No matter how much of a bastard Wolfric was, I had to admit he had style.

The big bad vampire didn't live in a dark and dreary Gothic castle. Oh no, he had to live in a charming, but old, townhouse where the living room was probably as big as my whole apartment.

Well, I suppose if I had the funds to do so, I too would live in such style. Maybe when I grow up to be as old as Wolfric then I might be better at managing my money. I highly doubt that. Money burns holes in my pockets. My philosophy is: Money is meant to be spen, preferably on clothes or, even better, shoes! Every girl's best friend.

Mr. Fancy Shamncy even had his own two-car garage and a bit of a driveway which many New Yorkers didn't have. Since it was handy and this wasn't the type of neighborhood where my bike would be dismantled or stolen, I parked it and pocketed the keys then headed for the door.

There was no doorbell, only a heavy old-fashion iron knocker with the face of a wolf on it. Cute.

Lifting my hand I wrapped the knocker against the heavy wooden door. The knocks seemed to echo and made the place seem empty, even though I damn well knew he was home.

I stepped back as the door opened and Wolfric's werewolf bodyguard-slash-secretary opened the door and blinked those big brown eyes down at me. Mitchell Downs crossed his thick arms over his impressive chest and raised a brow as he stared down (why is everyone friggin' taller than me?!) and waited for an explanation.

I flashed him one of my best smiles, which didn't seem to impress him much.

"What is it, RJ?"

Holding up my hands in feign innocence, I pouted, "Can't I just drop in to say hello?"

His only answer was to narrow his eyes.

Sighing, I coughed it up, "I need to speak with Wolfric."

I watched fascinated as the ex-marine pulled a blackberry out of his back pocket and scrolled through its mysterious contents, "You don't have an appointment."

That turned my fascination into a glare, "Does it look like I care if I have an appointment or not?" I fished out my badge and shoved it up against his nose, "I'm here on police business, so either take me to him or get the hell out of my way."

Mitchell pushed my badge away from his nose and rubbed it with the other hand as he glared down at me. I gave him my scariest glare right back.

With a sigh of either irritation or defeat (guess which one I was betting on), Mitchell turned, "Fine. Follow me."

As I followed Mitchell, I couldn't help but admire Wolfric's attractive home. He was obviously a lover of the arts, I noted as we passed walls adorned with tasteful art pieces.

Despite the warm color of the walls and the cozy looking furniture, emphasized by the roaring fire in the stone fireplace, the place just didn't feel like a home to me. It looked as though it was a set for a Good House-keeping magazine. A set, that's the best she could describe it. It just didn't have that lived in feel to it.

"I bet Wolfric doesn't entertain much, huh?" I asked Mitchell's back.

"Not much," he agreed. "He conducts much of his vampire business at his club. He spends very little time here."

Wolfric owned one of the hottest nightclubs in New York City, Blood City; a notorious vampire-human club. I've never been there myself. Okay, lie, I've been there once and it's where I met Wolfric for the first time. That was before I'd known he was the Master Vampire of the city. We hit it off real good until he'd asked me to go to dinner with him. Oh, I said yes. But it kind of turned me off when we went up to his office (so he could get his coat) and found a pretty blond sitting on his desk, wearing nothing but a saucy smile. Yeah, that kinda ruined our dinner plans.

Not long afterwards, I found out who he was exactly. Wolfric asked me out again, but I hadn't been interested.

Still not, I corrected myself.

I nearly bumped into Mitchell when he suddenly stopped. Peering around him, I noticed we'd come to a closed door.

Uh oh. "This isn't his bedroom is it?" I tried not to picture a half-naked Wolfric sitting on black silk sheets. But hey, I may be not interested, but I'm not dead.

Now Mitchell turned to me and raised a brow. Damn it, I must be blushing. "No. This is his office."

I sighed inwardly with relief.

Giving me one last look, Mitchell knocked on the door.

"Yes?"

God. It's been awhile since I've heard that Scottish bur. Did I mention that I'm a sucker for guys with accents?

"RJ's here to see you, Rick. Says it's police business," he called through the door.

The Master didn't answer right away. "Come in."

Mitchell the werewolf opened the door and stepped back to allow me through. As I stepped past him, he said, "I'll wait out here."

The door closed behind me and I met the pale green eyes of the Master of the City, Wolfric, across his desk.

He was still one of the most handsomest men I've ever seen. He was a little taller than Hank, which made him like six eight and he came with plenty of delicious muscle to match all that height. I imagined he would have gotten up from his desk, but he knew how I felt about my height and decided to stay sitting. His golden hair fell in waves to his shoulders; it looked so soft that my fingers itched to comb through it.

"Rowena, what a lovely surprise."

Wolfric was one of the few people I knew that actually called me Rowena. Maybe it was his age. After all seven hundred years ago in the Scottish Highlands, they didnt abbreviate names. Yep, that's right, Wolfric is a Scottish laird from seven hundred years ago. I'm not sure if he was born a vampire or turned into one. I've never asked.

I strolled over to his desk and hopped up to sit on the edge of it. I glared when his mouth twitched in the beginnings of a grin. I'm short and this is a freakishly tall desk, sue me.

