Dylan Aldian raced toward the conference room at FPA headquarters. His leader, Abram Jackman, had called an emergency meeting, alerting the agents that there had been a bombing. Dylan didn’t know the details, but he sent up a silent prayer, hoping this wasn’t a terrorist attack. He’d seen far too many in his lifetime, innocent lives lost to one extremist cause or another over centuries without any real resolution.
He didn’t want to go through another September 11th. The damage had been horrific, and the attack was one of the deadliest in recorded history with 2,993 fatalities and 8,900 injuries. Living in New York City during that tragedy had changed the course of his life as well as many others. He could still see it all so clearly inside his mind even after fourteen years.
Rushing into the conference room, Dylan took a seat and waited as some of the other agents filed in. Not all the agents were in attendance since there were other active cases.
After a few minutes, the FPA’s tech guru, Axel Lee, stood up. “There was a bombing a few hours ago at the Silver Bullet in New Orleans,” he announced.
Using a handheld remote, Axel brought up a series of pictures. Images of the Silver Bullet, a popular club in New Orleans, filled the screen. The building that had once stood tall in the Warehouse District was now partially rubble. An entire wall had collapsed, spread out along the city street in a mixture of burnt glass, metal, and brick.
“What do we know about the bomb?” Dylan asked.
“We don’t have any information about the bomb at this time, but we should be receiving pictures of the fragments soon,” Abram said. “The local FBI office and the New Orleans police department are working together. We’ve been asked to join the task force since the Silver Bullet is a shifter-owned club and paranormals were injured in the explosion.”
“Is this an attack against paranormals, a hate crime, or an act of terrorism?” Max Lumeria asked.
“We don’t know,” Axel answered, shaking his head. “Nobody has taken credit for the explosion.”
“What’s the count?” Dylan asked. “How many casualties?”
“Sixty-one people injured, eighteen critically wounded, and seven dead. I want a team flying down to New Orleans within the next thirty minutes,” Abram ordered. “We’ve got to find the person responsible and figure out if this is an isolated incident or if there will be more bombings.”
“I’ll go,” Dylan volunteered without hesitation. “I’ve got a good relationship with Gideon Channing and his pack.”
“Yeah, I think that would be a good idea. You can do the job without making it personal. I sent Ranger, Shaw, and Brock to Montreal to hunt down a rogue shifter. That should keep them busy for a while.” Abram rose to his feet. “Dylan will take the lead. Axel, I need you in the field. I want you to check out the city’s surveillance system and run each person that was at the Silver Bullet through our facial recognition program.”
“I can hack into the city’s surveillance system and run the program from here,” Axel said. “I don’t need to go out into field.”
Dylan didn’t know the reason behind Axel’s reluctance to leave FPA headquarters, but he was certain it had to be something serious. The lion shifter hadn’t always stayed hidden behind his computer screen. There had been a time when Axel had been working cases in far-off countries. Again, Dylan didn’t know all the details, but whatever had happened pushed Axel to want to hide from the outside world.
Abram shook his head. “I need you there,” he said before continuing on with his orders. “Max, go to the hospital and the club. You’re in charge of collecting evidence. We need to put this bomb back together in order to find any signatures that might point to the person responsible. Ian, get the plane ready. You’re transportation.”
“Do you want me to stay with the team?” Ian asked.
“No.” He shook his head. “Stay with the plane. I don’t want the FBI to think we’re taking over their case. At this time, it’s a joint task force. We need to play nice.”
Pushing back his chair, Dylan rose to his feet, and the other agents followed his lead.
“If you need anything, call me,” Abram told him.
“Yes, sir.” Dylan nodded. Turning on his heel, he strode out of the room. Dylan paused in the hallway, waiting for Ian, Axel, and Max to join him. “Grab your gear. We’ll meet in the underground parking garage and head to MacArthur Airport together.”
The other agents nodded in agreement before taking off. Dylan watched them go before marching toward the locker room inside the FPA’s training facility. Spinning the combination lock around, 16-35-11, Dylan pulled it free. He grasped the black duffel bag and lifted it up, swinging the thick padded strap over his shoulder. Dylan slammed the metal door shut and turned around, heading for the parking garage.
It was hard to believe that the Silver Bullet wasn’t in the same condition as it had been the last time Dylan was in New Orleans. He had volunteered to travel down south when Gideon Channing, the Alpha wolf shifter in the area, was having some trouble with a pack out of Northern Washington. There had been a fight in his territory, and some dead rogue shifters need to be disposed of. Dylan had taken care of the problem and stayed on a little longer, getting to know the shifters from Gideon’s pack.
