Wicked Kiss. Michelle Rowen

let the music become her entire world.

      Damn, I missed her.

      But I had to come back tonight. I couldn’t wait any longer.

      There was somebody I had to find who used to hang out here a lot. Somebody I’d been searching the city for. Somebody who’d stolen something from me that I needed back before it was too late.

      I had no real idea when “too late” was going to be. But I had a sick, gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that we were getting really close.

      “You look way too serious, Sam,” Kelly said lightly from across the booth. “And you’re not even listening to anything we’re saying.”

      “Sorry,” I began, my head still in a fog. I forced a smile to my lips and looked at Kelly and Sabrina—both blond and perky cheerleader types. I wasn’t blond, nor was I particularly perky or cheerful. But they were both good friends of mine, anyway.

      Well, maybe good friends was pushing it. We usually ate lunch at the same table and we had gym class together. I think they liked me. That totally counted.

      After their invite earlier today, I’d decided to join them here for a “girls’ night out.” At least, that’s what they thought it was. For me, it was an excuse to be here on the off chance I might find the boy who’d literally stolen my soul.

      “Yeah,” Sabrina agreed. “Like, earth to Samantha. What’s up with you?”

      “Nothing. I’m just a bit distracted tonight.”

      Understatement, table for one.

      Kelly took a sip of her Diet Coke and eyed the remains of the nachos that sat on the table between us. There wasn’t much left, thanks to me—just a bit of cheesy sludge and a couple soggy tortilla chips. A single jalapeño pepper remained, lying there mournfully after the battle its friends had lost.

      I couldn’t help it. I was really hungry tonight. And when I was hungry I needed to eat so my other cravings didn’t kick into overdrive.

      Unfortunately, the plate of nachos hadn’t helped a bit.

      “FYI, we were talking about Halloween,” Sabrina reminded me. “Do you know what you’re wearing to Noah Tyler’s party?”

      “Noah’s having a party?” I asked absently, keeping my eyes on the club over her shoulder while still trying my best to appear attentive.

      “Yeah. And he did tell me that he really wants you to be there.” She grinned. “I think somebody’s got a crush on you.”

      It took me a moment to clue in to what she meant. I cringed at the thought, and also the vague realization that Noah had been checking me out lately. I’d tried to ignore it. “He doesn’t.”

      She shrugged and the girls shared a knowing look. “Whatever you say. But you’re coming, right?”

      “Wednesday night?” I forced a look of interest as well as a cheery smile though I felt anything but. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

      I was definitely going to miss it. No question.

      They discussed their costumes. I half listened. The jalapeño pepper died a quick and painless death.

      Then I stayed behind as a song came on that they got incredibly excited about and they made their way to the nearby dance floor. A sprinkle of colorful lights fell across their faces as they joined the swell of other kids dancing to the throbbing beat of the techno song—from a close bump and grind to a frenetic waving of arms and legs. I used to do a kind of uncomfortable shuffle thing when it came to dancing. I had always been hyperaware that somebody might be watching, judging, laughing. All of the above.

      “Dance like nobody’s watching,” Carly always insisted.

      “Did you see that embroidered on a cushion somewhere?”

      She’d give me a grin. “Probably. But it’s still true. Gotta enjoy every moment because you never know when it’s going to be your last.”

      The memory of the eternal optimism of Carly Kessler made my throat too thick to swallow down another gulp of my ginger ale. I returned my full focus to scanning the club, the entrance, the dance floor.

      We’d been here for an hour. An hour to consume a plate of nachos, chat with a couple girls who generously tolerated my company, watch a couple hundred kids having a good time on a Saturday night, remembering that I used to be one of them, and to realize that this wasn’t getting me anywhere.

      The scent in the air was intense and it made it increasingly hard to think. Not sweat or perfume—something else. Something deeper that slithered around me like a boa constrictor, squeezing painfully tight.

      While I might look like a normal seventeen-year-old girl to anyone who didn’t know otherwise, without my soul I was now a “gray,” someone that had the ability to steal someone else’s soul through a kiss.

      It was a mistake to come here. It’s only getting worse.

      “Relax,” I commanded myself.

      But it was hard to relax when you couldn’t let yourself breathe deeply. Shallow breathing was the best way to maintain control in a busy place like this. I’d come here to find a missing person, not to pick out a potential victim.

      Finally, desperately needing to keep my mind off my unnatural but growing hunger, I pushed away from the booth and moved toward the brass railing that surrounded the dance floor and separated it from the seating area. I gripped the smooth, cold metal hard enough to make my knuckles turn white. After a few moments, my aching hunger finally eased off.

      And then it spiked back up to maximum.

      “Why are you here, Samantha?” His deep voice, edged with displeasure, came from right behind me.

      I clutched the railing tighter and squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to breathe at all, but that was kind of impossible. Even soulless, voracious monsters like me needed oxygen.

      When I inhaled this time, his familiar scent—warm, spicy and totally devastating—slid over me.

      Finally, I forced myself to face him.

      Bishop’s dark brows were drawn tightly over intense cobalt-blue eyes. He towered over me—a full foot taller than my short five-two. Broad shoulders. Sinewy muscle rippled down his arms under his long-sleeve black T-shirt, which was drawn tight across his chest. His mahogany-colored hair was messy tonight. I had a sudden urge to slide my fingers through it and push it off his forehead. I clenched my hands into fists at my sides to keep from automatically reaching toward him.

      “Why am I here?” I forced myself to say it casually. “Why wouldn’t I be? Crave’s a great place to hang out with friends.”

      “You’re looking for Stephen.”

      I shrugged a shoulder, tore my gaze away from his and studied the dance floor.

      “Samantha.”

      The way he said my name always made me shiver. Still, this time my gaze shot back to his with more annoyance than nonchalance. “I know you want me to stay home every night with the door locked, but I can’t do that. Besides, I haven’t heard from you in a few days. I figured I was on my own again.”

      Bishop’s expression remained frustratingly neutral. “I’ve been looking for him.”

      “Found him yet?”

      His jaw tensed. “Believe me, you’d be the first to know if I had.”

      “Well, if you haven’t found him, then it sounds like you need help. That’s why I’m here.”

      He hissed out a sigh. “Seriously, Samantha. You need to go home and let me handle this.”

      Hot anger ignited inside of me, helping me resist my automatic pull toward him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

      Bishop’s