Page 62 of Roguefinder

Caleb fell silent again. Then he said, “So we’re back to Carlo.”

A new wave of frustration rose. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know, and I don’t like not knowing.”

Caleb pushed away from the island and stepped into me, running the backs of his fingers up the center of my chest. “We have all day tomorrow before the opera. We can experiment in the city. You try to scent Ulfrik and any other werewolves. I’ll try to tap my gift.”

My heart squeezed. We’d been so focused on the assignment that Rome had been mere set dressing. He deserved more than a brief market trip and desperate sprints around the Colosseum. The vampires weren’t a threat during the daylight hours. Carlo’s pets could move freely, but Caleb and I were more than a match for any human, however enhanced by vampire blood.

“We’ll sightsee while we’re at it,” I said.

He brightened. “Kill three birds with one stone.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“I know,” he said, smiling.

My wolf settled, curling up in my mind and tucking its tail around its body.

“I need to text Stefanos,” I said.

Caleb’s smile fled. Stepping back, he swiped his protein bar from the counter and took a bite. “Did you tell him about my vision?” he asked, chewing aggressively as I pulled my phone from my pocket.

“Yes,” I said, typing. I kept my message brief, relaying everything that had happened since my previous text.

Caleb crumpled his wrapper. “And no response, huh? Guess we’ll never know if he creamed his jeans.”

I let my smile have its way. “He’s probably consulting with Nin before he replies.”

“Well, send them both my best.”

I tucked my phone in my back pocket. “I’m afraid they wouldn’t believe it. You’ve made it clear how you feel about the Council.”

“Yeah, they’re all dicks.”

I moved fast, snagging his hips before he could anticipate the movement. “Better keep that one to yourself, puppy.”

His sharp intake of air shot straight to my cock. When he licked his lips, I had to muffle a moan.

“It’ll be our little secret,” he said, voice adorably raspy.

God, I wanted to fuck him again. Bend him over the counter and bury myself in his heat. He was still leaking me. The faint scent of my cum mingled with the sweat and rain on his skin. A few tugs of his jeans would reveal a damp circle of my possession spreading over the thin fabric that barely covered his ass.

But fatigue lingered in the corners of his eyes and the slight droop of his shoulders. And I wasn’t convinced he was as…recovered as he claimed. Supernatural healing had its limits.

That didn’t mean I had to be happy about it.

“Enough, brat,” I said, hearing the growl of irritation in my voice. “You need more food after that run⁠—”

“And that fucking.”

“—and then we both need a shower.”

He smiled, twin devils of mischief practically visible on his shoulders. “I want hot dogs.”

“Stop it,” I said, pointing to the table as I moved toward the refrigerator. His husky laugh followed me, and I knew I’d do anything to spend the rest of my life hearing it. Terrible things.

I opened the fridge and surveyed the shelves. “I don’t have hot dogs but I can make you porchetta.”

Chair legs scraped the floor, and his satisfaction drifted across the mate bond as he said, “Sounds perfect, Jesse.”