Emmett tugged at his clothing, ripping his white T-shirt to shreds before attacking his sweatpants. “I need you now.”
“I need you, too, Flowers.” A sense of urgency drove him, propelling him forward.
Dylan jerked back. He reached over and opened the top drawer on the side table, grabbing a bottle of lubricant. Dylan lay back down, facing Emmett. Flicking the lid open with his thumb, Dylan coated his fingers with the silky substance. He moved closer and pulled Emmett back into his arms. Emmett automatically lifted his leg, throwing it over Dylan’s hip. Using a single digit, he circled Emmett’s hole, massaging the skin before slowly pressing the finger into Emmett’s puckered entrance.
He pulled out and then pushed in again, over and over, and Emmett squirmed. After a few minutes, Dylan inserted two fingers, stretching his lover. Dylan crooked his fingers up, rubbing Emmett’s prostate gland.
“Oh God,” Emmett panted. “Feels so good.”
Dylan grinned. He stared at his True Match, watching the emotion playing over the man’s expressive face.
“Blood,” he gasped. “I want your blood. I need it. You taste so good.”
Emmett swiveled his hips in a circular motion, thrusting back against Dylan’s fingers and then forward, ramming his hard cock against Dylan’s stomach. He was relentless in his search for pleasure and release, a wild animal desperate to feed and fuck. It was a beautiful sight.
“You can have my blood whenever you want it.”
Emmett didn’t need to be told twice. His fangs shot out as he dove for the vein at Dylan’s neck. The sharp points pierced his skin. Emmett moaned as he fed, and Dylan groaned in ecstasy.
Dylan wrapped his hand around the base of Emmett’s shaft, pumping the man’s cock. He added a third finger, stretching Emmett’s quivering hole. Their rhythm and movements became a coordinated dance, and Emmett’s sounds, the beautiful gasps and moans, was the music.
“Dylan, I’m....Oh God! Ah...ah…ah… You’re making me come!” Emmett screamed, crying out in pleasure as he came, shooting hot jets of spunk across Dylan’s chest. Blood ran freely from his fangs and down his chin. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop,” he begged. “Oh God…”
Dylan obeyed Emmett’s request. Moving at the speed of light, he flipped Emmett over onto his hands and knees. He grabbed the bottle of lube and opened the lid, coating his shaft.
Dylan lined his cock up to Emmett’s ass, the spongy head kissing Emmett’s hole. He applied a small bit of pressure, and his cock slid past the tight ring of muscle. Dylan paused for a moment. He wanted to be wild and careless, but he didn’t want to hurt the most important person in his world. When Emmett arched his back, he moved forward inch by inch, sinking into his True Match. He took his time, reading Emmett’s body language and listening to the sounds he was making. Dylan didn’t stop until he bottomed out.
“Ahhh,” he groaned, grabbing hold of Emmett’s hips. “You feel so good, Flowers.”
“Oh God.” Emmett clawed at the blankets, shredding the linen with his sharp nails.
Covering his True Match’s back, Dylan wrapped his arms around Emmett’s waist, holding him close as he moved. The slow rhythm built in speed until he was fucking Emmett in hard, deep strokes. Dylan groaned as he thrust faster, harder, driving his cock in and out of his True Match’s perfect ass. Erotic sounds spilled from Emmett’s lips, spurring Dylan on.
Dylan lowered his head, rubbing his nose against Emmett’s shoulder, inhaling the decadent scent of the man’s blood as it called to him.
“Bite me.” Emmett tilted his head to the side, giving Dylan access to the unblemished skin.
Dylan’s gums tingled, the sharp fangs lengthening. He ran the edges of his teeth over the skin before slowly puncturing the vein in Emmett’s neck. Emmett’s blood flowed into his mouth, hot and thick and sweet, and he could feel himself getting drunk on his taste. Delicious. He growled at the exquisite taste and sucked gently, feeding from his True Match.
Emmett chanted Dylan’s name. The sound echoed around the room, driving Dylan faster, deeper, making him desperate to get closer to Emmett. If he could melt against Emmett and merge them into one being, he would. Dylan could remain inside of his True Match for eternity. Emmett cried out, and his hole fluttered as he came, the scent of spunk surrounding them. The smell of arousal mixed with the unique scent of Emmett was enough to push Dylan over the edge.
“Mine!” he shouted, marking and claiming his True Match. Dylan plunged his cock as deep as he could reach. His muscles tightened, and his hips jerked in spasms as he came.
“More…more, more, more,” he demanded.
Dylan chuckled lightly. “As you wish.”