Page 31 of Roguefinder
“Sorry,” I said, hurrying to him.
Our bags were exactly where we’d left them. Jesse handed me my suitcase without comment, and we fell back into step.
“What did the woman at the register say?” I asked as we headed away from the catacombs.
Jesse kept walking, his eyes on the street ahead. “She called me the Italian word for dickhead.”
“Seriously?”
“Esatto.” He gave me a wry look. “Correct.”
A short laugh burst from me. His mouth curved slightly before his expression settled into the troubled look he’d worn in the tunnels.
The early afternoon sun struggled above the nearest line of buildings. But the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and more groups of tourists streamed toward the catacombs. Scooters zipped past us like giant insects. Jesse’s brow was furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Hey,” I said, letting my fingers brush his. “We’ll find Ulfrik again. You’re the best wolfseeker I know.”
He looked at me, and some of the lines smoothed from his forehead. “I’m the only wolfseeker you know.”
“You’re the only one I want to know. You’re also really hot, so I feel like my judgment is unimpeachable in this situation.”
He caught my hand and squeezed, and some of the anxiety left his eyes. “Thanks, babe.”
We smiled at each other before he released me and focused on the street. “I’ve never lost a trail like that.”
“Never?”
He shook his head. “Scent signatures don’t just vanish. They can linger in the air for hours after a wolf leaves a room. Rogues are no different.”
“Last night you said rogue scents can come and go.”
“They can, but not underground where there’s nowhere for a scent to dissipate.” His jaw tightened. “It was too abrupt, as if something cut it off deliberately.”
I turned that over. “And you’re certain it was Ulfrik?”
“No question.”
“Well, at least we have confirmation that it’s him. That’s better than nothing, right?” Although, nothing was sounding pretty damn good. Nothing to hunt down. Nothing trying to kill us. Nothing coming between me and all nine inches of Jesse’s dick.
“It’s something,” he conceded, sounding like he’d just chewed a bunch of nails. “But everything about this assignment is unusual. Ulfrik shouldn’t exist in the first place. Two different people photographed him in front of Carlo Gesualdo’s opera house. Now his scent is popping up and disappearing without a trace.”
Wariness slid down my spine. “Are the vampires capable of hiding a rogue’s scent?”
Jesse’s face was grim. “I don’t know, but I think we have to find out.”
My stomach growled, the sound loud enough to trip a seismometer. I slapped a hand over it. “Sorry,” I told Jesse. “I think I might be dying?”
He laughed, more tension leaving his eyes. “Let’s go check out the rental,” he said. “Then I’ll feed you.”
Chapter
Seven
JESSE
The rental house was like something off a postcard. Three stories of peach-colored stone sat behind a wrought iron gate that cleared six feet by a comfortable margin. Ivy climbed to the third story and wrapped around a balustrade.
I punched in the code Stefanos had sent and pushed open the front door. Caleb followed me inside and turned in a slow circle, taking in the tiled floors, curved staircase, and ceiling medallions. The lemon scent of furniture wax lingered in the air.
