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outsider and possibly a Hunter. None of those things were a great fit for her. She knew her duties even if she didn’t want to deal with them — at least, not right now.
    The car purred to life. The seat was low enough that she felt the rumbling of the engine beneath her bottom. She’d been riding on motorcycles all her life and none of them had ever sent such sensations through her. Her panties became wet and clung to the ripe curve of her labia.
    Cara shifted in the seat as they raced down the streets. The tourists were out in full force and she smiled as she saw a girl flipping her shirt up to expose her breasts. Sebastian laughed too and said, “I think I could live here forever. I don’t know why I never came before.”
    “Have you been traveling long?”
    “All my life.” There was a wistful tone in his voice that she recognized.
    “I used to move around a lot when I was young.”
    “Did you?” He looked over at her and she was caught again by the beauty of those green eyes. “I thought I heard an accent below that sweet Southern drawl.”
    He thought her accent was sweet? The slightest compliment from this man made her feel like a schoolgirl! “Thanks, I think. I lived in France, and then in LA before we moved here.”
    “I love France. Maybe that’s why I feel so at home here.”
    “You were in France?”
    “Oh yeah. I lived in a very quiet little town called Grasse.”
    She was startled and it showed. “I know that place. We used to visit it. It was one of my mom’s favorite spots.”
    “She hasn’t been back?”
    A salty lump formed in her throat, choking her. “She died when I was young,” she managed. “That was before we moved here.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “It was a rogue.”  The words came out in a rush. “It came for us. She saved my life but she died doing it. That’s why we left LA. My dad couldn’t stand to be there anymore.”
    Shit. Now what? Sebastian knew he had to tell her at some point who he was, but how could he? Her mother had died at the hands, or paws, of a rogue… no wonder she was so ready to battle one. “I’m so sorry.” His words were sincere but he wasn’t really sure what it was he was apologizing for, or to who.
    “Why do you do it?”
    He was confused by the question; did she mean why did he turn? “Do what?”
    “Hunt. Why did you become a Hunter?”
    “Necessity. I don’t enjoy it.” It was the truth, at least.
    “I wouldn’t imagine you would. I would though. I would love to sink a blade deep into a rogue’s heart and watch it die.” Her savagery surprised even her. He saw that written on her face. The car banked around a corner and she fell silent. He didn’t dare look over at her; he was going faster than he had intended to go and the corner was slick. He might be long-lived but that didn’t mean he couldn’t die.
    How ironic would that be? Dying in a car with a Tribe woman? He could see the humor in it but he doubted anyone else would.
    “There’s no joy in killing.” His words were soft.
    “I suppose that seems true to you, but I would love to kill the rogue that killed my mother.”
    “I can see why you would. But that rogue is probably long since dead. They’re condemned by their own kind, you know.”
    “The Fallen? They’re condemned because they chose to be.”
    A lick of anger tickled below his ribs but surprise flared up as well. She’d named them! He risked a quick look at her face and saw an expression of consternation there. She hadn’t meant to name them and now she didn’t know how to unring that bell.
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that.”
    Cara relaxed. “I’m sorry. I was saying that werewolves chose their shapes.”
    “Really?” He was interested despite himself.
    “Yes, back a long time ago. There was a man who was the king in a small kingdom but he wanted more. He wanted the entire world at his feet. He called in a priest who was rumored to know the dark arts.
    “It turned out that the priest did