s shoulders to wrench him away from the nightcrawler as three of the club’s security guys wrestled the warg and vampire to the ground, cuffing them roughly.

“Get ’em out of here,” Mars snapped. “If they want to fight, they’ll do it outside. Then give them a f**king map to Underworld General. They aren’t setting foot in here again.”

Nate whirled around to Vladlena, and when he saw her on the floor, trapped by a shelf that had fallen on her, the pinprick of life he’d felt penetrate his veil of indifference earlier widened. Son of a bitch, if she was hurt . . .

He and Mars tag-teamed the shelf, lifting it off her.

“You okay?” Nate offered her a hand, and she took it, surging to her feet as if she hadn’t just been wearing a two hundred pound wooden shelf.

“I’m fine.” She started to brush herself off, but when she looked at him, she froze. “But you’re not.”

He looked down, surprised to see the gash that ran from his right side to his left hip. And that’s when the pain hit. Oddly, the only thing he could think of was that now Vladlena had an excuse to touch him.

Chapter 4

Vladlena did not like her boss. At all. But she was a trained medical professional, and he was bleeding. Badly. Besides, he’d saved her from what might have been a vicious beating, and while she didn’t doubt that his motivation was more about not wanting to lose another medic than about chivalry, she was grateful.

“Get on the table.” She peeled off the gloves she’d used on the warg, washed, and snapped on new ones as Nate did as he was told.

Interesting. He definitely didn’t seem like the type to follow instructions, but he hopped up on the table and laid back as if he were reclining to watch TV in bed.

And there was an image she needed to get out of her head, because she suddenly saw him on red silk sheets, his black hair spilling over a pillow, and she was right there, straddling his h*ps and running her hands up what was surely a magnificent chest.

She cleared her throat—and her mind. She was a professional, after all. “You’re going to have to take off your shirt.”

He worked the buttons, his long fingers seeming to take an unnecessarily long time. As he peeled the shirt away, he sucked air, and now that the wound was exposed, she could see why. The knife the vampire had cut him with had been serrated, leaving ragged edges on an already deep laceration. The slice had also gone through his leather belt and slacks.

“You’ll have to undo your pants too.” She swore she saw the faintest glimmer of amusement in his expression before it shuttered.

His hand hovered over his belt buckle. “Close the door. I don’t need my employees seeing me like this.”

The idea of shutting herself in a room with him sent flutters of both trepidation and excitement through her. The excitement was something that shouldn’t happen, not until she knew more about his involvement in her brother’s death, and she gave herself a mental scolding as she closed the door.

“There.” She turned back to him. “Happy?”