Folding his arms over his chest, Wolfric sat back in his chair and lifted a brow, "So what is this police business of yours that was so important that you had to come to my home at," he paused and glanced at his Rolex. "Almost four o'clock in the morning?"

I dropped my huge folder on his desk, "This."

Sitting up, Wolfric carefully opened the file and proceeded to search through its contents. His amused smirk quickly vanished and his face grew gravely serious, then as I watched his face contorted with what seemed to be pure rage. I was impressed. This must be what he looked like on the Scottish battlefields. A rage filled Warrior. Who liked to wear jeans and snug sweater that matched his eyes and molded to his body.

Finally, Wolfric quickly closed the folder and pushed it away. With a growl, he pushed himself up from the desk and went to the window behind it and proceeded to stare intently out it.

I was quiet for a moment as I mentally processed his reaction, "So, I take it you didn't know about the murders?"

He spun around so fast it had me blinking in surprise. "Oh course not! If I'd known I would've been looking into it!"

When he's angry, I noted, his brogue thickens. "Don't you watch the news, Scottie? There aren't that many vampire killings in New York. Add to that a serial killing vampire, that's hot news."

Wolfric waved that question away with a snort, "I don't pay attention to the human news. It both disgusts and irritates me." He paused for a moment and shoved a hand through his hair, "I should've heard about this. Why haven't I heard about these killings?"

I held up a hand to halt his questions, "First off; if you don't watch the news, how would you hear of something like this in the first place? Where do you get your info?"

He rolled his beautiful green eyes at me, "Rowena, my sweet, I'm in charge of nearly every vampire in this lovely city of ours. This would be big news for many vampires and should've circulated back to me at some point. How long has this been going on?" He stepped towards his desk, as if to check the folder.

"A little over three months," I told him. Under different circumstances, I would've laughed hysterically at the dumbfounded look on his mouth-watering face. But in this case, it just didn't seem funny.

"Three months?!" he exclaimed, his brogue so thick now it sounded a lot like a growl.

I crossed my legs and better situated myself on the edge of his desk. "The police have been keeping this thing close under wraps," I added.

He gave me one of those looks men give women when they believe we are silly and inferior. "Oh please, Rowena. I know that despite the best attempts of the police to keep events like this quiet it eventually leaks out. And another thing," he started as he came back to stand in front of me. He stared down at me with his hands on hips. "You were called in on this case when?"

I didn't see where he was going with this and I let him see it on my face, "Tonight."

My brows lifted when he let out a vicious curse, "After twelve killings? Doesn't that seem a little strange to you? You're usually called in after the first couple of murders, Rowena. Why did they wait so long to fill you in?"

Hm, I really hadn't thought about that too much. I was too excited that I finally had a case to question it too much.

"Good question." I leaned over his desk and retrieved the file. I flipped through it until I came to the information on the victims. Whipping the paper out, I scanned its contents. Then I found it, "Aha! It's because not all of the killings took place in New York. They're scattered all over the country."

"And?"

Now I showed him my men-are-silly-creatures look, "We aren't the only state with a Hunters division, Wolfric. There aren't many but there are others. There are always squabbles going on between law enforcement over jurisdiction. I believe, since no one in the previous states has caught this bastard yet and also since the last few murders have take place in my
city; where, I might add, we have the highest success rate at catching monstrous bad guys, the case was given to me."

A corner of Wolfric's mouth crooked up as he raised a brow, "Your city?"

I ignored that and continued as though I hadn't heard that, "That could be why you haven't heard of it either. Only two murders have happened in New York and it takes time for you to get word of something like this."

He rubbed his hand over his chin, "That is true."

I opened my mouth to ask my next question when Wolfric glanced down at his watch and said, "Well would you look at the time. I'm sorry to rush you out the door, but I'm terribly busy. Too busy even for you, my dear," he said as he grasped my upper arms and lifted me off the desk as though I weighed nothing. Though, compared to him I was like a twig next to a log.
Wolfric then placed his huge hands on my shoulders, whirled me around and all but pushed me towards the door.

At the door, he spun me around and sealed that excellent mouth over mine and proceeded to fry my brain.

Just as suddenly as he kissed me, he released me and pushed me out the door.

He grinned at me as I stared open-mouthed at him and just blinked, "Mitchell will show you out. We still have more to talk to about. We'll have dinner tomorrow night, I'll pick you up. Goodnight, Rowena. Sweet dreams."

The door shut sharply in my face and I didn't do more than stare at it as I clasped the file to my chest with my gym bag slung over my shoulder.

I gasped and whirled around at the tap on my shoulder, "What?!"

Mitchell smirked as he reminded me, "I was going to show you out."

My response was to blink stupidly at him and stutter, "U-uh, f-fine." Wolfric fried my brain cells so bad I seemed to be incapable of forming snappy words. Something I was usually very good at.

The werewolf threw back his head and laughed, his shoulders heaved with the effort, "Oh my God! You should see your face!"

I felt my face heat up and an unladylike growl rise in the back of my throat. "Shut up, you ass!" I shoved past him and started down the hallway, "I'll show myself out."

His hysterical laughter followed me as I stomped to the front door and to my waiting bike, cursing that pompous asshole and his dog of a servant under my breath the entire way.